A/N: Thanks again, everyone, as always!
Just a bit of interesting info for you guys. Like I said a while ago, Moerae fairies are a type of mythical creature, with the same properties I have described… blah, blah, blah. When I was reading about them a week or so ago, I stumbled (oblivious, of course) across something very interesting. Like I have tried to "show", Moerae fairies (supposedly) appear in three different ages - youngest (hence, Metagenês means "youngest" in Greek - or so I hope, lol), middle-aged, and old - and are sometimes referred as The Weird Sisters. Sound familiar? ^_^
A tidbit for you guys to ponder over, I guess. Enjoy!
* * *
No.
Harry shook with blind rage. He had experienced Ron's complete lack of support once before, but it had not been Ron arguing against Hermione and Harry, it had been Ron arguing against Harry, with Hermione as the neutral one, trying to console them both. Somehow, now placed in such a delicate situation, Harry felt that Ron owed them for their continuous tolerance. He had been nothing short of jealous over something that had never existed, and if he chose to fight until the bitter end, Harry was unwilling to try and convince him that what he feared most was not liable to happen.
So it was then, moments later, that Harry found himself in the common room, striding impatiently towards the girls' dormitories.
His mind consumed with thoughts of what to do with Ron when he got his hands on him, Harry began to walk up the short flight of stairs.
Unfortunately, the rules had not been changed; the stairs quickly melted into a slide, and Harry lost his balance and toppled over backwards, landing, on his back, at the foot of the stairs with an almighty thump.
Newly brewed anger bubbled up inside him. Who had insisted on such a stupid system? Gingerly he got to his feet, rubbing his back. He glared at the slide - living proof that he, or any other boy for that matter, had attempted to climb up to the girls' dormitories - and paced in front of it intolerantly, glancing up its slippery slope every so often in hope of finding Hermione there waiting for him.
Blood was pounding in his ears; antagonism seeped into his veins … He wanted to yell. He wanted to kick and punch something.
A group of girls slid down the slide, giving him a look and turning away, giggling madly. A few stopped to ask him who he was looking for, but he glowered menacingly, and they stormed away themselves, looking utterly insulted. With each passing moment Harry grew more and more irritated.
He wanted answers. He wanted plain, simple answers.
"Harry?"
Without turning around, Harry said briskly, "I was waiting for you."
There was a brief pause. "I was in the library."
"I thought you had gone to bed?"
"I couldn't sleep."
Harry turned around and walked towards her, keeping his arms crossed and his eyes on the floor. "They should really fix that." He gestured to the offending slide.
He heard Hermione laugh shortly. "Yes, well… Harry, what's happened?"
"Ron and I had a row," Harry spat out, his anger, which had been quietly ebbing away, reaching another boiling point.
Harry expected Hermione to be just as angry as him, or even more so, but she just sighed. "I expected as much."
Harry threw his arms into the air in salient frustration. "How can you be so calm about this?"
"I try," came the straightforward answer. Then she said sternly, "But Harry, arguing with Ron isn't going to help matters -,"
"What do you think I did? Rush into my dormitory and start ragging on him? I was just minding my own business. He's the jealous git, not me!" Harry crossed his arms angrily, suppressing an outburst of rage. "And I saw something else."
"What?" Hermione asked quickly, suddenly sounding curious.
"My Invisibility Cloak. I saw him carrying it. He was using it."
"Oh my…" Hermione said in a low voice, "That means he must have …"
"I know," said Harry, lowering his voice also, vainly trying to keep his rising temper intact, "Ron was probably the one who left it 'lying around' the last time… when Malfoy picked it up…"
Hermione was silent for a moment, then she said, "Harry, don't you find it odd that Ron supposedly uses your cloak, and Malfoy just happens to stumble across it?"
"Yeah, it sounds to me like Ron's joined the enemy," said Harry bitterly.
