Harry Potter had had a rough week. His anxiety over the impending prospect of Auburn Summer arriving was growing by the day, as despite their best efforts, he and Hermione had discovered precious little about what it was, who had orchestrated it last time and what the two of them might do to stop it. Their only hope was the Youth Masque, which Hermione hoped would do something to attract the culprit from twenty years ago. Harry had mixed feelings about their upcoming costume party, however, as while it seemed like a reasonable plan to bring the killer out into the open by recreating events from that summer, the frantic planning Hermione was putting into it meant she was spending less time with him than he might like.
Given his newfound affection for Hermione, any amount of time they spent together now seemed far too short...or perhaps far too long, as Harry had to hide how he felt as best he could. He had tried telling himself numerous times that there was no use in having romantic feelings for her, as she very clearly wanted to be with Ron. This did not appear to be a winning strategy, however, as Harry was sweating profusely and becoming increasingly tongue-tied in her presence and was now sitting at his desk not writing a reply letter to Remus Lupin, as was his intent, but doodling Hermione's name across his parchment idly.
Aside from thinking about Hermione, telling himself not to think about Hermione, and then thinking about Hermione some more anyway, Harry had accomplished next to nothing in a week's time. He had not even attempted to get hold of a Sir Lancelot outfit, eventually confessing to Hermione on their last outing together that he had no idea where to look. Harry was secretly delighted when she then announced with a sigh that they would have to spend an extra day together picking out their costumes. That was what was on their agenda for today, other than the usual morning quidditch practice and doing as much digging as they could about Auburn Summer.
Today, however, Harry had two bits of news to deliver to Hermione. One involved the aforementioned Professor Lupin, who had finally answered Harry's owl of a week earlier. After the usual greetings (as well as the increasingly typical "How are you?" that Harry no longer knew how to answer), Lupin explained that Harry's parents had told him very little of what happened over the so-called auburn summer, owing to a "bit of a falling out between myself and your father around that same time." Harry's former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher did not elaborate, but the idea of the Marauders not getting along while they were at Hogwarts did not sit well with Harry, and a frown crossed his face every time he thought about it.
Other than this puzzling piece of information, Remus Lupin had sent him a large volume called Muggle Use of Magic Over the Centuries. The book was nearly nine hundred pages long and contained several large sections dealing with auburn summer, or at least so Professor Lupin told him in the letter. Harry was waiting for Hermione to arrive before actually examining its contents, as he was not typically as adept at deciphering lengthy literary works as she was. With so much text to examine, he often misinterpreted what he was reading, which sometimes led to disastrous consequences.
Harry shoved the thick tome into his knapsack between a spare set of clothes (he had learned his lesson from the 'Violet Mogle in the lake' incident) and his transfigured hummingbird snitch, which fluttered around restlessly, as if preparing itself for Quidditch practice. As he walked wordlessly past the Dursleys, he remembered talking to Aunt Petunia only last night about the mysterious photograph he found in the offices of the Serpent's Tooth, which brought his mind quickly to the other piece of info he had for Hermione. The Dursleys had met Frank Nichten-Teach and it had been he who had taken the photo.
"Oh yes," Aunt Petunia said with a rarely achieved look of haughty disgust on her face. "He seemed quite taken with you. Apparently he knew your parents and thought well of them." She let out a contemptuous sniff. "Aside from that, he was a nice fellow. A bit cold perhaps, but very polite and cultured."
"Why don't I remember him?" Harry asked, as much to himself as to Aunt Petunia.
Aunt Petunia unexpectedly answered him. "He stopped coming to visit right around the time you were learning to talk. Became quite ill, I believe." As Aunt Petunia shook her head, Harry tried his best to hide the confusion that had to be showing on his face. "Shame about that, really. We sent him a card."
