Chapter Four.
Harry shifted position, trying not to draw Hermione’s attention towards him. She was clearly absorbed in taking notes from a massive book at the library desk. He guessed that Lupin had put it there for her because it was surely too big for Hermione to lift on her own. He had snuck a look at it on his way to get some pumpkin juice from the kitchen and it seemed full of hideously complicated and obscure Transfiguration theory. Harry’s only comfort was that the book was certainly not the Hogwarts set text for the subject, which meant that he wouldn’t have to read it.
As it was, the Potions book was bad enough. He’d been trying to read it for hours, and had gotten bogged down in what seemed like an unnecessarily detailed description of the various uses of flax in antidote-brewing. He was bored out of his mind and hungry and his body had begun to ache from staying in one position, but he was a bit afraid of distracting Hermione by stretching. If she wanted to study, the least he could do right now was to keep her company and not upset her. Even if it was torture. Even if it was Potions.
When Ron charged through the door Harry felt he had never been so pleased to see anyone in his entire life. Hermione’s single-minded focus on her book was beginning to scare him, and even if all Ron could do was to get her to start bickering with him, then at least that would be something. At least that would seem normal. At that moment, Harry was willing to do a great deal for normal.
When Ron saw Hermione, he stopped dead. Catching sight of Harry, he tried to motion towards him without Hermione seeing. Harry thought he looked a bit panicked, but all he could do was stare blankly back at Ron and shrug. Don’t look at me for help, mate, he thought, I’ve bollixed it up already today.
“Hi, Hermione,” Ron quavered, and then as an afterthought “Hi Harry.”
Harry rolled his eyes. This was not going to be pretty. He wished he had some idea of what to do to help. “Hi Ron.” He moved over to stand beside him, thankfully dropping his book. At least he could give moral support.
“Hi Ron,” said Hermione evenly.
“Dad told us “ Ginny and me “ he told us last night. I’m really sorry, Hermione. You alright?” Bloody hell, thought Harry, it sounds so much easier when he said it.
Hermione’s head cocked to one side, studying them both. For a moment Harry thought he saw a shred of amusement in her eyes, but it faded away too quickly.
“I’m alright,” she said, “But I’m a bit sick of having people ask me how I am. I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”
“Don’t you think you should?” said Ron, and cringed slightly, as if he was about to have an ink-well thrown at him. Harry was amazed - and a little bit jealous - at how much better Ron was doing than him. It seemed to be going far easier for him. Probably because he’s not yelling, he thought. Still, Ron had a point, and though Harry would rather go a couple of rounds with Voldemort than upset Hermione again this morning, he had to agree with him.
“Ron’s right,” he said. “You should be talking to someone.”
“Even if it’s not us,” said Ron, a shade resentfully, and Harry could have sworn the temperature in the library had dropped a few degrees. And he was doing so well... Ron obviously felt it too, and hurried to change the subject. “Can’t say that I blame you for that though,” he added in a strangled voice, his ears turning pink. “So, um, what are you studying?”
“Transfiguration,” said Hermione, a shade frostily, but she warmed as she talked. “It’s an old edition but I found it behind a ten volume set on the eating habits of Hinkypunks, and it’s really interesting. There’s not much practical in it, but you see here the theory behind...” Harry saw Ron’s eyes glaze over and knew his were doing the same, but they trooped up to the desk and leaned over, making appreciative noises and, Harry felt, fooling no-one. Still, it gave them all an excuse to concentrate on a different topic and for ten minutes all was well as Harry and Ron tried to look as fascinated as Hermione no doubt felt they should be. Then disaster struck: Ron yawned, and quickly trying to cover his mouth knocked over Hermione’s inkwell, splattering her arms and hands. With a small shriek, Hermione snatched her book and parchment out of the way of the spreading ink puddle, her hands smearing them in the process.
“Ron! Can’t you be more careful!”
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” said Ron, scarlet. “Look, just do a scourgify charm and it’ll clear it all up.”
“We’re under-age, Ron,” Hermione said scathingly. “I’d rather not round out the summer by getting expelled, thank-you very much!”
“Alright, alright,” said Ron, looking very harassed. “We’ll just get Mum to do one, she’s really good at all that household type stuff. She’s always saying that with seven children she needs to be good at them, but honestly, I don’t think we’re that bad really. She doesn’t believe me though, always tells us she doesn’t know what we’d do without her-” he stopped suddenly, looking very uncomfortable. Harry winced inwardly. He knew he should try to say something to smooth it over but his tongue appeared to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. Hermione had no such problem.