"Be as that may," Hermione said darkly, "I believe there's more to this mystery than meets the eye. I think we should -,"
" - Go to the library?" completed Harry dully. "Hermione, I don't think -,"
"Who said anything about the library?" said Hermione lightly, "I think we should talk to Ron."
With an impatient, "Come on!" she grasped Harry around the wrist.
It felt like someone had poured frost into his bloodstream. A strange, inward coldness swept throughout him, causing him to shiver pleasurably - and suddenly, as soon as it had come, it was replaced with a kind of liquid fire, which soothed the chill, and made him drowsy and sleepy, like on a rosy spring morning.
Harry shivered again.
Hermione's gentle hand burned against his skin.
* * *
"Where is he?" cried Hermione frantically, half an hour later, pacing about the common room in contagious anxiety. Harry was sitting on the arm of one of the lumpy couches with his arms crossed defiantly.
"What makes you think he'll listen to us, anyway?"
Hermione's pitter-pattering feet came to a halt. "Because, Harry, though Ron can be an immature prat at times, he knows where his loyalties lie. He's not going to throw away years of friendship over …" She paused uncomfortably. "Well, never mind. We'll find him sooner or later - he can't have gone very far."
It was then that it hit him. A ton of bricks in the face, a sledgehammer, a slap across the cheek.
Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses; his gut wrenched painfully.
He and Ron were fighting over Hermione.
Harry looked up, disregarding all consequences, and looked into Hermione's quietly discomforted face.
Devoid of emotion, frowning inwardly, Harry said in his calmest, most rational voice, "He fancies you, doesn't he?"
Hermione looked away, her eyes determinedly watching the charred evening sky from past the pearly windows. "Harry, the potion…"
But the incentive was too strong. His determination had reached its pinnacle.
"I don't care about the bloody potion," said Harry. He grasped her shoulders firmly. "Hermione … he does, doesn't he?"
Hermione slowly turned her head, her eyes fluttering hastily to meet his. "Oh, Harry, why does this matter?"
His hands were going pleasantly numb as shock after shock bombarded his defenses. To his horror and utter surprise, one of his hands touched her cheek and ran its thumb over her jawbone. Her eyes closed gently, her cheek putting pressure onto his hand as she leaned to the side.
In a barely audible voice, Hermione whispered, "Just because he fancies me doesn't mean I automatically fancy him …"
Hermione moved her head slightly and pressed her lips tenderly against the palm of his hand, her eyes flickering up once more. "Harry, don't you see? It's been you, it's always been you…"
Harry's inwardly raging ambivalence ceased; and he paused, pulling in this announced revelation, disheartened, as though it were meaningless and empty; his own mind whirling and twisting into a flustered knot, in which he dwelt despairingly. It was the potion after all. The potion ensnared their minds, misinterpreted their emotions, and spat them back out completely different.
And yet that nasty little voice at the back of his mind chanted all the while that he made his own destiny. That he caused this to happen. Caused what? What was happening?
Harry was not stupid or dim-witted. He knew what was happening. But it was deep down that he knew; and deep down, where all of his emotions were laid, it was impossible for anything to break through - either to get in, or to get out.
Harry tore his eyes away from Hermione's, breaking off the connection; and all the while the potion was lapping up against his emotional barrier.
Hermione immediately stepped away from him, uncomplainingly, her eyes looking back out of the window. "I know where he is."
* * *
Harry and Hermione made their way down to the Quidditch pitch in troubled silence and growing trepidation; uneasily looking down corridors; treading as softly as possible across the concrete floors. It was not too late to be out of the common room, but Harry and Hermione had silently agreed that no trouble was wanted with Filch, no matter what the circumstances.
Once or twice the unearthly pounding of footsteps could be heard somewhere through the reverberating castle walls, and it was these times where Harry would shove his uncomfortable feelings aside and pull Hermione with him to the wall, where they would press up against it, shoulder-to-shoulder, panting heavily; their hearts drumming inside of their heaving chests.
