Professor Oblongata strode down beside the Gryffindor house table after lunch, handing out timetables.
“Off to the dungeons ...” muttered a fifth-year student to his friend, not sounding too pleased.
“At least we’re with Hufflepuff this year,” retorted the friend, indicating some frightened-looking younger students. “They’re with Slytherin.”
The boys headed from the Hall together, smirking to themselves.
Having overheard their exchange, Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table. He couldn’t help but notice that the students there, clumped together in small groups according to year, looked much less haughty, and decidedly more apprehensive than he had ever seen members of that particular house. Harry guessed it was because they were beginning to realize that in all their mixed-house lessons, they would be outnumbered at least two to one. This was probably not such a terrible thing, he thought.
Movement beside him brought Harry’s attention back to his own table.
“I guess we youngsters must be on our way, then,” Ginny remarked as she got up from the bench, timetable in hand. She leaned down to kiss Harry before waving to Luna and the two left, heads bent over their schedules, comparing them.
Oblongata drew up to Harry and his friends and they reached out their hands. She shook her head. “The headmistress has yours,” she told them.
Sure enough, McGonagall was heading towards them with a stack of parchment in her hands, beckoning to Ernie and Hannah to follow her.
“Here we are,” she said, passing round the pieces of parchment. “You’ll find these timetables are not quite like the ones to which you are accustomed.”
Seeing large ‘Ns’ and ‘PAs’ within the boxes of his weekly chart, Harry had to agree.
“Any lesson marked with an ‘N’,” McGonagall explained, “are those which you require for NEWT level. ‘PA’ indicates those in which you will be acting as Professor Assistants.”
Harry glanced at his timetable again. The majority of his time was to be spent in Defense Against the Dark Arts, with many boxes sporting a ‘PA’. A few lessons had an ‘N’ mark, though, and he realized they would all be with Ginny’s seventh-year Gryffindor group.
“Now, Miss Granger,” McGonagall was saying, “I have taken the liberty of adding you to all lessons I will be teaching this year. Your assistance will prove invaluable, especially when my duties as headmistress interfere with my teaching.”
Hermione’s cheeks reddened slightly, but she nodded. “You will be expected to sit your NEWTs,” McGonagall continued, “with the rest at the end of the year, so will need to be familiar with the material. I suspect, though, that you may already have read and memorised the required seventh-year texts ...”
Hermione’s blush deepened but she met the headmistress’ gaze and they shared a warm smile. “I’ll go there now, then?” Hermione asked as she gathered her things.
“Please,” was the reply. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Neville said, also getting up. “Professor Sprout will be expecting me.”
“Professor ...” Ron began, as they left. He looked puzzled. “I think there’s some sort of mistake. I’m down as assisting in Muggle Studies. That can’t be right. Wouldn’t Dean, or Hermione, or Harry be a better choice?”
But McGonagall was shaking her head. “No mistake, Mel asked for you especially.”
“But I “”
McGonagall’s raised hand stopped Ron’s interruption. “Professor Oblongata believes, and I agree, that far more important than actual Muggle details, which she can fill in readily, is an attitude of acceptance and tolerance. As you possess that in abundance, your assistance will be most greatly appreciated, especially in the Slytherin lessons.”
Ron’s expression was a mixture of surprise and pleasure as he, too, headed from the Hall for his first assignment as Professor Assistant.
Harry was soon the only ‘eighth-year’ left with the headmistress. The two of them made their way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom together.
“Now, Mister Potter,” McGonagall began on the way, “with our new system for the teaching of this course, you will be assisting each one of our guest lecturers with their lessons. I have no doubt that you will be more than capable of adapting to the inevitable differences in individual teaching style. Keep in mind, you yourself are slated to present for the entire months of January and February to all fifth, sixth, and seventh years.”
Harry nodded, the thought of once again training a group of his peers in defensive skills filling him with a combination of nervousness and excitement.
“Here we are,” the headmistress remarked as they reached the classroom. She stepped back to allow Harry to enter first. The seventh-year Gryffindors were waiting in their desks, more or less quietly. Harry quickly spotted Ginny at the front of the room, the seat beside her empty. As he made his way to his desk, he passed Molly Weasley standing against the wall. She beamed at him and he responded with a wave, recalling that she was to be teaching in October.
