Disclaimer: Much to my dismay, Harry Potter and the entire magical Hogwarts world are still not mine. Rats. Perhaps in another dimension or parallel universe they could belong to me? In this one, however, JK Rowling still holds that honour.
HELPING NEVILLE
Chapter Five
"Hermione," Neville called, slightly out of breath, "would you mind slowing down please?"
"Sorry, Neville," was the reply, "but there's no time to waste. Do you realise the Valentine's Ball is less than a month away? We really need to revise our strategy if we are to have you set up in time with a suitable date. I made a few new visual aids before breakfast this morning; they might help." Hermione continued walking rapidly towards the staircase, Neville in tow.
"Visual aids," Neville repeated, stunned. "But, Hermione, don't you think . . ."
"What I think is that we need to strike Ginny Weasley off our list. Did you hear Harry tell her he needed to ask her something 'in private?' Well," she said briskly, "I don't think we need Trelawney's crystal ball to figure out what he had in mind!" She continued muttering to herself. "Hmmmf! Not that I care, of course, although this does mean that we'll need a new candidate for slot number five, now that Ginny's out of the running. I need to check the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw flowcharts again; maybe we missed someone. Do you think we should just move everyone up one notch higher on the list? Or would it be better to re-examine our options and possibly increase the pool?" She stopped abruptly and twirled to stare at Neville, evidently expecting some sort of response.
As Neville had been basically trotting along without listening, he almost crashed into her and thanked his lucky stars when he was able to stop in time.
"WELL?" she asked.
Uh-oh. Hermione had her hands on her hips and was drumming one foot rhythmically on the stone floor. This was not a good sign. Neville wished he had been listening, since she was obviously waiting for an intelligent answer.
"Huh? What?"
She glared.
His head was spinning; it really was. Thanks to 'The Harry Problem,' he hadn't had a decent meal in what felt like days. Then, just when it seemed as if things were finally getting back to normal on that front and he was looking forward to the savory stew on his plate, Hermione had grabbed him away from the table and was now leading him who knew where and babbling about visual aids, lists, charts, and candidates. She was a brilliant witch, and Neville knew he was lucky to have her as his friend, but sometimes he couldn't help wishing she were a little less brilliant and, well, manic was the only word he could think of.
Never let it be said that Neville Longbottom was slow on the uptake, though. "Whatever you think, Hermione. I trust you."
Hermione's expression softened.
"All right," she said thoughtfully. "I guess it doesn't really matter, does it? We have enough candidates already. We'll go with option one and just move all the candidates up one slot. That should take care of the problem nicely. We still need to go over our strategy more, though. Let's go to the library."
Neville followed dutifully, but he couldn't help wishing that she would stop calling his prospective dates "candidates"-made him feel like he was some kind of political office they all aspired to.
* * * * *
While Hermione and a resigned Neville were pouring over lists, charts, and 'visual aids' in the library, Harry was sitting in the Common Room, getting up his courage to do something that frightened him more than facing Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest: ask Hermione to the Valentine's Ball. With him. As his date.
No! Not as his "date," he revised hastily. The word "date" implied things he didn't want to think about--scary things. Things he wasn't ready for. After all, he justified to himself, his was not exactly a stress-free life. No sir. Other seventh-year wizards only had their schoolwork and a date to the ball to worry about; he, Harry, had much more important concerns, like Voldemort, the war, his very special part in said war, his probable death . . . He didn't have the strength left to worry about "dates."
Remembering the two episodes in his dating career, Harry shuddered. The first time, with Parvati Patil at the Yule Ball in fourth year, the date had been "forced": as one of the Hogwarts champions, Harry had been required to attend the ball with a date and he had only asked Parvati out of desperation when Cho Chang said no. His second experience, with none other than Miss Chang herself, had been a nightmare of epic proportions.
So, two dates-two bad experiences; this didn't exactly fill a chap with confidence in his ability to ask a girl out. And this time, he wasn't thinking of asking just any girl-this was Hermione, his best friend for the past six-plus years. Wrecking their friendship was not an option, which was why he had decided to make it very clear that he was asking her as a friend. That would keep any awkward nonsense from interfering with their friendship and keep her (and Harry!) from feeling uncomfortable.
There was only one odd note in this scenario: if he was planning on asking Hermione to go with him to the Valentine's Ball as a "friend" in order to avoid discomfort, then why was he so nervous?
Harry supposed his nerves were based on the fact that Hermione was a girl. And girls, by their very nature, were a mystery; girls had a tendency to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation-or with no provocation that a guy could see. Granted, Hermione was much more sensible than the average girl, but the fact remained that she was indeed a girl (a fact he seemed to be more and more aware of lately) and therefore possessed the potential for unpredictable behaviour; thus, the nerves.
Harry was startled out of his reverie by a hard thump on the back.
"So," came the voice of his other best friend, "did Ginny say yes?"
"What?" asked Harry.
"When you asked her to go with you to the ball," Ron explained impatiently. "Did she say yes?"
"I . . . I didn't ask Ginny to the ball," Harry said, confused. "What made you think I asked Ginny?"
