“So we have to put up with Draco for every D.A. class?” Ron asked woefully.
“Yes,” said Harry grumpily, tossing a piece of crumpled paper to Ron.
“Well, that’s what he told us, right?” Hermione asked without looking up. She was currently immersed in one of the Dark Arts books from Grimmauld Place’s library. Ginny had gone up to her dormitory for reasons she hadn’t felt the need to share with them.
“How come you don’t seem too bothered by all this?” he squinted at his girlfriend and tossed the paper back to Harry.
She sighed and closed her book. Obviously, this was going to be a rather drawn out conversation. She had hoped this wouldn’t be the case. When Dumbledore had asked to see both Harry and Professor Lupin, she’d connected the dots and was sure the meeting was in reference to the D.A.
“I don’t like the idea of hanging around Malfoy any more than either of you, but I think everyone deserves the opportunity to learn to defend themselves.”
“He manages just fine, in case you don’t remember the incident involving your fingers,” Ron retorted, and caught the paper just before it flew into the fire.
She huffed at him, clearly vexed.
Harry continued his thought process from her statement. “Lupin said I could decide who joins up. If it’s not really my decision, why would he say that?” He caught the paper wad. Harry’s forehead was furrowed. He’d managed to calm down quite a bit once he’d related the incident in Dumbledore’s office to Ron and Hermione, but he was still steaming.
“But I don’t think he intended for you to purposely exclude people, Harry. It’s not like you to do so anyway. Besides, this is the perfect opportunity to really help unify the houses!” she remarked, suppressing her cheer unsuccessfully.
Harry growled. “Like I said, I don’t want to unify the houses if it means breathing the same air as the ferret!”
“And why would he want to learn defense? Just because his dad died . . .” asked Ron.
“His father was murdered, Ron. I imagine he didn’t enjoy being caught up with someone who’d kill him the minute he messed up.”
“Malfoy doesn’t think like that,” Harry muttered.
“Well, Slytherins would do anything to save their skins,” Ron pointed out. This won a silence from the other two, one pregnant with thought.
“What?” Ron looked from Harry to Hermione. “What did I say?”
“You made a good point,” answered Hermione, with a sparkle in her eye. “Thank you.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “So he’s a coward. This is why we have to let him join?”
“No, you are letting him join, because whatever his reasons are, he’s turned against V-Voldemort.” She still had trouble saying his name. “And that,” she assured, “is a very good sign.”
“Well, you can count me out as his duelling partner,” Ron attested.
“Me too. I’d kill him,” warned Harry.
Hermione clicked her tongue. “Well he has to partner with someone.” She slyly avoided any mention of her being Malfoy’s partner.
Harry raised an eyebrow, and chucked the balled up piece of paper at Ron’s head. “You’d better hope there’s another Slytherin joining the D.A. in two day’s time.”
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“There are transfigured paintings in the castle?” asked Hermione excitedly.
“Yeah. Er . . . I think so anyway. Professor McGonagall said they would have an interesting pattern in the wood grain of the frame. They’re also supposed to have a peculiar sparkle, but I didn’t see it in the plants we transfigured the other day.”
“Oh, I wish I could take that class. I would if I wasn’t so overloaded!” she sighed. “I think it could be a fun way to spend a Saturday; searching for transfigured paintings. They had to be hidden for a reason. Surely anything we find would be ancient and really important.”
“Not a chance, Hermione,” Harry smiled. “Saturdays are for Quidditch.”
“You two can’t have practice this Saturday! You haven’t even had tryouts yet.”
“We will tonight.”
“What? What about homework? You know whatever work that was assigned last week is due tomorrow,” she scolded.
“You’re lucky we didn’t do it last night. Ron went up to everyone who’d signed up for tryouts, asking for them to do it right then, but they refused. He was sore about it, but agreed to delay it until tonight.”
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. She had her characteristic worried crease between her eyebrows. “I noticed. I hope he doesn’t . . . well, use Quidditch to hide from his feelings.”
Harry grumbled. “Why do girls always want us to talk about feelings? Even if he does get caught up in Quidditch, at least he’s doing something.”
