Hooligan of Hogwarts
Shadows cast by the hovering candles wavered when the applause for the Sorting Hat's latest verse crested inside the Great Hall.
Professors, faculty members and students looked at each other and the huddled cluster of nervous First Years as appreciative comments were exchanged.
In her signature evergreen robes and feather-adorned hat, Professor Minerva McGonagall gave the correct impression of a stern, commanding Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration Professor and Gryffindor House matriarch. It was the lightness of her step and the occasional twinkle in her eyes (currently directed at her three favorite house charges) that gave her the distinction of being fair and approachable.
Her gaze found three different heads bent together towards the end of one of the long House tables. Mr. Weasley (wearing robes just a few shades lighter than those around him) was the easiest to pick out of any crowd. Not only was he so tall (six foot three inches according to the school nurse) but his fiery red hair had no other rival in the school save his younger sister who sat several seats further down the table. As far as she could remember, there has been a Weasley (all of whom had red hair in one shade or another) in Gryffindor House for the better part of a generation. A wave of disappointment coursed through her as she suddenly realized that once Ginny Weasley graduated next year, she would have to wait until he, his sister or one of his five older brothers had families of their own before another Weasley would stand before the same dais to be sorted.
Where there was one, the odds were the other two could be found. Flame bright as Ronald's hair was, Mr. Potter's was darkly black. Coming in at just over six feet one inches, the boy was a perfect blend of his parents whom she had known, cared about and lost (along with the rest of the wizarding world) so many years ago. He had his mother's intelligent green eyes and innately kind nature reinforced with his father's roguish good looks and Quidditch talent coupled with an inner self possession that was entirely his own. Minerva McGonagall firmly believed that Harry Potter a.k.a. "The Boy Who Lived" would leave Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry "His Own Man With His Own Identity".
And that was largely attributed to the lovely brunette who rounded out the group. If anyone administered Veritaserum to Professor McGonagall and asked her for the name of a student who had the most voracious appetite for learning, staggering intellect, possessed startling magical capabilities and independently headstrong, her answer would be Miss Hermione Granger. And if anyone slipped another dose of Veritaserum into her evening cup of chocolate, they would learn that if ever there was a child who entered the castle gates that she likened to a granddaughter it would be Miss Granger.
Going through the procedure of calling out each of the First Years by name; having them sit still while she placed the Sorting Hat on their heads and directing them to the different House tables did not require her full attention. She heard the Hat's cries of "Ravenclaw!", "Hufflepuff!", "Slytherin!" and "Gryffindor!", yet her private thoughts were full of The Trio. Harry, Ron and Hermione. Body. Soul. Mind.
She recalled a time when Mr. Weasley had been the leader of the three. He was the only one who had lived in the wizarding world prior to Hogwarts (both of his parents were wizards, and their parents and his great-grand parents - it was truly quite a lineage!). Both of Harry's parents had been wizards as well but they had been killed by the time he was a year old. Minerva had been there that night when Harry had been placed on his uncle's doorstep, despite her protests. She had also been there ten years later when he was sorted into her House. Hermione was very much like her; born to completely non-magical parents who embraced the fact that their daughter had a second world.
For both Hermione and Harry, their initiations into the world of magic were sporadic magical events instigated by the strength of powerful emotions: anger, fear and genuine happiness.
Harry's formal introduction had been performed by one Rubeus Hagrid. The gentle half-giant who was an integral part of everything that was Hogwarts. Still was. Always would be. Miss Granger had no such mentor. So, she'd prepared herself. Inwardly smiling as she performed her duties, Professor McGonagall had no difficulty recalling her first interview with the bushy-haired, bright-eyed girl who'd ticked off on her fingers all the books she had read (having to do with the realm of magic AND all of her course books for that year) between the time she'd received her acceptance letter and the day she'd packed her trunk bound for the Hogwarts Express. Years of working with children had given her the insight to recognize that the bossy nature, seemingly know-it-all attitude and the conscience-on-your-shoulder-you-shouldn't-break-the-rules stance she assumed was little more than a means of coping with and hiding her very real fear of rejection. By her peers, the school and herself.
