Author's Note: I'm back! *looks around frantically but can't see any readers* Hello? Anyone still out there?
I'm very sorry for not getting this chapter up sooner; unfortunately, RL got in the way. In order to make it up to you, this chapter is a wee bit longer than usual. Also, I'm already more than half-way done with Chapter 7, so the next update WILL be within the week-and that's a promise. In fact I must update before next Sunday (March 27) rolls around and the Easter-candy-sugar-high-frenzy hits my rugrats. Once that happens, the only way I'll get any writing done is to either shoot the Easter bunny or lock myself in a padded cell with a bag of stolen Cadbury's crème eggs!
I have finally caught up on all my review responses (hurray!) and want, once again, to thank all of you who have taken the time to give me feedback on this story. Feedback encourages authors to write more frequently and is an immeasurable aid in helping one improve one's writing. *beams affectionately at reviewers and sends virtual hugs*
HELPING NEVILLE
Chapter 6
When Hermione had said they had a long night of Potions ahead of them she wasn't kidding, Harry thought glumly. Not only were they working on his least favourite subject (since he could never open a Potions book without thinking of the sinister-ugh--Snape), but Hermione was not exactly Miss Bubbles and Cheer. She had reverted to brainy -bossy-Prefect-Hermione mode and seemed grimly determined to keep any and all conversation between the two of them focused on Potions. Despite Harry's best efforts, for the past three hours they had been researching Potions, talking about Potions, and writing about Potions. Bah!
Harry had known the minute Ron opened his big mouth that he, Harry, was in major trouble and was going to have to come up with some way to redeem himself in his best (female) friend's eyes. Unlike his oblivious dorm-mate, Harry was immediately aware that Hermione's feelings were hurt by Ron's words, and this bothered him no end. Despite Hermione's brilliance at all things scholastic and magical, she was still a teenage girl, and Ron's unfortunate statement that Harry was planning on asking Hermione to the Valentine's Ball because "he doesn't want to go with a girl he likes-wants to have fun and be comfortable. Doesn't want any pressure," was hardly a flattering account of Harry's intentions!
So what exactly, Harry wondered to himself, were his intentions?
Well, he reasoned, it was true that he wanted to go to the ball with Hermione because he was comfortable with her. But was that truly the only reason?
Harry, like many teenage boys, was not particularly comfortable examining his feelings, and was especially uncomfortable examining his feelings re Hermione. Their relationship was complicated-the relationship of the trio was complicated.
The trio had actually started out as a duo, when he and Ron became instant friends on the train to Hogwarts during first year. In Ron, Harry found his first friend and someone with whom he could share adventures and explore the new and amazing wizarding world. In many ways, he and Ron were polar opposites: Ron came from a long line of pure-blood wizards, while Harry was raised by Muggles and was the product of a wizard and a muggle-born witch; Ron had grown up poor but happy as a member of a tight-knit family circle, while Harry grew up in a cupboard, shunned and abused by his cold relatives; Ron sought recognition and praise, while Harry only wanted anonymity and love. What it came down to, was two boys who could not be more different but still became best mates.
When Hermione first burst onto the scene ("Have you seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one"), she was nothing more or less than an infuriating, bookish, know-it-all, poking her nose into things that were none of her concern. Her obvious brainpower did not endear her to either Ron or Harry, and Ron especially was very open about his annoyance. Then came the incident with the troll on that Hallowe'en night during first year. By lying to their professors and taking all the blame for the troll confrontation (and thus keeping Harry and Ron out of trouble), Hermione earned their admiration and trust. That night a new friendship was born and a close bond forged amongst the members of what would come to be known throughout all of Hogwarts as "the trio." With Ron and Hermione's help, Harry kept the Sorcerer's Stone from falling into Voldemort's clutches and bought more time for the wizarding world.
In second year, the bond between the trio tightened as they worked together to solve the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. Even though Hermione was petrified for a good part of final term, her research and brilliance were instrumental in helping Harry defeat the Basilisk and banish Tom Riddle. If he closed his eyes, Harry could still feel the power of that enormous hug as Hermione flew at him in the Great Hall. Then in third year, while Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained close friends, Ron was confined to a hospital bed while Harry and Hermione used the Time Turner to save Sirius and Buckbeak.
