Ron and Harry strolled to class, taking their time, as they’d finished breakfast exceptionally early. They passed the open windows of the castle, enjoying the cool breeze on a day that provided no cloud cover. They’d just discussed the possibility of skiving off lessons for the whole day and then the likely ensuing wrath of their studious friend, when the conversation took a turn.
“So how about that McKee?”
“What about her?”
“Abrasive? She’s got the personality of a rotten log!”
Harry laughed. “Well, yes. But did you see how Malfoy acted around her? It was great! I think he hates her more than us. At least he should be too occupied from now on to come around annoying us.”
“You think so? I was starting to like the idea of cursing him every day. It would serve him “ and his family “ right.” Ron’s tone had suddenly taken on a grating edge. Harry couldn’t blame him. Malfoy’s dad had permanently extinguished Percy’s life. Harry was just relieved that the Weasleys didn’t know exactly how he’d died.
Trying to veer the conversation away from one that would make Ron’s sparks grow into a blaze, Harry spoke. “I sort of like watching someone else do it for a change.”
Ron looked at him with uncertainty. “I suppose we don’t have to do all of the fighting?” He was alluding to their conversation back at Grimmauld Place several days ago.
“No; not all the time,” he reassured. A mischievous grin lit the features of the dark-haired boy. “Let’s see what she’s got, first.”
Ron’s cheeks bubbled up as well. “That could mean a fair bit of fun. ‘Ey, Hermione hates her, you know,” he mentioned, looking sidelong at Harry.
“What? I thought she was pushing for unification. That doesn’t sound like her.”
Shrugging, Ron answered. “Just passing along information, mate. Did you see how stiff she was when she was talking to her? Looked like she had a . . . er . . . like she was stiff.”
Harry shook his head in humor while Ron continued. “Well, after D.A. and everyone finished classes, they were in the common room talking about her. Hermione sort of got a bit shirty and said, ‘Well, she could pick up a better attitude on her way in.’”
“Right, so she’s a snot. Can we stop gossiping now?” Harry asked, giving Ron a bit of a push.
“Seeing as how we’re at Transfiguration,” Ron answered, throwing in a mock sigh. “I suppose we’d better stop chatting. We’ll be sure to talk about our hair later, though.”
Harry rolled his eyes. Ron could be such a dunce, sometimes. He had to admit, however, that Ron seemed to be coming into his own. He was comfortable, relaxed, and occasionally said intentionally funny lines; a sure improvement. He was even showing pieces of his brothers’ wit.
They strolled into Transfiguration and took their seats. Professor McGonagall stood up behind her desk in the front of her classroom. “Settle in, settle in. We have much to cover today and no time to waste. We will be continuing our study of portrait transfiguration. Now, we’ve already covered how to transfigure objects into portraits, and how to form an educated guess as to what its original form may be. While some portraits require only a simple incantation to retransfigure, others have more powerful spells in place to protect it in such an event.”
A thought clicked somewhere in Harry’s head about the portrait of Sirius’ mum. As immediately as it came, it vanished.
A note appeared in front of Harry. “What if the Fat Lady is really a fat boar?”
Harry snorted- a little more loudly than he intended.
Professor McGonagall whirled around to face his just as he managed to quickly hide the paper. Her eyes narrowed. “Do I need to stress the importance of this information, or will you start paying attention on your own?” She fixed a severe frown upon faces utterly incapable of appearing free of emotion. “Five points from Gryffindor,” she stated.
The Gryffindors in the room audibly groaned. Harry elbowed Ron as they slipped on looks of polite embarrassment.
Hermione was her pleasant self in Potions. While waiting for the inevitable “ but unfortunate “ entrance of their professor, she’d casually asked Harry if he’d been using any of his birthday gifts. He showed her the ring he’d never taken off.
Without delay, she spun it around his finger and seemed to be looking for something. She must have found it on the underside, because she gazed intently at it, seeming as if she was trying to cement it into her brain. He tried to ignore her inquisitiveness, glancing around the classroom instead. Why is it always so dismal in here? His gaze fell upon a wretched blond-haired boy, who glared back at him. He leaned back, kicking his feet onto the desk and settled into his foul mood. Malfoy seemed to be avoiding Harry’s gaze and he wondered why. For some reason, the Slytherin reminded Harry of something.