Instead of seeing the dwindling number of wide-eyed eleven-year olds standing before of her, a mental image of a destroyed lavatory came into focus. It had been a Halloween night when a mountain troll had been let loose in the castle. An eleven year old girl (who was so small for her age) stamped down her fear when she looked straight in the face of a teacher - a deeply respected authority figure - and insisted that she'd gone looking for the troll because SHE had read all about them and that SHE needed SAVING and that Harry and Ron, having violated a direct order from the headmaster, were not to be punished because they'd gone looking for HER and without them SHE would probably be dead and so it was HER fault that they'd been there in the first place. What a defining moment in that young girl's development! Realizing what was taking place, there was no possibility (especially with Professor Snape and the traitorous Quirrell flanking her) that she would contradict the falsehoods that flowed from Miss Granger. Nor did she want to. That is why Prof. Snape's jaw had all but dropped when she ruled on the situation in what appeared to be such an out-of-character manner.
And, with the events of that night, The Trio was born.
Over the years, Harry became the leader. Other times, Hermione stepped forward and led the charge. And not to say they always got along: Hermione and Harry falling out when she'd turned in his brand new Firebolt one Christmas afternoon; Ron and Hermione hurting each other (and by extension Harry) over their familiars. Harry and Ron even stopped speaking to one another, if her memory served her correctly, during the debacle that was once the Tri-Wizard Tournament.
Their roles were defined at first. Harry was the hero. Ron was the loyal. Hermione was the voice of reason and brains. It was interesting - watching over the years as they each took on and internalized each others traits. All three rose to the occasion to make self-sacrificing choices, being the Devil's Advocate and stepping into the shoes of a pragmatist. And still, each of them maintained and developed their own unique gifts and talents. Hermione still hated to fly broomsticks. Harry had yet to beat Ron at chess, and BOTH boys gave their homework to Hermione to proof before handing in their parchments.
Sliding her gaze over the House banners that hung throughout the Hall, she let a small smile grace her face. It still amused her, after all the years of being an educator, to know that students were absolutely certain that a teacher could not tell the difference in one person's writing style versus another. Although, she did have to give Mr. Potter credit for making more of an effort than that of Mr. Weasley - at least he tried to use his own words rather than those of Miss Granger's.
The sorting done (what an exceptionally large group!) Prof. McGonagall removed both the Hat and the stool (which she deftly handed to the patiently waiting house elf standing at the edge of the dais) before taking her seat at the Head Table.
Fixing what she knew to be an imposing expression on her face, Minerva McGonagall swept all four tables in turn with her eyes and tapped her water goblet three times.
All talking immediately stopped.
"May I have your attention please?" The question was a thinly veiled command.
To her left, Headmaster Professor Albus Dumbledore pushed back his chair and rose. "I have a few start of term notices I would like to announce.".
Respectfully directing her gaze to Professor Dumbledore, she stole one more glance at The Trio. Just in time to see Mr. Weasley taking in a sharp breath. A sickle for a galleon would wager that Miss Granger had just kicked him underneath the table. Her elbow making contact with Mr. Potter's ribs and mouthing the words, "Pay attention!" - in admonishment - was much more overt. Minerva, for her part, could not resist giving the young lady an almost imperceptible wink and the slightest of smiles. For her part, Hermione's tiny smile of acknowledgement and reciprocated affection would always be the first image conjured by Professor Minerva McGonagall whenever anyone mentioned the name Hermione Jane Granger in her presence from that moment forward.