Breaking from the usual tradition of waiting inside for Hermione to ring the doorbell and retrieve him, Harry ventured outside and sat on the front step, turning things over in his mind. Why had Frank Nichten-Teach come to visit him as a baby? Aside from posing this question to Hermione, he was going to have to ask Terry about it the next time he saw him. His curiosity, on that subject at least, shouldn't rouse the young club owner's suspicions. And then there was the matter of Professor Lupin's revelation. The vagueness of it frustrated Harry, so much so that he felt as though he needed to have a conversation in person with his father's old friend as soon as possible. Perhaps he could ask Hermione to take him over to Grimmauld Place...
As soon as Hermione's name crossed his mind, he saw the familiar mint green moped out of the corner of his eye. Harry did not even try to stop himself from flashing a wide grin. "Hermione!" he called as she dismounted to walk towards him. His heart was pounding and his palms were getting sweaty again. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets so that she hopefully wouldn't notice. "Erm, how are you?" he asked somewhat lamely.
"I'm fine, Harry," she answered earnestly, looking him over as though something might be the matter. Once she decided that there wasn't, a slightly amused look crossed her face. "What are you smiling about?"
Harry cursed himself. He had forgotten about that stupid grin on his face. This 'concealing your feelings' bit was hard work. "Nothing," he answered too quickly. Harry then added, "There are just some things that I need to tell you and I have a book for you to look at, too." It might have been his imagination, but Harry could have sworn that this wasn't how he had talked to Hermione before he realized he wanted to snog her senseless. He had some faint recollection of having said somewhat clever things to her in times past, so why couldn't he think of any now?
"Show it to me later, Harry," Hermione instructed lightly. "We've got to get moving. And I'm afraid we're going to have to cut Quidditch practice a bit short today."
Harry considered whether or not he should make a remark about how Dumbledore's transfigured snitch would have more control over the matter than he would, but decided that he would just mess it up if he tried to say it aloud. "Uh, OK." He then managed to climb aboard the moped behind Hermione without further embarrassment.
The ride over to the enchanted forest where he had been practicing Quidditch gave Harry the sensation of being comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time, courtesy of his arms being tightly wrapped around Hermione's waist. How on earth did he manage this before without going crazy? 'I had just never thought about her that way,' Harry thought to himself. 'I really am a clueless git.'
Remembering Hermione's advise to keep his practice time to a minimum, Harry caught the snitch easily in under a half an hour, after spending most of his time speeding around on his broom to release some of the tension from his body. He wasn't as proud of his new personal best time as he might have been (mostly because the words "Accio snitch" might have been muttered under his breath at some point), but flying always gave him such a powerful jolt of energy in the morning that he felt disspirited when he had to skip it. Landing the Nimbus 2000 that had been her gift to him right next to Hermione, Harry stashed it behind a tree and turned back to her quickly, hoping to find out what she had learned from the book Lupin had given them. "Find anything?" Harry asked as casually as possible.
"Quite a lot, actually," Hermione answered, her eyes as bright as they usually were after she'd just been reading something that interested her. Wait, when had he started noticing that? "Apparently auburn summer started as a blood purity ritual for muggle-borns and half-bloods," Hermione's scorn was written all over her face as she said this, "but then when muggles got themselves involved..." She closed the book abruptly. "I can tell you the rest later. Right now we need to get to London. I promised Mrs. O'Connor that we'd be there by 10:30 and it's already..." A worried frown filled Hermione's face as she looked down at her watch in dismay and her tone took that soft whine that it often did when she was concerned about him. 'I've grown to adore that whine,' Harry thought pleasantly. "Well, never mind how late it is. We have to go! Hop on." Harry didn't have to be told twice, although the thought that it might have been fun to make her do so crossed his mind fleetingly.
***
Harry and Hermione soon found themselves entering a quaint little costume shop that wasn't located far from Diagon Alley. The sign outside read "Polly's", which was presumably Mrs. O'Connor's first name. Although it seemed from the outside as though the store couldn't be that large, the amount of space inside nearly overwhelmed Harry. All sorts of costumes, ranging from those for little muggle children (mostly fairy outfits and other such trifles, although Harry was amused to see at least one Spiderman outfit) to very elaborately designed ball gowns and other, more adult-oriented, attire. Harry guessed that Mrs. O'Connor would be unlikely to go bankrupt anytime soon.
