“Just say something,” Harry groaned.
He’d been the talk of the school the past few days. Every time he turned a corner, he heard updates on his very personal dilemma with Ginny. It was frustrating to hear, “No, he hasn’t apologized yet. What a prince. She should smack him a good one and throw him away,” from a first year.
Stares followed him wherever he went, but nothing compared to the tense atmosphere he shared with his best friends. Ron, while able to hold a civil conversation, was no longer his humorous self. He didn’t even laugh when Peeves was toying with Snape by poking him repeatedly in the hallways. He only snorted and shuffled away, preoccupied.
Hermione, disturbingly, was holding her tongue. Harry wasn’t quite sure how she managed. It must have been difficult, judging by the pleading so evident in her eyes. They glassed over whenever he looked her way, her brow furrowing. His whine brought that familiar look to her face. She was positively twitching with the urge to speak.
He sighed. “I can’t take the silence. Will you put down your forks and . . . say . . . anything?”
Immediately, their plates clanged with the infliction of silverware. Harry could tell Hermione’s mind was full of thoughts just begging to be let loose. Instead, she looked at Ron, conceding the right to speak first.
Harry’s friend rested his forearms parallel on the table - seemingly to steady and clear his thoughts. His cheeks were a bit blotchy. That’s not a very good sign. “Right, so . . .” he sighed. His fingers danced. Harry prepared himself for a blunt attack. After wriggling his fingers a bit more, Hermione put a reassuring hand on his elbow.
“Just answer me this,” he began with a stiff jaw. “You . . . left . . . because you didn’t want her to get hurt, orsomebloodythinglikethat, right?”
Harry adjusted in his seat and narrowed his eyes. Ron was angry, and he could see that, but did that give him a right to go and ask a personal question like that? Still, he recognized the fact that he was the one that encouraged this pleasant little discussion. “Yes,” he snipped.
“Then how does leaving her and dumping her off make sense? She fought with us! She’s a target no matter what!” his voice cracked. “But you! You’re adding to it all! You are making it worse!”
Harry glanced around nervously. Fortunately, everyone was quite involved in their own discussions. Ron was also, thankfully, keeping his voice down. “I thought you didn’t want her with anyone anyway!” he hissed. “What do you care?”
“I don’t want her with anyone,” he growled. “I wish she was a boy, but she’s not! I don’t fancy the idea of her having a boyfriend, but at least I can trust you. Or I used to think that anyway.”
“What? How can you not trust me?”
“She has scars, Harry-“ he hissed.
“-What?”
“All over her legs! Because of you, she’s got loads of scars on her!”
“What?”
Hermione finally interrupted. “You heard about the broken vase, right?”
“From people in the hallways,” he muttered. He was doing his best to maintain his composure, but the sudden verbal onslaught damaged his nerves. He was shaking in anger in spite of himself.
“The glass . . . She’s got a few cuts. Oh! They were a couple of small ones,” she replied quickly to the look of concern on his face.
“Still scars . . .” came the grumble.
Hermione elbowed Ron gently at this statement. When she looked up again, Harry had a deep ‘v’ in his forehead that spoke of a simmering mixture of guilt and anger.
“And you?” Harry asked the girl before him. Might as well get it over with.
He’d expected a flood, but apparently, Ron managed to quell some of the waters. “I agree with him. You need to talk to her - really talk. No stomping out on her “ and apologize. Then she might forgive you, and you two can get a move on,” she finished succinctly.
“Whu? Get a ‘move on’ with what?”
“You know exactly what that means-“
“-I’m not sure if-“
“You’d better be! That’s my sister!” Ron spouted harshly. “If you do this to her again-“
“Harry, do you want to?” Hermione asked flatly. Her eyes revealed a touch of the anger that flashed brightly in Ron’s eyes.
He stared at the table, battering the grain and hoping it took the brunt of his confusing tumult. Do I? I hadn’t really thought about it. She made me tell her about liking her. What . . . I d-don’t know how to be a boyfriend!”
By their comical expressions, he could tell he’d said the latter portion aloud. A flush crept up his neck.
Ron glared. Hermione looked down at the table and clicked her tongue. “Well, whatever decision you come to,” she emphasized the word ‘decision’, “You’d better decide soon, because Dean seems quite keen on making her his girlfriend again.”