* * * * * * * * *
Harry at least made an effort to look contrite when one of his two best friends elbowed him in the ribs and TOLD him to pay attention. Ron - more than likely deliberately - assumed an aire of hurt innocence when he shot back a "What did I do?" look when her toes connected with his shin. Not that she would really hurt either of them - not that she could for that matter. Between their statures and the physical conditioning (which have rendered quite excellent results, if I do say so myself) that long hours of training for and playing on the Gryffindor House Quidditch Team produced, she would never stand a chance. As did any male who even thought of looking at her the wrong way. Let alone speak to her in an unseemly manner within earshot of he or Ron. Or dwell in peril for his mortal life if said male laid so much as an unwelcome finger on one hair of her head. And, if there was anything left of him by the time Harry and Ron got through with him, the entire male population of Gryffindor House would have a go.
Not that she couldn't take care of herself. Woe to ANYONE who thought they could out-Charm, out-Hex, out-Curse, out-Potion or out-Wit her. Or bank on the hope that she would be too much of a girly-girl to fully apply her skills. She definitely WAS NOT one of those simpering, swooning, gossip-dependent, I-am-only-a-girl-if-I-have-a-boyfriend females. She was one of the most competent, capable, intelligent and physically attractive girls he knew. Nor did the insight escape her that neither he nor Ron was immune to her feminine wiles. In their defense, very few were. Whether they were male or female. She wasn't the cleverest witch in Hogwarts for nothing. Especially when she needed EITHER of them to do something that NEITHER wanted to do.
There were things he knew about her that he wished he could share with the world. But he did not have blinders on either. She had her secrets. So did he. Some he knew about. She made allusions to things he had never directly shared. Others he had guessed at and pinned hopes on.
Letting Ron take his lumps - that's what he gets for sitting across from her! - Harry tried to figure out whether Hermione's exasperation- laden "humph!" and tossing her hair over her shoulder was a continuation of the scripted, long standing response to Ron's winding or if she actually wanted to hear Prof. Dumbledore's announcements. Knowing her as he did, and having lived with Ron for the past 6 years, he settled for something somewhere in the middle.
Looking at her profile, he congratulated himself on the wise decision to sit behind her. First of all, he could consider her without drawing her (and hopefully everyone else's ) attention. If he HAD sat across from her he would have NO DOUBT got some UTTERLY STUPID look on his face that he would have to stammer out some LAME excuse later when she rounded on him the MINUTE they returned to the Common Room. Second, he could think without her picking up on his tell-tale body language. It was uncanny the way she could read him! But, he fancied himself so slouch when it came to her. As far as he was concerned, there was little Miss Hermione could hide from him. And, whatever one missed about the other, Ron picked up.
He had some decisions to make that couldn't keep. And, based on the outcome of those choices, plans would then be set into motion.
Thirdly, he just plain liked being in her general vicinity. And, in his book, the closer the better.
Making it a point to catch Ron's eye (what she couldn't see he wouldn't have to try to talk his way out of later) and nodded in her direction.
Ron's response of bringing his ear to his robe as if he had an itch translated to - yeah mate; she is in full-on concentration mode.
Somewhere Ron was aware of his headmaster's warning about the Dark Forest being strictly forbidden to all students, the creatures which dwelled in the lake and the interminable list of items banned by Castle Caretaker Argus Filch. Been there how many times? Done that once. His brothers' business provided a good fifth of the said contraband. But it was to Harry he was listening to. And picking apart. Now there is a bloke who would rather face down monsters rather than be emotionally demonstrative. Glancing at his perceived second sister as she shifted her weight on the unyielding bench , protecting her didn't count. It had actually become a bit of a game to sniff out whatever utter GIT contemplated putting "the family jewels" on the line for the sake of a cheap shot at one of the best friends a man could have. Even if she couldn't pee standing up. But mates were mates and brothers didn't necessarily have to share blood to exist.
Knowing that he had Harry's attention, Ron cast him a look which included a side trip to Hermione and a dual hand gesture that roughly translated to, "Well, what's the verdict?"