When they pulled Harry's name out of the Goblet of Fire during fourth year, the trio's dynamic underwent a shift-slight, but there just the same. Jealous and angry, Ron refused to believe that Harry had not sought out more fame and glory through the distinction of "Hogwarts Champion." That had hurt Harry; hurt him a lot. In fact, the only one who truly believed him and believed in him was Hermione. Never once did she doubt him, something Harry would never forget. Although Ron eventually apologised and Harry forgave him, a tiny bit of trust was lost and could not be replaced.
Yes, Hermione had never once left his side during his more than six years in the magical world of Hogwarts. Even when he was acting like a total prat the summer before fifth year . . .
'I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER--' Harry closed his eyes, remembering how he had yelled at Ron and Hermione. And then, Hermione's response: 'Harry, we're really sorry,' her eyes had sparkled with tears, but she had refused to desert him, her only chastisement a gentle, 'You're absolutely right, Harry-I'd be furious if it was me!'
His explosions of rage had continued on throughout all of fifth year. Hermione had been hurt, must have been hurt, by his childish explosions of rage. However, she always knew just the thing to say to calm him down. His mind wandered over yet another memory . . .
Harry was in the Gryffindor common room after Seamus had let him know in no uncertain terms that he believed the rubbish written about Harry in the Daily Prophet:
'What's up, Harry?' Hermione had asked him. 'You look really angry about something.'
'Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who,' Ron had said. Harry had expected Hermione to be angry on his behalf, but instead she had sighed and said gloomily,
'Yes, Lavender thinks so too.'
Harry had felt so angry with Hermione over what he thought was her disloyalty that he had blurted out, 'Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I'm a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?'
He would never forget her dignified response,
'No, I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down Ron's and my throats, Harry, because if you haven't noticed, we're on your side.'
She was an incredible witch-brilliant, loyal, loving, and . . . pretty.
Harry blinked in surprise. Where had that thought come from--Hermione, "pretty?" He shot a furtive look at the witch scribbling away by his side. Hermione was frowning slightly, an all-too-familiar look of concentration on her face, her rosy bottom lip caught up in her (now normal-sized) white teeth. Her long dark lashes fanned out over her pink cheeks and her thick chestnut hair frizzed out wildly around her head. This was the second time in less than a week that he had thought of Hermione as "pretty."
Harry's eyes moved down to her hands and the quill clenched tightly as it moved rapidly, filling the creamy parchment with her small, neat script. Scribble, Scribble. Faint splotches of ink were scattered over her hands; she even had a small smudge under her left ear. Harry reached out and gently wiped at the tiny ink spot. Hermione paused and looked over at him, still frowning, chocolate-brown eyes unfathomable.
"You," Harry's voice was slightly hoarse, "you had a bit of ink on your . . . erm . . . on your face."
"Thanks." She turned back to her writing.
Harry let out a small sigh and slouched down into his seat. He hated having Hermione upset with him, especially with their relationship still strained from before.
"Hermione?"
"Hmmmm?"
"About what Ron said earlier . . . in the common room . . ." he paused, unsure of how to go on.
Hermione's quill continued to fly over the parchment. Scribble, Scribble.
"Uh . . . well, I . . . erm . . ." he stammered.
Putting down her quill, she turned to face him, her deep brown eyes unreadable.
Harry froze as he stared into them.
"Yes?" Hermione's voice was soft.
"I just wanted you to know that . . . um . . . well, that . . ."
"Come on Harry," she said quietly, "what is it?"
He cleared his throat nervously and glanced around the library. Although not deserted, it was getting close to curfew and most of the students had already left for their common rooms. The few who were left seemed to be engrossed in their own projects and paid no attention to either Harry or Hermione.
"All right," he said. "I just wanted you to know that Ron got everything all wrong back there. I did want to ask you to the Valentine's Ball, but not because-well, because of the reasons Ron gave."
"Why did you want to ask me then?" Hermione asked logically, her voice carefully neutral. She lowered her eyes and began picking at a ragged cuticle on her thumb.
Somehow, despite Hermione's studied nonchalance, Harry knew that his next words would determine the direction of their friendship. If he told her that he had planned on asking her to the ball because she was a "sensible" choice, being his best friend and all, Hermione would accept his answer at face value and let the matter drop. He also understood that the word "sensible" would wound her. And he couldn't very well tell her what he had said to Ron, that he didn't want to "be miserable all night worrying about having to impress some girl" he didn't really care about. That would be devastating. It would sound as if he didn't want to impress Hermione. And he did want to impress her; he really did.