Hermione offered a simple greeting and introduced Harry to Mrs. O'Connor. The costume shop owner, who Harry noticed wore a lot of make-up despite the fact that she would probably be reasonably attractive without it, already knew who Harry Potter was, as did most everyone else on the planet Earth who knew anything about the magical world. "I know we'd already discussed what I was looking for, but I was wondering...do you have any knight costumes? We were searching for Sir Lancelot in particular, but I suppose any one would do."
The older woman reached for something that was hanging on one of the lower racks and withdrew it from behind a row of leotards. It was a simple cloth facsimile of a suit of armor which bore a red and yellow coat of arms on the chest that was reminiscent of the Gryffindor colours. Harry thought it was perfect and was just about to tell Mrs. O'Connor so when Hermione let loose one of her trademark scowls. "That's fine for young children, I suppose. But do you have anything with real armour?" Harry looked at Hermione as though she had temporarily gone batty. "Nothing too cumbersome, mind you. Just maybe some light chain mail?"
Hermione's eyes flittered between Mrs. O'Connor and Harry, but instead of meeting his confused gaze, she seemed to be focusing on his scar in a way that she usually didn't. In fact, she was one of the only ones who almost never looked at his scar, except when it was hurting him, as it did so often last year. Harry frowned at her for a moment, but then realized she was subtly using his status as the famous Harry Potter to get what she wanted. Finally, Mrs. O'Connor consented with a sigh. "I'll see what I have in the back."
As the costume shop owner departed, leaving Harry alone with Hermione, he turned to face her with an utterly perplexed expression written all over his face. "What exactly was that all about?!"
"Auburn summer, Harry," Hermione explained in a patient half-whisper. "It turns out that your choice of costume might have been brilliant, even if you didn't know it yet. Chain mail armour was sometimes used successfully to protect potential victims of the ritual sacrifice."
"Ritual sacrifice?" Harry questioned reflexively. "What...?" But before he could finish, Mrs. O'Connor had returned with a bulky-looking costume that Harry knew he would have a difficult time squeezing into.
"Here you are, Mr. Potter," she informed him coolly. "You may change in the back. Third booth to your left." Harry felt as though a tonne of bricks had been dropped into his arms as he managed to tote the suit of armour towards the rear of the shop. 'Why didn't she just leave it back there and tell me where it was?' Harry groused inwardly as he walked with his knees bent slightly from the weight of the metal suit as he lugged it in the general direction of the dressing rooms. "Now, Miss Granger. As to your costume..."
As Harry dropped the suit of armour unceremoniously on the floor, he suddenly realized he had given no thought whatever to what Hermione would be wearing to the Youth Masque. Suddenly visions of her Yule Ball dress flooded his memory and it was a few minutes before Harry realized that both Mrs. O'Connor and his best friend would be expecting him to come out sometime soon fully armoured. With a sigh, he began devoting himself to the task at hand, managing to slip some of the more accessible parts of the costume onto his extremities with little difficulty. After a little more struggling, tugging and some pinching (not to mention an unfortunate mishap with the visor and his glasses which would likely take an "occulis reparo" to correct), Harry was fully suited up.
Taking a look at himself in a conveniently placed full-length mirror, Harry Potter felt completely and utterly ridiculous. Pushing his visor up over his glasses much more carefully than he had last time to take a better look, he thought he resembled nothing so much as one of the scared young knights from the portraits in the Astronomy tower that Sir Cadogan seemed to enjoy terrorizing so much. Staggering slightly as he exited the changing room, Harry began to question whether this costume was really such a great idea after all. 'But then, Hermione said it was brilliant,' Harry thought to himself, his heart suddenly lighter. As he returned to the front room of Mrs. O'Connor's costume shop, he continuously pushed his visor up and forced his metal-encased legs to step laboriously forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hermione in whatever outfit it was she had chosen for herself.