Not wanting to attract undo attention, Harry answered Ron's question by opening his right hand, rotating his grouped fingers at Hermione's back and widening his eyes. Which silently formed the words, "I'm working on it."
A disparaging eye-roll easily became the conveyed challenge, "Well, what are you bloody waiting for?". Keeping his hands close to the tabletop (and hopefully below Hermio-Radar) Ron's facial contortion was quickly followed by twisting his thumbs together and flapping the backs of his fingers in Harry's general direction. "When pigs fly?!?"
Harry's response to Ron's initial query was, "I've got it all in hand.". Which became glaringly apparent that his friend did not buy it for a second which was why his now-narrowed gaze, "Sod Off!", was currently shooting slightly blunted daggers at Ron's bloody-flapping fingers as an amiably fueled promise of, "Just wait until I get you out in the open Weasley!".
Pulling his lips into some semblance of a sarcastic smirk, Ron flapped his hands again - this time giving a whole new way to say, "Bring it on, Potter!"
Not having seen when she actually pulled it out, but suddenly realizing that Hermione had begun to rapidly tap both ends of her wand on the table was enough for both boys to turn front and drop their hands in to their laps.
Prof. Dumbledore was winding down his welcome speech. "For our Seventh Year students." Any murmuring which had started to bubble up among the upper-classmen ceased. "As some of you may know, the competition for the title "Hooligan of Hogwarts" will be taking place shortly. This is only available those in their final year as they will be facing the ardors of N.E.W.T.'s this spring.
The rules are very specific. Any contender must successfully prank every House. Including their own. Extra points will be awarded for a successful prank on a professor. A rating system has been devised by which points will be calculated according to the ingenuity, execution and the admiration of their fellow class mates. No House or teacher can be pranked more than once." Chuckling lightly, "Which will certainly challenge the playing field."
Letting his half-moon glasses deliberately slip down his nose, Prof. Dumbledore lowered the timbre of his voice and underscored it with a more serious tone. "I do want to state to all contenders that school rules apply to all scenarios AT ALL TIMES. Should anything destructive occur than consequences will occur." Bringing a smile back to his face that reached his eyes Dumbledore listed the final few specifics, "Pranks cannot commence before October the 20th with the Hooligan to be revealed on Halloween Night at the Fall Ball. And, as a special school treat, the staff and myself have agreed that this year's Fall Ball will not only be open to all students, but it will be a costumed affair!"
Pausing dramatically, the Headmaster brought up the final details, "That does not mean that the rest of the school cannot get in on the fun. SHOULD the Hooligan be unveiled before the Ball, then the House to which that student - who has successfully ascertained the prankster's secret identity - will be awarded the Hooligan's acquired points." Quiet "oohs" and "oh's" accompanied excited jostling.
Realizing that he'd left something out, Prof. Dumbledore raised his arms to capture everyone's attention one more time. "If a student believes that they possess the identity of the prankster, they MUST present their case to a House Prefect. For this is the reason why: should a student - and by extension their House - make a Formal Accusation that is proven incorrect, then that House forfeits any claims on the Hooligan's points! However, if the said student belongs to the same House as the Hooligan obviously it would behoove both parties not to hinder his or her efforts." Inhaling the excitement that was radiating from the 417 students before him (and the wonderful smells emanating from the fine feast he knew the house elves had prepared) Prof. Dumbledore made one final decree, "Let the feast begin!"
With a wave of the Headmaster's hands, platters of food in every combination appeared on the tables. Jugs of pumpkin juice materialized at regular intervals. Questions about the latest Quidditch equipment, destination points during the summer holidays and the myriad of other questions thrown about by friends who hadn't seen each other in 2 months vanished in the wake of Dumbledore's announcement. Ideas and proposals as to who would, should or could participate were avidly exchanged and built upon as salt cellars were shared and food was passed.