The last time the footsteps fell, Harry and Hermione did not bother to hide, but looked at each other quickly - immediately regretting it, and turning away in embarrassment. But instead of a ghostly echo, a small figure appeared in front of them, running forward, nearly tripping on the hem of its robes. Harry squinted and recognized the figure at once.
"Colin?" he called.
"Oh, hi Harry!" said Colin, beaming suddenly and rushing toward him excitedly. "I was wondering -," He spotted Hermione and blushed scarlet, stuttering, "I was … wondering … Harry, have you -," He glanced warily at Hermione once again, "Have you seen my camera?"
"No, I haven't," said Harry.
"Neither have I," said Hermione. "Do you know where it last was?"
Colin shook his head frantically. "No… wait … I think I brought it to Professor Sprout's class, maybe it's there…" He scratched his head. "It might've been Care of Magical Creatures, too … I dunno…"
Hermione said, smiling, "I'm sure you'll find it, Colin. Someone will return it to you."
"Yeah, thanks." Colin suddenly looked sheepish. He looked at both Harry and Hermione curiously, shuffling his feet a bit. "Er, well, have fun."
With those departing words, he rushed off in the other direction (toward the Gryffindor common room) in a dead run. Harry felt his cheeks burning, and he thought to himself that if everyone were going to follow along the same lines as Colin, he and Hermione might as well have hooked up, gotten married, and had three children since the time of their extravagant display in the Great Hall.
* * *
They found Ron, his back propped up against the tree, staring off into the distance. His Cleansweep broomstick was lying on the ground beside him, as was Harry's Invisibility Cloak. As Harry and Hermione approached him, he turned his head slightly, saw the pair of them, and looked away in the other direction.
Hermione sat down beside him, but Harry stayed standing, feeling a midway tear between empathy and anger.
"So," Ron said, his voice rather gruff.
Hermione said quietly, "Ron, we came to talk to you. We need you to believe us."
Harry knew that she was containing all of her bitterness and resentment also. Ron had always misunderstood her.
"Why should I believe you?" Ron said in a half-hearted voice, fingering the gilded plaque on the handle of his broom.
"We're your friends, Ron," Hermione said in a motherly sort of voice, "It doesn't take a minor problem to shake us loose."
"Minor?" Ron said, aghast, "Minor, Hermione? Perhaps you don't understand the problem?" He pointed an accusatory finger in Harry's direction. "Him."
All of the hateful feelings resurfaced with renewed vigilance. Harry stood stock-still, clenching his teeth so hard they felt about to break.
"But Ron -,"
Ron stood up suddenly. "He always gets everything, Hermione! Everything! I'm always second best! I'm just a bloody sidekick!" He was yelling now. Harry felt his insides twisting in pent-up animosity.
He walked towards Harry angrily. But before he could so much as threaten him, Hermione grabbed onto his arm warningly. "Ron, please! Control yourself! Harry didn't ask for it all … you have a wonderful family Ron, a wonderful family … money isn't everything!"
He jerked himself out of her grasp, glaring at her. "You don't understand, do you? Harry gets everything, fame, fortune, happiness … and you."
Harry moved forward, but Ron continued despite. "I mean…" He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, "I mean… I'm so small next to him. I'm just a regular guy. And I know that you two are better than me at, well, everything, right? And Hermione, you care for him more, I can tell… It's just now… Now, that you two are …"
"Ron…" Hermione started. "We all have our problems. But you can't blame the world on Harry, or me, or anyone else for that matter. The grass is always greener on the other side. You want Harry's fame, Harry wants your normalcy…"
Harry was marvelously glad that Hermione could explain such an imposing matter so straightforwardly. His uprising anger was soothed.
Ron too looked slightly mollified. "I guess so," he said dully. He peered quickly at Harry, then turned away.
"It's a love potion," said Harry firmly. Ron looked up. Hermione nodded also.