Just as he turned a corner, Harry heard Hermione call his name in that oh-so-familiar way...just as his visor clamped shut over his eyes. His gloved hands struggled with his helmet valiantly, attempting to pry it open as best they could, but to no avail. Eventually he felt Hermione's hands cover his own and, after a few moments of awkward fumbling, they managed to shove the visor back to the top of the plumed helmet. Harry blinked his eyes furiously as they adjusted to the light and took in Hermione's form in front of him. "Well?" she asked, a twinge of nervousness entering her voice. "What do you think?"
Harry was speechless. Hermione wore a small straw hat with a red ribbon around it, a very frilly white silk blouse with buttons that held it tightly closed all the way from her neck down, and a very strange-looking set of baggy pants. "It's nice, Hermione. I like it," Harry lied. "But, uh, what exactly are you supposed to be?"
"I'm a suffragette," she announced, for all the world as though Harry should know what she was talking about. His confusion must have showed itself on his face, because Hermione looked at him with exasperation. "I'll tell you what it is later." She then stood back and took a good look at Harry dressed in what was now feeling very much like an oversized tin can. Hermione must have agreed, as she seemed to be stifling laughter. "You look very...dashing, Harry."
Harry suppressed a groan. The only thing 'dashing' about this costume so far as Harry was concerned was the dashing he'd be doing to get out of it, assuming he could even get his legs to move that fast. "I suppose the only thing left for us to do," Hermione mused thoughtfully, "is figure out how we're going to get this back to the Dursleys'."
If Hermione hadn't been here to do his thinking, Harry realized he would have been sunk. The thought of how to transport this clanky monstrosity away from the shop had never occurred to him, and the mint green moped that had carried them around for nearly a month clearly didn't have the room for it. "Maybe we shouldn't take it back to Privet Drive," Harry suggested, his mind wandering to the Dursleys' reaction as he lugged a suit of armour up and down their staircase. "Maybe we could stow it somewhere. Your house...or the Serpent's Tooth, maybe?"
A stormy look seemed to appear on Hermione's face for a moment, but then it disappeared. "Alright," she told him cheerfully, then turned and walked across the store to say something to Mrs. O'Connor. Harry took a long look at Hermione's suffragette outfit as it looked from behind and wondered idly what kind of outfit he had expected her to pick. 'Something very feminine and revealing, no doubt,' a somewhat Snape-like voice of cynicism resounded in his head. Harry shook his head as a half-smile formed on his lips. That just wouldn't have been Hermione's style.
"It's settled then," Hermione announced as she returned with Mrs. O'Connor in tow. "My mum will pick up the knight outfit tomorrow while we're out doing...other things." Hermione flushed suddenly and Harry's brow furrowed in confusion.
Harry walked to the front counter and paid for their costumes with galleons he had withdrawn from Gringotts earlier in the day. "I don't normally allow pick up for anyone other than the customer themselves," Mrs. O'Connor remarked somewhat airily, "but seeing as it is you, Mr. Potter, and she is your girlfriend..."
"She's not my..." Harry started, but then remembered their cover. "I mean, she is my..." But wait, did he need to maintain the illusion that they were dating (even though Harry no longer wanted it to be an illusion) for someone in the know about the wizarding world? And how on Earth did people with cover stories keep them straight? He suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Snape, but suppressed it quickly. "Er, thanks," he finished awkwardly as he took the receipt from her hands.
As he returned to Hermione's side, Harry shot her a questioning glare. "So, just what are these 'other things' we'll be doing tomorrow?"
Hermione's cheeks went pink again and she let out a small sigh. "Well, I was going to save it for a birthday surprise," Hermione began tentatively, and Harry only now realized he had completely forgotten about his birthday being tomorrow. Where was all the time going? And why was he suddenly getting ideas about what he wanted this 'birthday surprise' to be? "But now...I suppose since you know something's up...oh, Harry, we're going to the Burrow!"