The problem was that for the first time, Harry was questioning his own motives for wanting to ask Hermione to be his . . . his . . . yes, his "date" (let's be honest here, he told himself) to the Valentine's Ball. Was it really because he was too much of a coward to ask a girl he fancied, or because he wanted to be comfortable and just hang out with an old friend? Or was his desire to ask Hermione fueled by his jealousy of the inordinate amount of time Hermione had been spending lately with Neville? And if his motive was jealousy, then what exactly was he jealous of? And why was he jealous at all?
"Harry?" Hermione asked softly, her voice trembling a little.
"Um," Harry could feel himself blushing as he desperately tried to find the right words. He risked a peek at Hermione and saw to his horror that she had tears sparkling in her big brown eyes. He took a deep breath and . . .
"Never mind, Harry," said Hermione in a sad, small voice. "It's all right. I know what you were going to say."
"You do?"
"Yes, and don't worry. I understand." She reached over and patted his hand reassuringly. "It's getting late. Maybe we should wrap this up for tonight and head back to Gryffindor Tower. I'm tired."
Harry watched in dismay as Hermione rolled up her parchment and began loading up her book-bag, keeping her head carefully turned away.
'Bullocks,' he thought in frustration. 'I've gone and done it again!'
Harry continued to sit there, uncertain.
"I'll just put these back before we go," Hermione said, still keeping her face averted. She picked up several large Potions reference books and made her way over to the stacks.
Harry couldn't stand it anymore-he had to say something. But what could he say? Impulsively, he jumped up and followed Hermione over to the stacks. She was struggling to force a heavy tome between two others on a jam-packed shelf, but the books were not cooperating.
"Hermione!"
"Urk," she squeaked, shooting him a startled glance. Her expression changed to horror when the tome in her outstretched hands threw her balance off and she toppled backwards.
Harry's eyes widened and his Seeker's reflexes kicked in. Making a mad dash towards Hermione, he managed to reach her just before she hit the crowded bookshelves.
Instead of cold metal smashing into her head, Hermione was surprised to feel a pair of firm arms around her back and under her knees. In his haste to save her, Harry had snatched her up as if she were the Golden Snitch, lifting her completely off her feet. The two teens stared at one another in shock. Their faces only inches apart, Harry could see the moisture from her unshed tears trembling on the ends of Hermione's lashes.
"Are . . . are you all right, Hermione?" Harry asked somewhat breathlessly.
Hermione nodded, wide-eyed.
Silence. Then a bustling noise broke them out of their trance as Madame Pince made her way over to the book shelves.
"What was that unearthly racket?" the very angry librarian asked sharply. "And I do not allow that kind of thing to go on here. This is a library!" she added, outraged.
Blushing furiously, Harry realised that he was still holding Hermione in his arms; she in turn still had the Potions tome clutched to her chest.
"Um, Harry? You can put me down now."
"Oh. Right."
Harry felt like a complete fool. Madame Pince glared at them, looking for all the world like an angry bird of prey with her long thin nose and beady eyes, black robes billowing around her tall, skinny frame. Muffled snickering could be heard from the other students still in the library.
"Well," he said in a low voice. "Guess we'd better get back, eh?" Without another glance at Hermione, Harry walked over to where they had been working and began hurriedly stuffing his belongings into his bag.
'As if people don't talk about me enough already,' he thought angrily. 'Too bad Malfoy wasn't here to witness that-would've made his day, although it'll be all over the school by morning, for sure!'
Hermione slowly made her way back to their table and picked up her own book-bag. With Madame Pince's eyes boring into their backs, the two friends left the library.
*****
The walk back to Gryffindor Tower seemed to take forever. Harry wracked his brains for something to say as the silence grew uncomfortable. He had finally decided to just take the bull by the horns and tell her how confused he was feeling about everything (about her!) when they reached the portrait hole and the touch of a soft hand on his arm brought him out of his mental anguish.
"Hey, I forget to thank you, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "If you hadn't caught me, I would've had a nasty fall. So thanks."
"You're welcome," Harry responded, just as quietly. "I . . ."
"Well really! Just feel free to stand there all night and keep me waiting!" grumbled the Fat Lady with a yawn. "What does it matter if I get tired! Kids today-no consideration!"