"Oh," Ron said heavily. To Harry's enormous relief, he looked rather ashamed. "Oh." He looked at Harry. "I guess… I should apologize, right mate?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Look, I'm sorry," said Ron, fingering his broom absentmindedly. "Both of you. I - it's … it's hard, you know?" He looked uncomfortable.
Hermione said quietly, "Don't worry about it anymore, Ron. We have other important issues to talk about."
Ron grinned, still rather guiltily, at Harry. He scooped the cloak off the ground. "Sorry about that."
"You left it here last time?" Harry questioned, taking his precious cloak and tucking it beneath his arm. Ron nodded.
"Yeah. Malfoy got it that time. I never forgot it again, though."
Briefly, Harry wondered what could have made it so difficult for Ron to remember such a valuable item as the Invisibility Cloak, but the thought was quickly cleared when Hermione announced composedly, "We should see Professor Dumbledore, Harry. He will probably know some kind of counter."
* * *
"So," said Ron as the three of them traipsed through the corridors towards Dumbledore's office. After he realized that their so-called romantic entanglement was merely induced by meddlesome fairies, he had become considerably open and friendly. "A love potion, eh?"
Hermione made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat and said, "Yes. And Ron, I would appreciate if you took this seriously…"
Ron turned to Harry. "And you, mate? What do you think of this?"
Harry shrugged nonchalantly, turning his head away. It felt strange to have Ron suddenly on their side, talking about their predicament so easily. He felt a sort of annoyance, though he was not sure why.
"How does it work?" Ron pressed. "Is it just random or something?"
"Eye contact," answered Hermione immediately; Harry turned just in time to see a spot of pink on her cheeks, "And touch. It's a very old-fashioned potion…"
Ron was silent for a moment. Then in a cheery voice he said, "The fairies like their little jokes."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something when Professor McGonagall strode up to meet them, her long black robes trailing; a wraithlike shadow in her wake.
"Potter, Granger, Weasley," she said curtly, nodding her head. "May I ask why you are out of your common rooms this late at night?" Her eyes flickered to the Invisibility Cloak in Harry's arms. "I see. Potter, please, in the future, keep your late-night wanderings to a bare minimum."
"Professor, we weren't -," Hermione said quickly, "We need to see Professor Dumbledore…"
Professor McGonagall's scrutinizing eyes narrowed, but to Harry's relief, she smiled slightly. "Ah. Yes. He said you might come by one of these days. Potter, Granger, come with me -,"
"But what about -?"
"Mr. Weasley, you are not a part of this. And though you have doubtlessly been dragged into it," Her eyebrows were raised shockingly high at this point, "I'm sure that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger will tell you all about their conversation with the Headmaster afterward."
Looking highly affronted, Ron crossed his arms, but did not say another word. He seemed determined not to move. "Go back to the common room now, Mr. Weasley!" barked Professor McGonagall.
Ron's resolve collapsed and he slumped away, muttering angrily under his breath. And Harry, to his own horror, found himself very pleased indeed at this turnout.
Smiling cheekily, Professor McGonagall beckoned Harry and Hermione forward, leading them past the two solid gargoyles, which sprung to life as soon as the password was muttered ("Fizzing Whizbees"); past the strange staircase, which elevated them to the top of the darkened, funnel-shaped room; and then onward, to the vast door of Professor Dumbledore's office. Briskly, Professor McGonagall knocked on the door. Harry and Hermione stood behind, feeling both apprehensive and eager, worried and confident.
The door flew open, and Professor Dumbledore, clad in robes of shimmering periwinkle, peered at them from behind half-moon spectacles. He smiled.
"Ah. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. Please come in. We have much to discuss."
* * *
A/N: Thanks for sticking with me! Hee hee. Sorry I haven't updated for so long… I've been really busy… And I'm a procrastinator anyway, so … yeah. *clears throat nervously*
Thanks again! ^_^
-Lauren