Turning to each other, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all started speaking at the same time. Chuckling, Ron and Hermione quieted down enough to let Harry speak first, "Hey Ron? Did Fred and George…?"
Busy trying to decide what next to pile on his plate, Ron did not look up at his best friend as he answered, "Nah. Remember that business with High Inquisitor Umbridge?" The last three words were said with such a high falsetto that it left no doubt Ron held absolutely no respect for the person who once carried that title.
Harry, splattering mashed potatoes onto his own plate before passing the bowl onto their roommate Dean Thomas, took no offense at Ron's concentration. Food is a priority to a seventeen year old boy. Among other things…
However, it was Dean who answered Ron's question, "What a cow!"
Still chewing what he had in his mouth and filling his fork again, Ron pushed a bit of roast between his cheek and teeth before looking at Dean, "And how!" Beginning to talk as much with his free hand as his mouth, "Everyone in their year was too afraid to even ask if was going to happen. Let alone…. Anyway." Breaking off his train of thought, Ron decided he wanted to end on a slightly more up-beat note, "Fred and George - too this day! - say they were gypped!"
Murmuring a quiet, "Thanks" to Hermione for filling his goblet, Harry watched as she reached for Ron's before adding more to her own. The knuckles of her hand were becoming whiter by the moment. Setting the jug down with a little more force than necessary, Hermione reached for her napkin as a bit had sloshed over the rim. Splash much, Miss Granger?, he mused. Harry was about to add his two bits when Seamus Finnegan passed him the gravy he had asked for.
In his broad Irish brogue, Seamus interjected, "Oi! Harry! Didn't she try to…"
"Ban me from ever playing Quidditch again? Oh, yeah. Damn right she did!", Harry answered Seamus's unfinished question with a surprising amount of anger and resentment . After all, it had happened two years ago. Well, he thought, she did send a Dementor after me before school even began that year. YES! Vindicated!
The mood around their end of the table grew a little apprehensive. And quiet.
Too quiet.
Harry couldn't help but think, maybe I'm not as vindicated as I assumed.
Deciding to evade a beater and put a quaffle through a hoop , Harry decided it could be done in one slightly protracted play, "That is, until she made a fatal error."
Neville Longbottom, another dorm-mate, knew where Harry was going with this and added in a loud whisper, "I heard she dismissed the one person who was most capable of bringing her down."
Neville's conspiratorial tone was enough for Parvati Patel and Lavender Brown to put away their fashion magazine and join in on the conversation. They were good-natured gossips who had an ear for a good story and were not used to being left our of something fun. "What are you all talking about?"
Ron looked at his best mate and understood. With a mischievous glint and a new record (two winds in twenty minutes and being back in school only a matter of hours!), he took a fortifying swig (when did I pour this?) of juice. Offering a silent salute of thanks to Hermione, Ron noticed that she seemed awfully involved in her steak and kidney pie. He wondered briefly if he had the capacity to memorize every counter curse known to wizard-kind if he successfully slipped a copy of Steak and Kidney Pie: A History into her book bag.
Harry noticed as well. She had pulled it apart by ingredients. And, her bottom lip was being chewed on more than her food. Like she was trying to figure something out. Mentally he filed that thought under "List of Things to ask Hermione". Currently, it was number three on the list.
Cries of sudden dismay erupted when everyone's pupils became pin-points.
Colin Creevey's flash went off. Lowering his camera, he shrugged his shoulders in an effort to offer an apology he didn't mean. "Sorry everyone. It was too good of a picture to miss!" Not needing to look at his camera to rewind it, he placated the ruffled feathers of Parvati and Lavender (who voiced the cruelty of his timing as they had just spent six hours on a train and were not picture-perfect) by answering their question prior to his interruption, "Umbridge."
Out of loyalty to their beloved Professor Trelawney, who they had personally witnessed being man-handled by that toad-like woman, they both spat out in unison, "What a cow!"
Everyone laughed as if that were the first time anyone had applied that specific description to the former Ministry official.