“But he was doing the same thing back at Grimmauld Place! He’s avoiding anything having to do with,” she dropped her voice and whispered. “You-Know-Who. If he keeps going on like this, well, he might just drop our friendship altogether!“
“What? He wouldn’t do that. And how is Quidditch going to ruin our friendship anyway? That makes no sense.”
“Harry, if he isn’t involved with the war, he’ll avoid us when we’re talking about it, or doing anything about it. That has the potential to be a large amount of time. He’ll drift away from us, Harry.” She’d stopped and grabbed the sleeve of his robes. She looked frightened. Harry thought he understood what her real concern was.
“He’s not going to leave me or you. He just has to deal with this in his own way. Even if he didn’t want to be involved in the war anymore, he wouldn’t abandon us for a Quaffle. He’s not that kind of person.”
Hermione looked stumped for words- a rarity, to be sure. In fact, she didn’t speak a word to Harry all throughout Potions. This proved to be beneficial, as even Snape couldn’t dock points for talking. In total, Harry only lost thirty points; ten for having a bad hair day (substandard appearance), fifteen for looking at Snape crossly (being openly disrespectful), and five for what Snape claimed was “staring in a threatening manner”, whatever that meant.
Lunch was a tense affair. Ron excitedly went on and on about Quidditch tryouts, and who would be participating. Hermione kindly held her tongue, but shot desperate glances in Harry’s direction almost continually.
“Er . . . Ron? Can I ask you something?” She looked at his plate instead of his face. He looked at her as if she was sick.
“You never ask to ask.”
“I just . . . uh, was hoping you could pass the pumpkin juice.” That she hadn’t said what she had first intended to was plain to all. He obligingly passed her the flagon of juice and asked, “All right, Hermione?”
“Yep,” she mustered the most fraudulent smile that had graced the castle since Dolores Umbridge. “Thirsty.”
He shook his head and glanced at Harry, who found great interest in his food, and did not look up from it until the end of lunch.
Charms passed just as awkwardly. Ron noticed that something was going on between Hermione and Harry, but wasn’t quite sure what. After several minutes of this he acquired a hard glare, and bluntly refused to look at either of his two friends. Harry didn’t understand why Ron was slowly becoming angrier. Still, all three carried on without a word to one another, but managed to produce strangely strong defensive shields.
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Assembled in a line along the North side of the Quidditch pitch were fellow Gryffindors keen on filling the open Chaser positions. Dennis Creevey grinned widely and waved enthusiastically at Colin in the stands. Geoffrey Hooper was there as well, and mildly complaining about nighttime tryouts. There were also two younger girls, a second and a third year, who identified themselves as Ruth Henry and Debbie Price. Ginny looked especially confident. This was due to the fact that her trying out for the position was merely a formality. She had to actually try out in order to move to Chaser.
Harry would have laughed at Ron if he didn’t look so frightening. The truth was that his gait, his stance, and the hard glint in his eye reminded him of Oliver Wood. Harry, on the other hand, posed casually before the line of eager students.
“So if you’re not serious, I suggest you move along. We can’t win the Quidditch Cup this year if we’re not going to have players putting in 110 percent!” He paced along in front of them. It was visibly making young Ruth uncomfortable. Ginny raised an eyebrow at Harry and rolled her eyes.
“Right then,” Harry said amiably. “I’ll introduce the team. Katie Bell, Chaser; Andrew Kirke, Beater; Jack Sloper, Beater.” They each gave a little wave or nod as their name was called.. “I’m Harry Potter, Seeker and Co-captain; and this is Ron Weasley- Keeper and Co-captain.” As Harry mentioned his own name, he noticed a blush creep across Ruth’s face. “We’ll do a bit of throwing practice with the Quaffle, then try each of you out, one at a time.
With that, everyone mounted their brooms and flew into the air. The breeze was refreshing to Harry. Chills crawled up his spine in happiness at being set free from gravity. Set in a staggered pattern, they tossed the Quaffle back and forth. Harry soon realized he hadn’t really had much practice with Ron. As it turned out, he could throw and catch well now, which was quite a difference from the first time Harry practiced with him. Ron chucked the red ball rather hard at Harry, nearly knocking him in the face. Fortunately, he caught it right before it smacked into his nose, and passed it on to Ginny, who sent it to Debbie. Ron’s little sister and Harry shared a look. Ginny raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Harry shrugged ever so slightly.