“It’s a good thing you don’t have to do without her then, isn’t it,” she said tearfully, jerkily, and ran out of the room. Ron looked utterly mortified.
“If it makes you feel any better” said Harry finally, “I was worse.”
“You couldn’t have been,” said Ron hollowly.
“I tipped a jug of milk over her and yelled a lot,” Harry admitted. He cringed just remembering it.
“Bloody hell!” said Ron, looking relieved. “Maybe you were worse.”
“Cheers, mate” Harry said, in a mock-grumpy tone. Oddly enough, the fact that Ron had made a mess of it too was making him feel a little better.
“You both did splendidly, I’m sure,” a voice came from the doorway. “Don’t you think, George?”
“Indeed I do, Fred,” said his brother. “Delightful, the both of you. Utterly sympathetic.”
The Weasley twins were standing in the entrance to the library, smiling benignly and resplendent in lime-green suits that Harry now recognised as being made of dragon hide. He had the horrible feeling that they had witnessed Hermione’s tearful departure “ or at the very least had heard it through their Extendable Ears. Telltale strings extended from their pockets. Neither twin seemed to have any scruples against eavesdropping, or much else that Harry could think of. Ron scowled at them.
“Just shut up, would you? We’re trying our best here...”
“Trying you certainly are,” Fred responded drily.
“With friends like you who needs the Dark Lord?” George commented lightly.
“I’d like to see you do better,” Harry snapped, embarrassed.
“That shouldn’t be hard,” said Fred.
“Sounds like a challenge to me,” said George. “What d’you say, Fred?” and the two of them, with one last look of exaggerated disgust, apparated out of sight with two small distinct pops.
Harry saw Ron looking at him anxiously, his ears slowly returning to their normal colour. “I’m sure they wouldn’t do anything, well... really bad,” he said. The two looked at each other in silence for a moment, imagining what the twins might be about to attempt.
“D’you think... d’you think we should go after them?” said Ron tentatively. He was looking, Harry thought, as he had before the last year’s Quidditch matches. The thought of interfering made Harry wince “ with the way he and Ron had just handled things, he wasn’t at all confident of their ability to do it without making things even worse.
“Er, perhaps we should just let her cool down a bit?” he said hopefully, feeling guilty and a bit cowardly.
Ron nodded his head fervently. “Yeah, I think we should. Fred and George wouldn’t do anything really. They know Mum would clobber them if they did.” He looked over at Harry unhappily. “This shouldn’t be happening. It’s not fair. I can’t believe she didn’t tell us! Did she... did she tell you anything about it?” Ron sounded a bit distant, Harry thought, as if he was trying to make himself believe that he wouldn’t feel left out if she had.
“Nope. Nothing.” Harry sighed heavily. “I got here last night, and all we’ve done is watch me make a fool out of myself and study bloody Potions,” he waved disgustedly towards The Annotated Guide to Antipodean Antidotes, which was squatting, bricklike, on the sofa. “I’ve spent the past five hours reading the same stupid chapter and not understanding any of it, trying to think of something to say that won’t come out wrong.” He saw Ron’s face had cleared a bit at first and then clouded again when he had referred to Potions.
“You’re studying Potions,” said Ron flatly, fingering the book nervously, as if it might be about to bite him. Harry shuffled his feet, not knowing quite what to say when Ron looked over at him with a wavering grin, obviously determined to steer the subject into safer waters. Harry was grateful for the distraction, and grateful that Ron didn’t seem like he was going to blame him for being able to take it. “Did Hermione give you this for your birthday?” Ron asked.
“Yeah,” said Harry, surprised. “I can’t believe people have remembered, all things considering. Lupin actually gave me Firewhiskey, can you believe it? A whole boxful.”
“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed. “Actual Firewhiskey? Can we try some?”
Harry couldn’t help but grin himself at the expected reaction. “Now’s probably not a good time. It’s hidden in the kitchen, and we’d have to get past-”
“Mum,” Ron nodded.
“Lupin said we can’t tell her. Or McGonagall,” Harry countered quickly.
Ron looked at him in disgust. “How stupid do you think I am?” he demanded, then tugged at Harry’s arm, dragging him out of the library. “Come on. It’s not Firewhiskey, but I’ve got you something too. It’s in my luggage...”