Except Dean. He glanced around and smacked his palm on the wooden table top to make sure everyone knew he used that word first, "That's what I'm talking about!" His tone betrayed the underlying good-natured-ness of his intentions.
Seamus couldn't resist, "Poor Dean. Always the bridesmaid - never the bride!"
Seamus graciously accepted the kudos and back-clapping everyone offered. Including Dean's.
Everyone except Hermione. It was like she didn't hear what was going on around her. Some small, secret smile was pulling at one corner of her mouth. Even when Harry exchanged the silent question - Are you with me? - with Neville that Ron had shot him moments before.
Neville bobbed his head in agreement. And secretly hoped he wouldn't wake up some morning with two left feet some time in the near future.
Feeling the hairs on the back of her neck begin to prickle, Hermione came out of her reverie. It wasn't that she wasn't paying attention per se… just… something else needed fleshing out. Mentally tapping her "rewind" button, her eyes grew as big as saucers when she realized that Harry and Ron were about to take the conversation back in hand.
Ron shook his head denying Hermione's imploring look. Mocking her as only a good friend could he answered her - Not this time, love.
Hermione still hadn't released the dressing flagon she had asked Ginny for when she saw Ron give Harry "The Signal".
Putting on her best "You can't do this to me because I am your best friend" look, she turned to face Harry and cranked it up to full wattage.
Leaving Ron to bring the conversation back into play (pre-Colin!), Harry beckoned her to come closer to him.
Hoping against hope, she stopped within a foot of his face.
Setting his fork down in order to fully use his hands, Ron continued, "The person who lit Snape's robes on fire in their first year."
Harry heard Parvati croon, "Ooh - no way!". He didn't have to look at Lavender to know she was shooting a Why am I just hearing about this now - this is way too juicy of a story to be made to wait six years to hear! look at Ron. Instead, he kept his attention focused on Hermione and crooked his finger. Again.
"The student who retired Rita Skeeter's poisonous quill!" Ron pronounced.
Harry cocked an eyebrow. And it was not directed at Colin's jaw-bouncing-fish-out-of-water impersonation (Colin's father worked at the Daily Prophet).
A sick feeling of being led did not keep Hermione from placing herself within 3 inches of the dark-haired man/boy beside her. Or crossing her toes in hope that he would rescue her at the last minute.
Ron was really having fun. Especially since Neville began clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in the rhythm of a horses gait.
Harry's face filled her field of vision. She forgot that her arm, though slightly lower, was still suspended over her salad.
"The person who drew that Umbridge," Ron pointedly looked at Dean to give credit where credit was due. Who, needing no one to spell it out for him, picked up on what Ron was saying and began to mimic Neville, "COW - "
Harry's mouth was an inch from her ear.
" - like the POISION she was !" Ron's arms were really getting some air time as he punctuated every other word with his hands.
Being dorm-mates, Seamus knew the story and joined Neville and Dean.
"AND sent her DIRECTLY to St. Mungos via the Dark Forest!", Ron exclaimed as he wrapped up: The Story of the Down Fall of Dolores Umbridge.
Tapping out what had been explained to him (by Hermione no less) as a muggle-drum roll, Ron rapped his forefingers against the edge of the long table, "The One…. The ONLY!"
Hermione's mind scrambled. A mantra formed in her head: Oh please, oh please, oh please don't. She watched Harry take a deep breath. She saw him lock his eyes on hers and the corners of his mouth curl up ('he's going to do it! He's going to make everyone stop!') in the most devilish of grins. She saw the sidelong glance he cast at Ron without turning his head. Her mantra raced through her mind even faster than before. She tasted her own anxiety when… she heard Harry's tongue ('NOOOOO!!!') match the tempo set by the other three boys. The sharp smell of vinegar filled her nose when she involuntarily upended the flagon of dressing onto her plate as the climax to Ron's declarations had all eyes - even those sitting at the near by Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables - on…"H E R M I O N E ! !"