“What?”
“What!”
Four more eyes shot along the table, catching sight of Dean’s arm snaked around Ginny’s shoulders. Harry growled loudly, earning a few curious stares. Standing quickly, he smacked the underside of the table with his knee. The pain was forgotten in his heated stride toward Ginny.
He resisted the urge to rip Dean’s hopeful fingers from her shoulder. Instead, he tried to tap her without touching Dean’s romantically-inclined hand and ended up tapping her atop her head. Her whole body stiffened. They know I’m here. They’re just ignoring me. . Those on the opposite side of the table were unsuccessfully trying to avoid looking at him, with a concoction of awe and humor in their expressions.
“Ginny?” He tried to sound pleasant.
She slowly turned and shrugged off Dan’s arm, much to Harry’s inner elation. She looked up coldly, much to his dismay. “What do you want, Harry?” Her voice caught on his name.
“Er . . . Can we talk?” He was distracted by the realization that she was saddened by what had happened. A tiny part of him had winced.
“Ginny, remember what he-“
Harry nearly snarled at Dean’s attempt to thwart his reconciliation efforts.
“It’s fine,” she cooed to him. Harry backed up while she stood and casually smoothed her robes.
Oh, not the music again. It was invading his mind again, the highest notes ringing in his brain. She followed behind him with her nose in the air. The song was overwhelming his ability to think as the two strode out of the Great Hall. He didn’t notice Ginny’s conspiratorial tap on Hermione’s shoulder as she passed by.
“Can you believe that? I am not hypocritical! SPEW is a noble organization. Everyone deserves to be free! That’s far different than that . . . Muggle oppression he believes in!”
Harry, Ron and Ginny shared an annoyed glance. Ron normally attempted to humor her SPEW rants, but today’s was especially cumbersome, and he collapsed into old habits under the pressure. With Harry and Ginny sharing more time together over the past several weeks (with Ginny’s brother watching closely whenever possible), Ron spent quite a lot of time trying to play the supportive role for Hermione “ as she was the one he ended up spending his time with. When everyone managed to be in the same space, Ron fell into his customary role in their friendship dynamic.
Unfortunately for all who had contact with Hermione throughout the day, the late owl carrying Hermione’s copy of the Daily Prophet was sending her bad news. The wizard paper reported on a bill currently attempting to be passed in the Ministry that restricted the killing of house elves without lodging a prior complaint. They’d avoided Hermione’s wrath by rushing off to class. Her overzealous anger had not cooled over the day, and it was waiting for her friends as soon as they entered the common room.
What’s more was that she began spouting off about a confrontation with Malfoy where she didn’t hex him. Ron and Harry lost interest after that bit of information, but Ginny’s eyebrow was permanently etched near her hairline. Fortunately, the details of the encounter were never really given, as was Hermione’s custom.
“I don’t get why you didn’t just curse him and be done with it.” Ron dribbled a bit of pumpkin juice down the front of his shirt. He grinned, embarrassed but unbothered.
She scoffed. “Well! That’s just so . . . juvenile. We were debating!”
“And since when is Malfoy not juvenile?” asked Ginny, pressing the end of her quill to her lips. When did she start doing that? Harry became pleasantly distracted from the conversation while looking at her, but was brought harshly back to reality when Hermione continued.
Hermione huffed. “You all just don’t understand!” She spotted her friends’ neglected books. “Do your homework!” she ordered frustratingly.
“Tomorrow’s Quidditch,” Ron informed her, simply.
Harry jumped on the wagon. “We’ll need to keep our minds in the game.”
“No! What you need is to . . . do a . . . reading or something!”
Quietly, Ginny said, “We did one last night.” She waited for the question leading to the news she would share.
“And?” After a pause, “What did you find out?”
“Well, they were planning a raid on Hogsmeade when we go there in February,” Harry informed.
“Did you tell Dumbledore?” Hermione worried.
“Yes. He didn’t really tell us what he was going to do, but he said he’d ‘think on the matter’.”