“Something odd’s been happening, too.” He said it tentatively. Somehow, it felt like he was about to share something very private.
“What’s that?” she looked up, eyeing his forehead and forgetting the ring. “Your scar?”
“No,” he grunted. “That’s been going on for ages.” His scar prickled in remembrance of the torturous dream he’s suffered the night before. “Uh, well . . . a song’s been . . . sort of stuck in my head.”
“Oh, is that all?” she snickered a little while pulling out her books and parchment.
“No. It’s not just a song. It’s not like anything I’ve heard. It’s . . . old.”
“Old?” That heightened her attention.
“It sort of sounds like . . . like Fawkes’ song.” His nose wrinkles. That was a connection that came out of thin air. It made sense, now that he’d said it.
Hermione looked as if she were rating the importance of that thought when the classroom door whipped open. Snape breezed in with a particularly violent air. They silently shared their suspicion of impending doom and attempted to look as studious as possible. They’ll be in the common room with torches if I lose Gryffindor any more points . . . today.
When they met up with Ron for Charms, he prodded her with his finger to no avail. “Er, Harry? What did you do to our bubbly ball of sunshine, here?” There was no mistaking the sarcasm.
Ron had seemed to be slightly subdued since the morning. While he was still cracking jokes, he didn’t seem to be really laughing. They turned out to sound like uncomfortable hacking to Harry, but no one else seemed to know the difference. His words had a sharp edge as well. While Harry felt awkward in his presence, he decided Ron just needed time.
He did make a fair point, though. Hermione had been deep in thought ever since the beginning of Potions. He thought she was beginning to form a permanent group of wrinkles in her forehead. They walked behind her to the Charms classroom and sat down next to her. “Well, I told her about a song I heard . . .” he said evasively.
“You know her brain will pop if you try to stuff it full of lyrics too, right?”
She came out of her stupor just in time to hear the comment, and smacked him on the shoulder. “My brain will not pop. I was considering a career change.”
“What? But you’ve already made a decision!” Ron complained as they entered the Charms classroom and took their seats.
She breathed in slowly, still rolling the idea around in her brain; looking at it from all angles. “I just don’t think my heart’s in healing.”
“Where is it then?” Ron asked uneasily. He seemed to be becoming increasingly prickly on the subject of change. “Don’t tell me you want to be an Auror.”
“Hey! What’s wrong with that?” Harry took offense.
“You two will run off . . . and become Aurors together and . . . fight the rest of your lives together and . . . and I won’t,” he finished lamely.
Hermione rested her hand on Ron’s forearm and looked back and forth between her two friends. “I don’t want to be an Auror. I think I’m going to become a Translator.”
“As in the Muggle language kind, or what you’re doing with the parchment?” inquired Harry, trying not to notice the subtle emotional intimacy between the other two.
“More of what I’m doing with the parchment, but I wouldn’t just do that. I could work on Hieroglyphics; anything! Even Sanskrit! Gringotts could always use a Translator for curse breaking as well.” Her eyes danced while she spoke and she positively exuded electricity.
Harry chortled at her exuberance. “It sounds like a good idea, Hermione.”
“You’ll be like Bill,” Ron said simply.
“Yes. I’m going to jot up a letter to him this evening, and,” she continued while looking at Ron, “It’s pretty tame compared to being an Auror.”
Not a red hair on his head moved as he racked his brain, looking for memories of Bill writing home abut danger. He apparently found none, because his eyes regained a luster.
“What about your extra classes, then?” Harry asked.
“I can drop them. I can also take up Transfiguration!”
"The gang's together again!" Ron wore the goofiest grin yet.
"So you two think it's a good idea?" She unconsciously mimicked her boyfriend's enthusiasm.
"Hem, Hem." Professor Flitwick gave an Umbridge-like cough. He was a cheeky one. No one had seen him come in due to his unfortunate lack in height. Still, Harry thought it must work to his advantage in many ways.