And, just when she thought that the flush that pulled oh-so-hotly at her skin couldn't get any deeper, she caught one last exchange between her best friends. Which was quickly relayed to the other three boys.
She was given less then three seconds to decipher why the look on Harry's face was a cross between: 'this will be good for you in the long run' and 'you'll thank us in the morning'.
Simultaneously, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron and Harry neighed.
Hermione was convinced that at that point in time, every square inch of her body was a red as Ron and Ginny's hair. And seeing the ever so composed Lavender and Parvati clanking their flat wear in lieu of their tongues (of which the boys resumed with only the occasional neigh which gave the impression that it was only a small herd of horses which had taken up residence in the Great Hall) was enough to send her face into her hands.
Now this is going to be a show! Harry found himself laughing, clucking and neighing so hard that at one point he actually listed against Dean. Righting himself, he had a front row view of a mane of chestnut waves cascading over delicate fingers which was flipped dramatically back to reveal a beet-red face. He watched as her fingers slipped inside the mass, down its length and lift it away from what he knew had to be a very over-heated neck. Hearing a neigh from Seamus in that Irish accent of his sent himself, Ron, Hermione and everyone else within hearing range into histrionics.
Feeling the need - the duty - as her best friend to add the proverbial "icing to the cake", Harry cleared his throat in an effort to garner everyone's attention one more time. After all, if she was going to hex me, she would have done it already - right? "So. Let it be known," - Harry made sure he made eye-contact with everyone seated to the left of him, "from this day forth," - his gaze rested on everyone on his right - " Woe be to ANYONE."- with that, he opened both arms to include everyone - students and teachers alike, "Who underestimates the intellect, belittles the causes - compromises the integrity - of Miss Hermione Jane Granger."
With the last word leaving his lips, Harry rose from his seat with his goblet in hand. Ron did the same. "A mind to be reckoned with, Elf Freedom Fighter," he could not resist adding, "and a right hook to be remembered."
Neville, Seamus and Dean could not pass up on the opportunity to share with anyone who was listening just WHOM the last comment referred to, "MALFOY!"
A fresh round of side-stitching laughter ensued.
Remaining in their seats, Seamus, Dean and Neville followed their mates example and picked up their goblets as well. Not to miss out on would be quickly dubbed as the best first night back in school in 6 years, Parvati, Ginny and Lavender did the same.
And, because he did not want to spend the next week sleeping with one eye open. Yes, I am looking to save my own arse from being hexed into next Tuesday - just in case she has a hormonally-charged delayed reaction, he finished with, "And the GREAT sense of being to keep pace and challenge" looking directly at the red face screwed tight with mirth, "the likes of us!"
And with that, he and the rest of the Gryffindors - whether they knew why or not - toasted Hermione.
It was not an every day occurrence to see the serious, studious Head Girl completely let herself go. Not surprisingly, it was everyone else seated at the table who tipped their goblets to Ron and Harry for doing only what only they could do. Literally.
Of all the peals of laughter going on around him, Ron was most glad to hear Hermione's waft over him as he took his seat. It was rare to see her let go of the tight reins she kept on her emotions. Outside of their group - it was almost unheard of. Sure she was consistently kind, compassionate and most assuredly you could count on her to speak her mind; whether you wanted to hear it or not. And sure, she had bickered enough with him over the years that it practically formed a second language which was unique unto themselves. Of which, he ruefully mused, they had shared, on more than one occasion, with the entire House. Now, here she is, swaying between Harry and Seamus, clutching her side as salad dressing was snaking it's way in my direction because she was laughing so hard.