Ten minutes later, Harry and Ron were in the room they both usually shared, munching happily on Harry’s birthday present: a monster box of Chocolate Frogs.
“We should probably keep some for Hermione,” said Ron around a mouthful of chocolate. “Peace offering, you know.”
“She may not want any,” said Harry, idly watching a French wizard doing something hideous with frog legs on the card from his latest chocolate wrapper, and tossing Ron another Frog. “Don’t forget, she’s been here with Lupin for a couple of weeks; he’s probably been stuffing her with chocolate every day. After third year with him, I couldn’t stand the sight of the stuff for a month... So how did your summer go? Anything happen?”
“Apart from Mum acting like we were going to be killed at any minute, jumping at every little noise, things were great,” said Ron sarcastically. “Actually, Dad wasn’t much better. They wouldn’t even let Ginny and me near the Prophet “ of course, now we know why. And we’ve been getting heaps of chores to keep us busy and not asking questions... oh. And then there’s Percy.”
“Finally came crawling back, did he?” said Harry.
“No actually,” said Ron. “I know, you’d think by now even Percy would realise what a pillock he’s been but you’d be wrong. He’s still putting his faith in the Ministry, won’t even speak to us. Thinks too much of himself; of being pure-blood. I’m beginning to think the Sorting Hat made a mistake with him. He should have gone into Slytherin.” Ron scowled. “I told Mum that and she whacked me upside the head and made me go de-gnome the garden. Again.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Harry, shocked. He had always known that Percy was overly ambitious, but nevertheless... “He really didn’t see that “ Ron? What’s wrong?”
Ron had suddenly gone very still, and was sitting with his mouth open, chocolate beginning to dribble out. “I don’t believe it,” he said blankly, staring down at the card in his latest Chocolate Frog.
“What?” said Harry impatiently. “Don’t tell me they’ve finally given the Cannons a card.”
Ron looked as if he was struggling between anger and resignation, but when he spoke his voice was calm and only slightly strained. “It’s you,” he said. “They’ve given you a card. Look.” He flipped the card over to Harry. Horrified, he saw a moving image of himself in heroic pose, waving and flipping back his hair.
“No, oh no,” Harry said pathetically. “Look at me! I look like bloody Lockhart!” he glanced over at Ron pleadingly. “This is a joke, right? Fred and George knocked this up for my birthday, right?” One look at his friend’s face told him it wasn’t so.
“Have you read the back?” Ron asked composedly.
“I don’t want to read the back!” Harry snapped.
Ron picked up the card, looking at it as if it was something he had to scrape out of a cauldron in detention with Snape. “Harry Potter, “The Boy Who Lived” is the first of our new additions to the Chocolate Frog cards. Repeatedly surviving attacks by You-Know-Who, Potter single-handedly assaulted numerous Death Eaters and the Wizarding World’s greatest scourge at the Ministry of Magic earlier this year. Not only that, he is an outstanding student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he was named the youngest Quidditch seeker in a century (and he’s still single, ladies!).” Ron looked over at Harry. “Well,” he said diplomatically, “It could have been worse.”
“How?” Harry howled. “How could it have been worse? Can you imagine what the Slytherins are going to say about this! I’ll be the laughing-stock of the school, which couldn’t be better as my life just isn’t hard enough!”
“But you’re on a Chocolate Frog card,” said Ron stubbornly. “At Hogwarts, the only other person on them is Dumbledore. Of course...” he went on waspishly “... of course with your ‘outstanding studentship’ and ‘single-handed assault,’ well, who wouldn’t want to give you one?”
“Shut up Ron” said Harry angrily. “This is no time to be jealous. I can’t help it if they write this rubbish! We know it’s not true “ you were at the Ministry just as much as me, and we both know I’m not that clever...”
“You got into Potions,” Ron said mulishly.
Harry snorted. He had a feeling this was going to come up sooner or later. “I got into Potions because McGonagall pulled strings for me, not because I deserved it,” he said frankly. “I think she was just trying to annoy Umbridge, even if she’s not teaching any more.” He thought he heard Ron mutter “Cow” under his breath when he referred to their former Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher. “Yes she was,” Harry agreed, sinking down on the bed next to Ron, snatching the Chocolate Frog card from him and viciously shredding it. “So, things could be worse, huh?” he said miserably.
“Well, yeah,” said Ron after a pause, in a friendlier tone. “You could be Hermione.”
Harry winced. “Please, don’t remind me. I feel guilty enough as it is.”