"Oh, sorry," said Hermione with an embarrassed laugh. "Gred and Forge." The portrait hole swung open and the two friends entered the common room.
Listen, Hermione," Harry began. "I . . ." Once again he was interrupted.
"Hermione!" Neville beckoned eagerly from a couch near the fire. "Could I have a word?"
"Of course." Hermione smiled at Harry, a quick, mechanical smile. "See you later then, Harry. Be sure and finish writing up that last bit for our Potions project, won't you?"
Before Harry could respond, Hermione turned quickly and headed towards the fire. She plopped down beside Neville and within seconds they were deep into an animated conversation.
Feeling like a fool yet again, Harry decided to call it a night and go to bed by a decent hour, but when he made to go up the stairs, Ron called out from the other side of the room.
"Oi there, Harry. Survived the library, eh? Come here for a sec, will you?"
"What is it Ron?" asked Harry wearily. He walked slowly over towards Ron and shot a wary look at the chessboard in front of his friend. "I'm not up to getting slaughtered in Wizard's Chess tonight, okay?"
"Nah, that's not what I wanted to see you about," Ron said, dismissing the chessboard with a wave of his hand.
"What then?"
"Sit down and I'll tell you," said Ron with a grin. Reluctantly, Harry sat.
"Listen, I was thinking about the Valentine's Ball and . . ."
Harry rolled his eyes in frustration. "Look, Ron, I'm really not in the mood."
"I know, I know, but you screwed up with Hermione and so . . ."
"Wait a minute!" Harry said crossly. "What do you mean I screwed up with Hermione?"
"Telling her you don't think of her like an old pair of trainers," Ron sniggered. "Not exactly the way to win a girl's heart, eh mate?"
"I'm not the one who basically told her that I wanted to ask her because I didn't want to ask a girl I liked!" Harry's voice was indignant.
"You may not have said that, but that's what you meant."
"No, it wasn't," said Harry, crosser still.
"But you told me that . . ." Ron frowned, puzzled.
"I told you that I didn't want to be miserable all night worrying about having to impress some girl I didn't really care about."
"What's the difference?"
"What's the difference?" asked Harry incredulously. "What's the difference? There's a big bloody difference between wanting to go with my best friend because I enjoy her company and wanting to go with her because she's like some kind of old worn-out pair of track pants that I would pull on just because they're lying around!"
Feeling incredibly put-upon, Harry turned to examine Hermione and Neville, who were still talking excitedly by the fire. "And now Hermione's gone and had her feelings hurt because she thinks I wanted to ask her for all the wrong reasons."
"I wouldn't worry about her," Ron said callously. "She'll get over it. Anyway, I wanted to tell you about this brilliant idea I had."
Harry continued to stare at Neville and Hermione.
"Harry?"
"What?"
"Don't you want to hear my brilliant idea?"
"I guess," Harry said uninterestedly. With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, he swung around to face Ron again.
"Gee, try not to get so excited," Ron said sarcastically. Harry raised an eyebrow. "All right," continued Ron, "here's what I was thinking. You know how I was going to ask either Hannah or Susan to the ball, but then Luna grabbed me and she . . ."
"Yeah, yeah, we know," Harry broke in with a bored shrug of his shoulders, "you're irresistible. Go on."
Ron flushed. "Anyways, after you messed everything up with Hermione," another glare from Harry, "and since I have a date with Luna now and don't need them, I was thinking that you should ask Hannah or Susan to the ball." He smiled in triumph. "See? I told you it was a brilliant idea."
"It's a dumb idea," Harry snapped. "Why would I want to ask Hannah or Susan?"
"For the same reasons you gave me," Ron pointed out. "You already sort of know them from the DA, they're both nice, and neither one is a troll. Or a Slytherin," he added.
"Hmmmfff."
"In a bit of a mood there, eh Harry," noted Ron wryly.
"I'm not 'in a mood'," Harry argued moodily. "I just don't see why I should invite Hannah or Susan when I--" he broke off suddenly.
"When you what?"
"When I . . . well when I don't want to . . . I mean, when I don't see why I should," Harry finished weakly.
'Listen mate, you're not asking one of them to marry you. You just need a date for the Valentine's Ball."
"Hmmmfff."
Author's Note: See that pretty little box at the bottom of the page? Yes, that's it--the one underneath the nice aqua line. Wouldn't you like to fill it up with some pretty words? Pretty please?