McGonagall’s explanation of the DADA lessons took but a few minutes and she soon hurried from the room late, Harry knew, for the six-year Transfiguration class with which Hermione was assisting. As soon as she left, the class began chattering and laughing, pointing at their new ‘professor-of-the-month’.
Harry felt Ginny flinch beside him, saw her fists clenched at her sides. He understood her anger, indeed felt it himself, at the rude reaction of the students.
They needn’t have worried, though. Looking completely unperturbed, Mrs. Weasley marched quickly to the front of the room, turned abruptly, and remarked sharply, loud enough to reach the farthest back table, “You might laugh. Bellatrix Lestrange did. Right before I killed her.”
That shut them up. Shocked, the students stared at her, not at all sure whether she was to be believed, but definitely not willing to chance the fact that she was. “That’s better, dears,” Mrs. Weasley said sweetly, her voice much softer. “Now, take out your wands ...”
***************
Meanwhile, in the Muggle Studies class, Ron was standing at the front of the room staring at the handful of fourth-year Slytherins. Oblongata was conferring at the door with a Gryffindor prefect regarding an issue with a disobedient member of the house. As the Slytherins whispered and muttered to each other, Ron hoped that she would hurry, convinced that they were discussing him. His suspicions proved correct when one burly-looking lad took note of Ron’s red hair and freckles and remarked, with a sneer, “You a Weasley?” The contempt was obvious in the younger student’s tone.
But Ron, vividly recalling the courage his parents, his brothers, and his sister had exhibited during the Battle at Hogwarts, stood a little taller as he replied, “Yes. I am.”
“And,” put in another boy, his voice all but dripping with disdain, “you’re snogging that Mudblood Granger, aren’t you?”
“Twenty points from Slytherin!” Oblongata declared from the back of the room before Ron could respond. Finished her conversation, she nodded to the prefect, who left, and strode to stand at Ron’s side.
“That term will not be used in my class, Mister Deirdson.” To his credit, the boy looked moderately chastened. “By nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” the professor continued, “I expect on my desk a full sheet of parchment outlining at least three famous Muggle-borns and their contributions to the wizarding world. You will present the information to your classmates.”
Oblongata turned to her assistant. “Anything to add, Mister Weasley?”
“I don’t think so,” Ron replied, pretending to think it over. “He just better hope I don’t mention it to Hermione, though.” His gaze lingered on the student who had used the offensive language. “They have her next for Transfiguration. She’s likely to turn him into a newt.” Ron bit back a smirk at the fear in the younger man’s eyes. “You know, for demonstrating purposes ...”
“Oh, yes,” said Oblongata, playing along, “and quite readily, too, knowing her ...”
She winked at Ron so only he could see before addressing the whole class. “Muggle Studies. Understanding and accepting our non-magical friends and colleagues.” She glared at the student who’d let out a snort at this comment and the young woman quickly feigned a coughing fit. “Take out your quills and a piece of parchment, please ...”
************
Ron, and the rest of the ‘eighth years’ soon settled into a regular routine with their new duties and responsibilities and the month of October passed rather uneventfully for all staff and students.
The only break in the new routine came two days before Hallowe’en, when the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived to take part in the Cedric Diggory Memorial Tournament. The visitors appeared in the same way they had during Harry’s fourth year: the Durmstrang students by magical ship, and the Beauxbatons women with Madame Maxime in their flying coach. While it was all very familiar for Harry, his friends, and all those who had been present during the last Tri-Wizard Tournament, the unusual modes of transportation caused quite a stir among the younger students.
Mildly exciting for the newer students was the introduction of the representative from the Department of International Magical Cooperation (a small, bland witch in her seventies, whose name Harry missed) and Penelope Lainye from the Department of Magical Games and Sports (a robust-looking witch in her fifties who kept rubbing her hands together eagerly). But the most thrilling for all students, whether they had experienced it before or not, had to be the unveiling of the Goblet of Fire in the Great Hall, the night before Hallowe’en.
Filch brought the jewel-encrusted wooden chest to the front of the Hall at McGonagall’s signal. As he placed it before the podium, McGonagall explained that there would be three tasks spaced throughout the school year, undertaken by one student from each of the three schools taking part, as there had been in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. She assured all present, though, that stringent controls were in place thanks to both overseeing Departments, to ensure that this time, no tampering with the tasks or contestants would occur.