He was annoyed with Ron’s behavior. Ever since Charms class, he’d been shooting daggers from his eyeballs at Harry. There was a grim, determined set to his jaw. It was quite similar to the expression he’d worn just after Hermione was injured. However, Harry wasn’t about to blow his cool in front of his team when he’d just managed to rejoin it. He felt he had to set a better example- or at least not pick a fight with Ron in front of them.
Ron avoided him the entire rest of the practice. Harry was chasing the Snitch and saw snippets of the performance of those trying out. He was only vaguely searching for the little winged thing, as he wanted to see how the players were performing. The young girls looked positively unsure of themselves and it showed in their lack of playing ability. Geoffrey Hooper had already complained about the cloudy sky, concerned about the possibility of rain. Dennis Creevey did surprisingly well, but Ginny outperformed them all by scoring past Ron, which was becoming quite a feat these days.
Finally, the players landed and sat down in the cool grass. Night had fallen, and thankfully, was free of hovering clouds. Stars winked at them. Everyone was dripping with sweat, and appreciative of the breeze that blew off of the lake.
“Well, Ron and I would like to thank everyone for trying out. Results will be posted tomorrow. Good luck.”
Ron’s jaw seemed to be wired shut. He nudged his head to the side, and began walking toward the other end of the pitch, motioning for Harry to follow. He looked well beyond angry, but confused as well.
“I guess we should decide who’s in,” Ron said stiffly.
“First, I’d like to know why you look like you’ve sucked a lemon. Ron, what’s going on? You haven’t spoken to me or Hermione since lunch.”
“Why should I?” he shouted. “You two, with all your . . . looks! And your . . . your secrets!”
“What? Ron ““
“- No! You fancy Hermione, don’t you? You’ve gone and kissed her, or . . . or told her you to run away with you or something!”
Harry couldn’t resist a wry smile. “Run away with her?” Ron blushed, but Harry continued before Ron could. “There’s nothing going on between Hermione and me ““
“- Then what are you hiding?” he spat.
“She’s worried about you, ok? She’s worried that you’ll give up helping us in the war, and drift away from us . . . from her.”
“She thinks we won’t be together anymore if I don’t fight?” His face fell. He seemed to be thinking for a bit. He shuffled his feet, and swung his arms a little, as if attempting to stir up some reasoning for how he felt.
“I . . . ever since Percy, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to . . . you know, fight. I mean, I’ve already told you that I just . . . don’t think I want to waste my time fighting for everything. Why do I have to help save all of… everybody?” he finished somewhat lamely.
Harry snorted. “Welcome to my world. We just have to. If no one else is going to do it, who would make sure Voldemort pays for what he did? Percy deserves better than that. Everyone does . . .”
“So that’s what you guys were talking about? You thought I might have quit? Just like that?” Ron pried.
“That was almost everything.”
“Almost?”
Harry sighed. “She thinks you’re using Quidditch as a crutch.”
Ron shrugged. “So what if I am? I can’t quit D.A. You won’t let me,” he punched Harry playfully. “If I like playing, and it helps me, where’s the problem?”
He thought Ron made a fair point. “You know, I told her to trust you. I just don’t believe you would ever give up. You’re a better friend than that.”
Ron smiled a little, but stared off into the stands rather than at Harry. It was a slightly uncomfortable moment.
“Well, anyway. I think you can get her off your back by talking about feelings with her.” He performed little air quotes, happy to get the old Ron back.
“Why do girls always want to talk about feelings?” Ron grumbled, wrinkling his nose.
“That’s what I said . . . You actually thought I fancied Hermione? You’ve got to be a touched in the head to believe that!”
The two enthusiastically plopped down on the grass and discussed the merits of the Gryffindors that had tried out for the team. They didn’t notice the pairs of eyes watching over them from afar.