Similar thoughts pulled at Harry as he felt her robe brush against his arm when he sat back down. Returning Dean's particularly gooey napkin to him the hard way (having recognized Harry's attempt at self-preservations for what it was) Seamus inadvertently got him back by clapping him between his shoulder blades so unexpectedly that his glasses fell into his mashed potatoes. Another round of guffaws followed. This time directed at him. And it didn't matter. What did matter was that this was the only situation where watching his best female friend gasp for breath would be acceptable.
Intuitively, Harry stuck his arm across the table in a very muggle, Gryffindor-modified version of a 'high-five'. This time, no one missed the translation. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! And, instead of two right hands clasped in friendship, a very feminine third stretched itself across both of theirs.
Somehow Hermione saw through a haze of tear-clumped lashes just in time to see Ron and Harry grasping each other's hands. Forcing her oxygen deprived legs to quasi-support her, she lurched forward. In that moment, it was the best way she knew how to make sure that they knew that they were just important to her as she was to them.
For the second time that night, Harry, Ron, Hermione and everyone else in their immediate vicinity were blinded by Colin's camera going off three times in rapid succession. The group shot, he argued when his house mates rounded on him for the second time in one night, was something that he couldn't stage if he had a month to prepare. As for the shot of the three oh-so-different friends leaning over the House table with their hands clasped in friendship and bodies still laughing - was truly a moment that deserved to be captured and immortalized in more than memories. The third shot - well that was pure photographer's instinct.
Harry was just looking up from seeing the last hand to disengage his. It belonged to Hermione. It was… cold. Insight flared. Hang on; her hands only get cold when she is nervous about something. Someone? Enter number four on "List of Things to Ask Hermione". Going from her hands to her face, Harry caught the tail end of something as it flashed across her countenance. Which was mirrored in his now-darkened green irises as she shyly opened her hand and he relaxed his. In the hairsbreadth it took for that to happen, that was the instant that Colin's flash ignited.
From her position at the Head Table, Minerva McGonagall exchanged her own private, silent conversation with Professor Dumbledore. Watching the three friends come together and "infect" those around them was truly magic in it's purest form.
And when the group of Gryffindors groaned in unison at Mr. Creevey's proposal for, "Just one more picture!", the Gryffindor matriarch knew that this was going to be a most memorable year. As if feeling the need to demonstrate her revelation, she amusingly watched Miss Weasley and Mr. Finnegan rise to block Mr. Creevey's attempted escape. Passing the breadbasket to her right, Minerva angled her head to hear a little more clearly.
Furtive pleas of, "Look at the camera!" took on the desperate edge of groveling when the group collectively raised their goblets in the direction of the cornered photographer as he begged, "Watch the camera! Not the camera!" and doused him with pumpkin juice.
Not NEARLY ready to sit back and let Harry and Ron have all the fun, Hermione climbed onto the bench and stretched out her hand, "Accio camera!"
Harry and Ron could only look on in admiration as she adjusted, focused and snapped Colin's picture with his own camera.
With that, the ENTIRE hall erupted into applause for the second time that night.
Making sure his palms were dry by hastily rubbing them on his thighs, Harry reached up and 'helped' Hermione down with all the pomp of assisting a lady alight from a carriage. Gaining the floor, Hermione spread her robe wide in mock-curtsies to answer the bows offered by those around her. That's my girl!, he thought as he slung his right arm across her shoulders and pulled her tight against his body. Number five was added to the list when she wrapped her left arm around the far side of his back and didn't let go until they both sat down.
Oh, yeah, Ron acknowledged, she gives as good as she gets. Fred and George would be proud. Hell, I will be for the rest of my life.
* * * * * * * *
Professor Dumbledore did not have to canvass his fellow teachers to know what they were thinking. They were all hoping, especially Minerva, that they would have the strength NOT to hold future classes to the standards set by the current group before them. He included.
Touching the rim of his goblet to Prof. Flitwick's and then doing the same to Prof. McGonagall, Dumbledore toasted his fellow colleagues. Surveying the students arrayed among the four tables, he raised his glass to the student body: Bring on the Hooligan.
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