"Come on, Harry! Right before Hermione dragged Neville away from the table, you told Ginny you wanted to ask her something in private. We all thought you were going to ask her to go to the ball with you."
"No."
"Then what did you need to ask her," Ron inquired, curiosity evident in every part of his freckled-face.
"Uh . . . ummm . . . erm . . . nothing," Harry stammered. "Nothing, really. Don't remember."
"If you don't want to tell me, Harry, just say so." Ron sounded hurt.
"No . . . it's not that," Harry said miserably. "It's . . . oh, all right, I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to go blabbing this around, okay?"
"Okay," Ron said eagerly.
"After talking to Ginny," Harry continued, lowering his voice, "I decided to ask H . . . to ask Hermione to go to the Valentine's Ball with me--as a friend."
"WHAT!" Ron shouted in surprise. "You're going to ask H-"
"Shhhh!" In desperation Harry slapped his hand over the red-head's mouth. "Quiet down, will you?"
"Mmmmmfffff. Sorry!" Ron managed, pulling Harry's hand away. "You just shocked me a bit, that's all."
"Obviously," Harry responded crossly. "What's so shocking about it? I need to ask somebody to the ball, and I don't want to be miserable all night worrying about having to impress some girl I don't really care about. So asking . . . well, you know, is just a sensible solution all around."
Ron continued to stare at Harry. "But what . . ."
"Who are you gonna ask?" Harry broke in quickly. "Time's running out, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Ron said glumly. "I dunno."
"How about Lavender?" suggested Harry.
"She's going with Seamus, remember? Besides, she's not really my type."
"Okay. Who is your type then?"
Ron looked puzzled. "I don't know if I have a type. I'm not that fussy, really. Just as long as she's nice, easy to talk to, likes Quidditch, is pretty . . . or at least isn't a troll," he added hastily.
"You don't want much," Harry snorted, laughing at Ron's indignant look. "Okay, let me see. There's Hannah Abbott-you, know, in Hufflepuff. Or Susan Bones. They're both pretty nice and I don't think you would call either one of them a 'troll.' Plus, they're both in the DA, so you kind of know them already."
"Yeah," Ron agreed slowly. "I guess." Then he brightened. "I guess Hannah or Susan would be okay; they don't play Quidditch, but they come to the games, don't they? And they're not too mental. I like Susan's hair, too," he added absently.
"There you go then," said Harry. "Just ask whichever one of them you see first. No big deal, Ron. You can do it."
"Yeah," Ron repeated, somewhat doubtfully. "I can do it."
* * * * *
Harry had no chance to talk to either Ron or Hermione until later that night. He and Ron were in separate classes during the afternoon, and although Harry did have Potions with Hermione, there was no opportunity for conversation of any kind, never mind private conversation. Snape seemed determined to make sure that every student under his aegis spent the next two weeks before the ball buried in the library, doing research on a project involving an obscure and fiddly potion.
Heaven forbid Snape let up and allow them to enjoy a little time off before the ball, Harry thought cynically. Probably spent his free time dreaming up ways to make their lives even more of a misery, as if having to find a date for the ball weren't bad enough. Harry passed an uncomfortable hour at dinner trying not to stare at Hermione and desperately wishing he had already asked her and gotten it over with.
Ron was fidgety throughout the meal, and when he spotted Susan Bones leaving the Hufflepuff table, had jumped up and rushed out of the Great Hall, leaving his dinner unfinished. As this was an unprecedented event in the history of Hogwarts, every Gryffindor at the table remarked on it. Hermione asked Harry if Ron was ill; Harry just smirked and said he didn't think it was anything serious. Ginny snorted at this; Hermione frowned.
Dinner was particularly good that night: roast chicken with pumpkin pie for dessert, and as a result, the majority of students lingered over the delicious food. After dinner, Harry turned to Hermione and asked her if she wanted to go to the library with him to get started on the Potions project. Hermione seemed surprised but pleased by Harry's obvious eagerness to crack the books and readily agreed. The two friends headed back to the dormitories to fetch their book-bags and arranged to meet back in the Common Room.
When Harry came down the stairs, he found Ron sitting by the fireplace, elbows leaning on his knees and staring into the flames. Harry wasn't sure if it was the fire or not, but his friend's face seemed redder than usual. He hoped Susan hadn't turned him down.
"Hey," Harry said softly.
Ron turned a stunned face towards him. He didn't say anything, but now Harry was sure it wasn't the fire that was responsible for the brightness of his friend's complexion.
"Um . . . so did you . . . you know . . . ask her?" Harry inquired hesitantly.
"No," Ron said in a low voice. "I never got the chance."
"What happened?" asked Harry.
"Well," Ron said slowly, "I was going to ask her. I followed her out of the Great Hall after dinner, you know."
Harry nodded.
"But then, before I could catch up to her, Looney, uh . . . I mean . . . Luna," he corrected himself, "uh . . . grabbed me."
"Oh yeah?" Harry said with interest. "What did she want?"