Harry was certain this was supposed to sound comforting, but found it strangely frightening. He shook off the feeling. After all, he wasn’t planning to put his name in; it was hardly his concern how safe the event was. Besides, his discomfort was probably just from overeating at the feast.
Ron shook his head in disbelief. “They’re mad, Harry, completely barking.”
Harry didn’t reply, but simply nodded his head in agreement.
The two of them were standing together in the Entrance Hall, watching the activity around the Goblet of Fire “ once more set up on the Sorting Hat’s stool and surrounded by the golden age line.
“Hey, Weasley!” shouted a Hufflepuff student they only vaguely recognized. “You giving it a go, then?”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Ron shot back. “After you, mate ...”
The student laughed raucously before he headed across the Hall.
“ ‘Ello Ron. ‘Ello ‘Arry.”
The young women from Beauxbatons were filing up to the Goblet in a single line, led by their headmistress. It was Fleur’s sister, Gabrielle, who had called to them. She waggled her fingers at them as she passed. They waved back but didn’t get to see the Beauxbatons hopefuls actually drop their names into the Goblet, for just then Ginny descended the main staircase, Hermione struggling to keep up with her.
“Ginny,” she said, panting a bit as she tried to catch up. “Ginny! Are you sure about this? Because I really don’t think“” But Ginny ignored her, seemingly deaf to her cries. The people still milling about the Entrance Hall weren’t, though, and all turned with interest to the new excitement unfolding before them.
The girls drew up to Ron and Harry and Hermione, obviously flustered, appealed to them.
“Tell her, Ron, Harry,” she pleaded. “She won’t listen to reason.”
“Tell her what?” Ron demanded, but Harry could see the folded bit of parchment in Ginny’s hand.
“You’re putting your name in?” Harry cried, astonished.
“What?” Ron spluttered. “Are you mental?”
Hermione looked pleased at his reaction, apparently vindicated in her own feelings.
“Don’t you even start, Ron,” Ginny was saying. “It’s not your concern.”
“Not my“ You’re my sister! Of course it’s my“ ”
“I’m of age, Ron,” Ginny reminded him. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“But you know what it entails. You saw Harry go through it all. You can’t be seriously thinking you’re going to “”
“You think I can’t handle myself? You think I’m a child?” Ginny retorted.
Harry tuned out the row. All he could see was fire-breathing dragons, horned Grindylows, spear-carrying Merpeople, fellow competitors Imperiused into using Unforgiveable Curses against one another, and the most disturbing image of all: Cedric lying lifeless in the cemetery.
Shutting out the memories, he murmured, “Ginny ...” effectively cutting through the argument.
She rounded on him, her features set in a defiant glare. “You going to start in on me now, too?”
He wanted to. He wanted to argue with her, scream at her, make her see sense. But as much as he agreed with both Ron and Hermione, Harry knew that arguing with Ginny wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Grimly, he realized he’d learnt something from their awful row in September. With a sigh, and trying to forget the people still watching their exchange, Harry admitted, “I’m scared.”
Ginny’s defiant look softened immediately. “I know,” she said, and Harry could tell that she did understand. “And I’m sorry. But I have to do this, Harry. I have to.” She glanced quickly at Ron and Hermione. “And my brother, my best friend, not even my boyfriend can change my mind. I’m sorry,” she reiterated, before turning away from them.
Desperate for her to change her mind, Harry’s head pounded, the blood rushing through his ears. Barely aware of what he was doing, but knowing he had to do something “ anything “ to stop her, he dropped to one knee behind her.
Ignoring the crowd and the gasps from the Muggleborns who saw what was coming, he blurted out, “What about your husband?”
Ginny slowly turned to face him again.
“My what?”
Harry could feel his face burning, the blush extending well up into his scalp. He stammered, “This isn’t“ It’s not how I wanted to“ I still have“ ” He gestured impatiently towards the ceiling, “Upstairs, I mean ... In my trunk. I have the“ ” He shrugged helplessly.
“Marry me?”
As Happily Ever After As They're Gonna Get by cjbaggins
Chapter Endnotes: Finally! This chapter is finished. I hope there is still interest in this story, despite the huge delay in updating. Next two chapters should be along in good time. cj