Hermione sat in her seat, leaning forward, tapping her middle finger and thumb together apprehensively. Her nervous habits had the effect of making the rest of them feel uncomfortable. An indistinct charge emanated from her person. She pursed the corner of her mouth and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Damage control. “You had already gone to bed.” He glanced quickly at Ginny for confirmation. “We didn’t want to wake you, because we know how important it is to you to get enough sleep for classes and all . . .”
Oh, that was terrible. I need to get better at this. Ginny, thankfully, took over for her companion. “We thought about what you would suggest, and just did exactly what you would have told us to do. Thank you.”
Ron and Harry wrinkled their noses. Huh? was their common thought. How did Ginny manage to not make sense, and yet, make sense enough to calm Hermione down?
“You’re welcome,” Hermione replied stiffly. She’d calmed down slightly from her previous rant and recent rebuff. Her fingers were still tapping incessantly and unconsciously. Harry chose to ignore it, and instead contemplated the precarious position he’d put himself in during a fit of jealousy.
He and Ginny were ‘officially together’, as it was said in the hallways. On the plus end, their readings had become quick and easy. Harry would smoothly slip in and out of Voldemort’s mind, using Ginny as a steady base. She was always a comforting presence during the sessions. As the process became simpler, they ‘read’ more often. They’d managed to uncover only portions of two plots; the latter being one of them. Most of the time, however, they kept seeing random bits of books and parchment.
The music was a constant in his life now. It was so quiet; Harry didn’t even notice it was there. Occasionally, it would flare up. It was usually during the most awkward moments with Ginny. It had become a common event for all three to shout at him for whistling, with Harry being unaware he was doing any such thing.
Harry’s reminiscing was disrupted by Hermione, who’d apparently given up on studying.
Ron looked at her suspiciously, pausing in his game of Exploding Snap. “If this is about Malfoy-“
“-It’s not about Malfoy. It’s just so . . . wrong that no one ever had to have a reason to just get rid of a . . .” She paused, and her eyes squinted in thought. She turned, painfully slowly, to fix Ron with a piercing stare. He blushed, feeling utterly uncomfortable and doomed.
“Ron? What happened to Kreacher?”
His mouth fell open just to slam shut again.
“He’s gone,” Ginny spoke quietly.
“How is he gone?”
“Mr. Weasley said it was a heart attack,” answered Harry. He knew he was lied to, but was perfectly happy not knowing the truth. It was good he didn’t have to see the traitorous creature when he’d arrived at Grimmauld Place. Hermione, however, seemed to be of a different opinion.
“A heart attack? You must be joking! He didn’t show any signs of heart problems! I know you all hated him! It’s not true. What happened to him?” she badgered. She stood on her feet, hovering threateningly over the other three.
Harry was becoming irate with the subject, however, and was unaffected by her looming. Who told me Sirius was in the Department of Mysteries? Who betrayed his master? “It’s not like it was a great loss!”
“He was a living being. That’s what made him important! He was so mistreated-“
“-Don’t go on about that again.”
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t there! How in bloody hell would I know?” shouted Ron in defense.
“You know!” she rounded upon Ron. “I know you do! The both of you do!” She swished her head at Ginny.
She stared through the red strands hanging in front of her face. “He’s dead.” Her voice was the only calm one.
“How. Did. He. Die?” she enunciated gratingly.
“Maybe . . . Maybe a werewolf killed him!” was Ron’s coded answer. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a joke. No one had a clue as to who they were fighting about, so they tried to ignore what had escalated into a shouting match.
Hermione’s eyes grew wide and the whites surrounding her irises seemed to nearly overwhelm the moist surface. Her lower jaw trembled with a fury uncontained. Her fingers rolled neatly into themselves, surely cutting her palm. Her breath came in short gasps.
“No . . . No . . .” seemed to be all she could say without falling into greater tremors. Ron attempted to comfort her, but she threw him off. Hermione sank into her chair, bringing her knees up, shrinking into herself. There was only silence as the three watched Hermione’s back and thoughts shuddered with fear, disappointment, and undiluted rage.
From her tiny cocoon, they heard mumblings of “How could,” “Demon,” and “Defenseless.” Minutes later, she lifted her face. Her eyes were raw-looking and rimmed with inflamed red, but there was no hint of a tear. She labored in her breathing and fixed them all in a cold glare.
“Murderer!” she shrieked, and launched herself off the chair.