When he gained the class's attention, he began the lesson. "While shielding charms are important, we must press on. We have much to cover before . . . before your exams. Today, we will be working with fire. As you know, there are a few ways to make it painless if you are ever caught in one. It also helps those who used floo powder incorrectly," he tittered. "Today we will learn how to make a protective pocket of freezing air to surround our persons in such as event. Who can tell me why it shouldn't be used in the presence of Muggles?"
Harry found himself catching up on his homework - once again - during his free time. Now that he was in N.E.W.T. level classes, the professors were handing out essay assignments liberally. Harry was feeling overwhelmed and was offended that his classes should be so difficult in only the second week.
He and Ron - sitting across the table from one another - shared the occasional grunt and grumble in response to particularly complicated paragraphs. When they would get bored, they'd charms wads of paper to hurl themselves at the other party, and then pretend they had no idea who did it. It was rather childish, but a welcome distraction.
Hermione galloped in - with Ginny in tow - just after they managed to finish yet another Potions essay. "Oh! You're doing homework!" she chirped.
"Not by choice, believe me."
"We wanted to go outside for a bit and enjoy the sun, but Hagrid just put blotches of muck all over the grounds to ‘Get ri’ o’ the dir’y ones.’"
"It's a mine field," Harry assured her. "Unfortunately-"
"- What a waste."
Ron and Harry grinned at their continued shared sentiment.
As the girls took the remaining seats, Harry asked, "So what's going on?"
"She's got her way once again," said Ginny wryly.
To the inquisitive looks, Hermione replied, "McGonagall let me into Transfiguration, and said I could drop my spare classes I was taking for healing! I'm going to be a Translator!" Her hair bounced as if it, too, was excited. Harry stared at her, perched on the edge of her chair, and was about to tease her a bit when she interrupted. "Right then. Oh, there's so much to do!" she squealed. "Harry, the song you were telling me about; is it the same one you whistle all the time?"
"I whistle?"
"Only all the time," said Ron.
"Oh? I guess so, then."
"Good! You and Ginny go do your aura bit. I need to talk to Ron." Hermione obviously wanted a private conversation, which was fine. Harry didn't much appreciate being shoved off to the corner when he was here first. Somehow, the fact that she called it the 'aura bit' was irritating as well. They stood as an automatic reaction to Hermione doing so. Ginny spoke before Harry could voice his annoyance, though.
"Uh, what?" She looked surprised. "That's why you dragged me up here? I was in the middle of . . . something!"
This statement won a sharp look from both Ron and Harry- though for different reasons.
Pulling his gaze back to Hermione, he said, "I'm not sure doing our 'aura bit' is a good idea. The last time . . ."
"We have to know what's going on with V-Voldemort, Harry. We can't pass up the opportunity to gain more knowledge of his plans. We have a great resource in you both. Ignorance is never an option. Go!" It was the most hurried attempt at an inspirational speech Harry had ever heard. Hermione placed one hand on each of their backs and gave them a good shove to get them going.
Throwing scowls over their shoulders, they reluctantly moved over to the window in the common room, leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.
"Look at them! Forcing us away so they can whisper!" she complained.
Harry only shrugged and looked at the wooden floorboards. For a moment, he caught himself thinking about how hard the house elves must have worked to keep the floor shiny. His eyes returned to Ginny.
"So, er . . . What were you doing when Hermione nicked you?"
"Why do you want to know?" she asked defensively.
"No reason." He looked back at the floor. It seems like she's always coming at me.
"Why?" she insisted.
"Nothing." He tried desperately to make his face unreadable. After a moment of silence, he ventured, "Should we do a reading or something?" He was instantly sorry he mentioned it, because suddenly, her eyes bulged and he could hear her take a sharp breath inward.
"What if it happens again?"
"It won't . . ."
"How do you know?" Her voice dropped. "What if we caused it?" A deep V grew between her eyebrows.
"We didn't."
"How do you know?" She turned to face him in her urgency.
"I just know!" he hissed, uncomfortable with her new position.
She bit her lip in a strange gesture of courage. "All right. Let's do it then."