"Well . . . uh," Ron blushed an even more fiery red; his freckles stood out in stark relief to the crimson background. "She . . . she asked me if I'd like to go to the Valentine's Ball with her."
"What did you say?" asked Harry, agog. This was unexpected!
"I . . . erm . . . didn't say anything at first. Couldn't," Ron cleared his throat. "Didn't get a chance. She pulled me into an alcove and she . . . she," he choked, "kissed me! Right under that portrait of Ethelgrove the Elder-he saw everything!"
"She kissed you!" Harry repeated, stunned.
"Yeah! She did; more than once," Ron said in a faltering voice. Then, in a whisper, "and the second time, she slipped me the tongue!"
Harry was speechless. He stared at Ron in amazement. Finding his voice, he managed to ask, "What was it like-the second time, I mean?"
"Well," a reluctant grin spread over Ron's face, "that's the strange thing, you see. It was . . . it was brilliant, actually!"
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, I was surprised and everything-well, bloody stunned if you want the truth. How many times has a girl grabbed you and kissed you, French-kissed you, right there in the corridor of Hogwarts right after dinner?"
"Never," Harry answered truthfully.
"And this was Looney . . . Luna . . . Lovegood! But Harry, she is an amazing kisser! Not that I'm an expert or anything," Ron confessed self-consciously, "but you know how she acts all the time, kind of spacey and weird?"
Harry nodded.
"There was nothing spacey or weird about her this time! She was really . . . firm and . . . determined, and her lips were really soft and her tongue was . . ."
"Okay, I get the idea," Harry interjected hastily.
"She said I was a brilliant kisser and that she just couldn't help herself." Ron smiled modestly. "Said she might be kissing me again!"
Harry had no words.
"After that," Ron continued, "what could I do? After all, she's obviously crazy about me! I couldn't say no to her after that, could I? Wouldn't want to break her heart, would I?"
Harry shook his head. No, Ron wouldn't want to do that.
"And," Ron added, "after all, there is the . . . well, there is the chance of more . . . snogging. What guy in his right mind would pass that up?"
"Did I hear you say you had a chance for some more snogging, Ron?" asked an amused voice from behind them.
"Hermione!" Harry burst out. "We didn't see you coming down."
"That's obvious," Hermione said with a smirk. "So, Ron-what's this about?"
Ron flushed again and he grinned at Harry.
"Oh go on, Ron," Harry laughed. "Just tell her. You know she'll hear about it anyway."
Ron told her, blushing furiously but appearing quite pleased with himself all the same.
"Guess we'll be hearing a bit more of that 'Weasley Is Our King' song at the next Quidditch match then," Hermione teased Ron. "Or maybe that lion's head hat will be making another appearance, hmmmm?"
"Shut up, Hermione," Ron said, but with no rancor. A reluctant grin spread across his face.
She smiled at him and then turned to Harry. "You ready?"
"What's up?" Ron asked.
"We're going to the library to work on our Potions project," Harry said.
"Sounds like great fun," said Ron sarcastically. "What a pity I don't have Potions any more and won't get to experience this with you."
"Haha. Very funny."
"Well, have a good time you two." Ron added. Then, "Hey Harry, when are you going to ask Hermione . . ." he broke off at Harry's glare.
"Ask me what?"
Harry continued to glare at Ron, a slow wash of colour creeping up his face.
"Go on, Harry," Ron urged. "It's just Hermione."
"Yes, it's just me," she repeated dryly. "Ask me what, Harry? Is something wrong?"
"No," Harry said slowly. "Nothing's wrong. I just . . . um . . . I . . ."
"He wants to ask you to go with him to the Valentine's Ball," blurted out Ron. "He doesn't want to go with a girl he likes-wants to have fun and be comfortable. Doesn't want any pressure."
Harry closed his eyes and prayed for mercy.
"Oh," Hermione's voice was flat. "I see. Harry wants to be comfortable and going with me would be like wearing an old pair of shoes or a favourite worn-out track suit-comfortable and dependable."
"Exactly," Ron agreed, pleased that she understood. "Of course, he likes you, Hermione, but not like that, if you know what I mean."
"Yes, I know exactly what you mean," she said in a strangely high-pitched voice.
"Look," Harry interrupted, his face aflame. "I don't think of you like an older pair of trainers, Hermione. I just . . ."
"It's all right, Harry," Hermione said calmly, but still with that odd timbre in her voice. "And I would be happy to go with you. Unfortunately, however, I'm already going with someone else. Now, shall we go to the library? We have a long night of Potions work ahead of us."
Oh, joy, thought Harry.
A/N: Sorry, I know you all hate cliffies *glances around nervously for knives and sharp stones*, but at least I didn't make you wait a full two weeks, did I? That's worth something, isn't it? J *coughs, still nervous*
All right, perhaps we can all agree that Harry is in BIG trouble, thanks to his ever-helpful friend, Ronald Weasley. Tune in next week (I will not make you wait longer than that) and find out 1. How does Harry get himself out of this one and, 2.The answer to the million-dollar question: just who is taking our Hermione to the Valentine's Ball?
Hugs, Kirsti