“Well, don’t,” Ron interrupted forcefully. “It’s not your fault.” He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, and then said, very quickly, “I’m sorry I was such a berk. I mean, I just really wanted to be an Auror, and, well, when you wrote and said you’d gotten special treatment, again...” he stopped a moment in reflection, and shrugged. “Then last night Mum told Ginny and me about Hermione. Didn’t seem as important then, somehow.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Harry. “Hey, Ron, why don’t you speak to Professor McGonagall? Your results were about the same as mine. If she knew how much you wanted to be an Auror, she might get Snape to take you too.”
“I don’t know,” said Ron, although he was looking much more hopeful, “Snape’s already going to be upset about being forced to take you...”
“That’s my point,” said Harry. “He’ll already be furious, so what’s one more? How angry can he get?”
“I guess,” said Ron, perking up. “He doesn’t hate me nearly as much as he hates you.” He sniggered. “Pity you ripped up the card. You could’ve shown Hermione, it might’ve given her a laugh.”
“Shut up, Ron,” said Harry good-naturedly. “In fact, do me a favour and don’t ever mention it again.”
“I’m not promising anything,” said Ron. “Come on, though. When we got here Mum said lunch would be ready in an hour, and I’m starving.” Seeing Harry look at him sideways and smirk, he pointed out that Chocolate Frogs didn’t qualify as anything more than snacks.
From the corridor they could hear voices, wheedling tones coming from the room that Hermione shared with Ginny. It sounded like the twins, and Harry fervently hoped that they were having better luck than he and Ron.
“Come on Hermione, you know you want to...”
“Just say it! You’ll feel better...”
“They better not be bothering her,” Ron grumbled under his breath.
Just out of sight, the twins chorused “You know you want to...”
“Fine,” came Hermione’s voice, sounding wobbly but exasperated. “Fine. It’s a terrible idea, and it looks disgusting and it’s dangerous. Who did you test those on? Do you know what could have gone wrong? You could have ended up in St. Mungo’s!”
“You should have seen them test it,” giggled Ginny’s voice. “They dropped it into a cauldron of soup at the Leaky Cauldron when Tom wasn’t looking “ you should have seen the guests! Earwigs would fall from their noses into the soup, and when they started complaining they couldn’t prove it, they’d all dissolved!”
“Earwigs?” Harry mouthed at Ron, before coming face-to-face with Fred and George, earwig moustaches slithering out of their nose and writhing about their upper lips.
“You did what?” shrieked Hermione, giving an eerie impression of Mrs. Weasley. “What if you had been caught?”
“Then you could forget St. Mungo’s” smirked George.
“We would have ended up in jail” said Fred.
“And I suppose you think that’s funny,” snapped Hermione, but Harry could see that she wasn’t putting much effort into it “ she even seemed to be trying not to laugh. Ginny had no such compunction, her fist was stuffed into her mouth to keep from shrieking with glee. The twins winked at Ron and Harry. Clearly they felt they’d made a much better showing, and Harry had to admit they were right. He knew that Ron realised this too, when his friend said, in a tone of grudging admiration, that lunch was about to be served.
Heading downstairs with Ron and Ginny (Hermione had gone to wash her face, and the twins had hinted at a birthday present they needed to fetch from their room), Harry was surprised to see Professor McGonagall in the kitchen, talking seriously and quietly with Lupin and Mrs. Weasley.
“Are you staying for lunch, Professor?” Harry asked politely, after greetings had taken place.
“No, Mr. Potter,” said his teacher, looking harassed, “This is only a short visit. I’m afraid I have other things to do this afternoon. Mr. Weasley! Miss Weasley! What is the problem?”
Harry winced. Even out of school, McGonagall had a voice that could cut through glass. Ginny and Ron had been whispering and pushing each other in the direction of their teacher, who was now glaring at them as if she was about to give them a detention. Mrs. Weasley had a similar expression.
“Er, sorry Professor,” said Ron, turning bright red. “We were just wondering, er, have you decided who’s going to be Quidditch captain this year?”
“Because we’ve been wondering all summer,” said Ginny smartly. Her mother glared at her and swelled ominously. “Well, we have! And Harry doesn’t even know if he can play this year...” she added pitifully. Harry was impressed that she could shift tactics so fast. No wonder she wanted to be a chaser this year. Even Lupin was smothering a grin.