They assumed their customary positions for readings and closed their eyes without reserve. Harry could feel the eyes of his house mates on him, but he tried to ignore them. Fortunately, this time, he was prepared with the direction he wished to take Ginny. He brought her to the memory of when Voldemort rose out of the large cauldron. Again, through his eyes they traveled and floated carefully into Voldemort’s mind. He felt Ginny right behind him, and it offered a great comfort to his twisting insides. Huge tomes and ancient scripts flashed with surprising fury. Hundreds went by when Harry realized what Lord Voldemort was searching for. He turned slowly to look back at Ginny “ to tell her, it would seem “ but all he could see was a radiant white light, stretching its tendrils out in the darkness. He squinted his eyes. I’m sure it’s Ginny. He inched toward the light. When he got close enough, he stuck in a fingertip to test. He felt the light become denser, and begin to solidify around his flesh. A slight panic began to overtake him, as he didn’t want to be stuck with his finger in a strange light in Voldemort’s brain. Acting on instinct alone, he stepped fully into the bright mass, the light engulfing him in a wave.
No. It can’t be. I’m in Ginny’s mind?
He saw the library appear around him. A sandy-haired boy he vaguely recognized as Stephen Cornfoot was smiling stupidly. “So . . . Ginny. D’you want to study with me . . . tonight, maybe?”
Harry heard Ginny’s voice emanating from everywhere. “Oh. I’m . . . I’m not sure. Maybe . . .”
Hermione’s voice abruptly interrupted their private moment. “Ginny, I need you to come with me?”
“Now?” Harry could feel aggravation coursing through the air.
“Yes, now!”
Too suddenly, Harry was thrust back into his own mind. He opened his eyes to an obviously livid Ginny, and decided to rage right back at her.
“How dare you!” She leaned slightly forward and looked as if she was ready to pounce. The familiar vein was throbbing as well.
“Stephen Cornfoot? Corny Cornfoot? What do you want with him?” he shouted, much louder than he intended to, and puffing up a bit.
“Well I didn’t ask you to look!”
“I wasn’t trying to look!”
“Then why did you?”
Her hand gestures were becoming more unwieldy every time she yelled. Harry knew everyone in the common room was staring with rapt attention. He didn’t care, however. He wasn’t even quite sure why he was so angry; he just knew he didn’t care to have a short, angry girl getting mad at him every damn day.
“Because . . . because! Stephen? What do you want with him?”
“He asked me to study!”
“So, you could have said no!”
“Why should I?” Her fists were balled up. She could be quite intimidating when her fury was expelled, with her cutting words and obvious magical capabilities. As they were standing, the purely human part of Harry felt an advantage in his height. Ginny, apparently, was totally unaware of it.
“B-because!” Oh, he hated stuttering at a moment like this!
“Because why, Harry?”
The immediate words caught in his throat. He looked at Ron and Hermione. The latter urged him with an almost imperceptible nod. She and Ron shared an unspoken thought.
“Oy! You think you lot could mind your own bloody business?” Ron shouted as delicately as he was capable. Uncomfortable and ashamed, nearly everyone pretended to return to their previous activities.
Harry glared blankly at the room in general. He was thinking too many thoughts, and was incapable of comprehending any of it.
Ginny lightly placed a hand on his arm. It wasn’t a grand gesture; the touched arms loads of times. Somehow, though, Harry felt like he’d swallowed acid that was now rising through his esophagus. It burned. His arm burned where she touched him.
He looked down at her, annoyed that it had come to this.
“Because why, Harry?” she asked gently and without a hint of her former malice.
He shifted his glare to the floor, his eyes out of focus. He spoke so low, it was only a breath of a whisper. “B-because.” He inhaled slowly and meekly glanced up. There’s no way out of this. She knows . . . “Because I fancy you.”
He refused to look at her. He felt her hand slip down to his, squeezing his fingers. “Me too, Harry,” she said sweetly.
Without thinking of sparing her feelings, he shook off her hand, gruffly turned and stalked out of the common room.
Ginny’s tears of relief grew into torrents of disappointment spilling down her cheeks. With an echoing shriek dug from the bottom of her soul, she wrenched up the nearby vase full of Autumn blooms and sent it crashing into the pained wall. It shattered appealingly as Hermione rushed over. Ginny sank amid the shards, sobbing her frustration on her friend’s tense shoulder.