“Potter, I can tell you right now that your ban has been revoked.” McGonagall made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. “You can pick up your broom from my office at the beginning of term; which is when I usually inform the new captain of their position.”
“It wouldn’t really hurt to let us know now though, would it Professor?” Ron blurted painfully.
“Is it Harry?” Ginny asked brightly. “He’s been on the team as long as anyone. Well, he has,” she said defiantly, when Ron turned to her with a ferocious scowl on his face.
“Actually, he hasn’t,” said McGonagall coolly. “He was banned for most of last year, if I remember rightly.”
“That wasn’t my fault!” said Harry. “It was that old... that old...” he trailed off as two pairs of beady eyes glared at him from the other side of the kitchen.
“Be that as it may, Potter,” McGonagall said “You were still banned.” Three pairs of eyes looked at her with painful intensity. “Very well,” she sighed, “I’ll be offering the position to Miss Bell. She’s been playing continually since second year and this is her final year in Hogwarts. I hope that is satisfactory?” She glared at them, daring them to complain. “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m already late for another appointment,” and she apparated out of the kitchen.
“Never mind, Harry” Ginny said bracingly, slapping him on the back. “Next year.” Oddly enough, Harry didn’t feel disappointed. He hadn’t even considered the question of Quidditch captaincy over the summer, and was just happy to hear that he would be playing again. From the look on Ron’s face, though, he had spent the last few weeks hoping for a different decision. He had, after all, won the Cup for Gryffindor last year, but McGonagall was right “ Katie was a good player and had been on the team as long as anyone. She deserved her chance.
“Is McGonagall here?” Hermione panted, rushing into the kitchen. “I thought I heard her...” and that was as far as she got before Mrs. Weasley smothered her in what she clearly imagined was a comforting hug. Hermione suffered it stiffly, looking as if the contact was enough to cause her to break into tears again.
“Ah, Molly?” Lupin interrupted, “Is there anything you want us to do? Maybe set the table?” Hermione shot him a grateful look from her position, half-smothered against the motherly bulk of Mrs. Weasley. It broke the moment and soon they were being shooed around the kitchen, doling out cutlery and plates, while Mrs. Weasley shifted platters of steaming food “ including an enormous birthday cake “ to the table. Fireworks, courtesy of Fred and George’s birthday present, whizzed around the table, liberally decorated with balloons and sweets. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were just dodging a Catherine wheel of particularly lurid pink and green “ Ron was mumbling that looking straight at it would make you dizzy enough to be sick “ when Hermione asked if McGonagall was still there.
“Damn,” she said. “I really needed to ask her something about Transfiguration. It was really important.” She looked downcast, and Harry remembered the textbook she had been poring over that morning. Still, if it made her happy and he didn’t have to look at it...
“Would you like to borrow Hedwig?” he asked.
Hermione brightened. “Could I?” When he nodded, she hesitated a moment and said “Actually, do you mind if she takes a letter for me to Nottingham as well? I know it’s a long flight with both of them, but-”
“Sure, no problem,” said Harry, relieved to find something he could actually do. “Who d’you know in Nottingham anyway?” he asked.
“Oh. Well, Susan Bones lives there,” said Hermione quickly, determinedly not looking at him or Ron.
“Susan Bones? From Hufflepuff?” said Ron. “Why would you write to her? We don’t know her that well.”
“You don’t,” said Hermione, still not looking at them. “But she’s been in my Ancient Runes class the past couple of years, so I know her better than you do. She’s... she’s been really nice this summer... ever since it happened... has written me a lot of letters. Her aunt, uncle and cousins were killed by V-Voldemort too, last time. Stop it, Ron! Anyway, she understands.”
“And we wouldn’t?” said Harry loudly. Ron whacked him in the side with his elbow. Harry could almost feel the shut up, don’t make it worse vibes coming off his friend, even as he could see that Ron was a bit upset with Hermione’s admission as well.
“You two were the ones saying I needed to talk to someone,” said Hermione shrilly. “And Susan’s just... distant...enough.” She stared them both in the eye defiantly. “So can I still borrow Hedwig?”
“Sure,” said Harry, baffled. “I’ll get her for you after lunch.”
“Thanks,” Hermione muttered, and went to sit at the table. Harry and Ron looked at each other in bemusement. Ron rolled his eyes. Girls! Harry knew how he felt, and was just about to thank Ron for reminding him not to do something stupid when-
“Fred! Look at this! Hey Harry! Did you know you’ve got a Chocolate Frog card?”