Author's Note: I know that the opening scene in this chapter closed the previous chapter, but I am including it because a) it is a fairly fabulous scene and b) I think that some people may have missed it. Also - this is a fairly long chapter - I had a lot of ground to cover to solidify the romance between Harry and Hermione and to start to wrap up some of the loose ends… Believe it or not, the end is near! I know that I promised the Gryffindor prank in this chapter, but if I included it (because it is, as of five minutes ago, written - Go Me!) it would have pushed the word count to somewhere near 18k…as it is, this chapter is around 12K…The good news is that the Gryffindor Prank will open up the next chapter… After that, there are just two other pranks, and the Fall Ball! *snickering in self-deprication* I know: by then, it may well be fall! Anyway - I am working on it! I PROMISE!
TO EVERYONE WHO HAS READ, IS READING, HAS LEFT A REVIEW OR THINKING ABOUT WRITING A REVIEW: THANK YOU! THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!!! I wish I knew enough words to share with you just how much it means to me to know that this story is being read. And, as always, reviews are SO SO IMPORTANT! Even if it is just a word or two - it means so so so much….
EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS TO PROF ROZ for reading and making suggestions and to MC for keeping me going when the last thing I wanted to do was write… Ladies - you rock!
Target Practice: Part Two
Later that afternoon, after Divination…
"MOVE! MOVE! M O V E! "
Her teaching robes were a puddle of black fabric on the grass before the second word left her mouth.
Madame Hooche's voice was faster, sharper and more commanding than the whistle that hung around her neck. A Hufflepuff was in a deadly flat-spin and he was rapidly running out of air-space as he plummeted towards the landing area. One look told her that he had miscalculated the variables associated with carrying a second person. The Hufflepuff was yanking on the handle of his WindSprint in a panic - which caused the deadly spin in the first place. She could hear the boy sitting behind him screaming that he was too young to die.
Wandless magic had her SkyStreaker smacking her palm. Wandless magic had her airborne and coming up and behind the wildly descending broom.
Excellent lesson plans and meticulous attention to safety on behalf of the Vector's professor had Harry, Ron, Draco and Daphne Greengrass getting into position without having to be told what to do.
From their positions on the ground, everyone watched as Madame Hooche proved exactly why she was the Flight Instructor at Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry and why it was a privilege to be enrolled in the class.
Matching the speed of descent and the counter-clockwise motion of the out-of-control broom, Hooche didn't hesitate or waste a single movement as she manoeuvred into position. Locking her ankles around each other for leverage, she braced her knees to catch her weight as she tilted herself backwards. Hanging upside down, hooking her knees on the broom's handle and extending her arms, it was a precious half a second before she could pluck the screaming student off the out-of-control broom. Looking down beyond his flailing legs, it was another fraction of a moment, when the WindSprint was in mid arc, before she could release the younger student into a free-fall that would not end with him getting hit with the back end of the broom as it came around. The unknown student's screams grew higher in pitch when she let him go. Making delicate adjustments to her own broom's trajectory with her thighs, she focused on the Hufflepuff and coaxing him out of the death grip he had on his broom.
Madame Hooche's safety drills had a Ravenclaw dashing to the infirmary as soon as she kicked off. Breaking into Emergency Response Mode, Harry, Ron, Daphne and Draco separated from the rest of the class. Forming a square underneath the pair of spinning brooms each braced the tops of their broom handles against the navigational twigs at the base of the brooms. Daphne's broom was the last one to lock in place; the responsibility for the cushioning spell was hers.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a screaming student was heard dropping out of the sky. Arms and legs tangled in his uniform, he landed face first into an invisible net that stretched from broom-to-broom. Bouncing twice was all the time the foursome could spare before Daphne issued the counter-spell; having more than one person in the net at a time too dangerous to chance. The sound of robes snapping was not enough to break their concentration, but it did have them craning their necks towards to the sky. Calling out the charm again - just in time - the blue-garbed fly-boy landed in the invisible net hard. Shaken, pale - but unhurt.
Still hanging upside down, Madame Hooche felt like she could hear the collective gasp from below as she released the grip the backs of her knees had on her SkyStreaker and kicked her legs so that, for one split second, she was in a controlled somersault between the two brooms before landing, seat-first, on the out-of-control broom. Counter-balancing her weight to offset the spin, she knew she only had a few rotations left before she would either land on the ground or land in the hospital wing.
She only needed one rotation to realize that she did not have enough air-space to break the spin.
There was time for Plan B.
Locking her wrists, one fluid motion had her standing on the spinning broom. Timing would be everything: wind speed, velocity, the flat-spin of the broom, her weight and the responsiveness of the WindSprint were factors that had to be calculated quickly. Stomping on the broom with one foot at precisely the right moment and actually kicking herself free of the Hufflepuff's WindSprint, she watched as time slowed to one-tenth its normal pace. The heavier end of the broom swung until it pointed to the ground below and top of the handle pointed towards the top of her head while she fell - in free fall - beside the broom. Stretching out her right hand, she reached for the 'pommel' of the broom and pulled the shaft hard against the length of her body. Fitting one boot into the foot prongs, the second slow-quickly followed. She could see treetops swaying and ripples on the lake as time suddenly resumed and speeded up. Mentally and physically preparing herself, she cast the one spell any serious flyer dreaded but guaranteed to stop the deadly vertical spin that challenged her sense of balance and direction.
"DOWN!"
Leaping free of the broom as the school grounds rushed up at her, the WindSprint struck and sank several inches into the soft soil as her booted feet hit land. Her soft knees and relaxed hips, spine and neck absorbed a lot of the shock that was transferred to her body when she struck the well padded grassy area that was designated as the Vectors practice zone.
Stretching out her own hand, wandless magic pulled her SkyStreaker from wherever it landed back to her palm. Her short, spunky hair was even more wind-blown than usual and dust clung to her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, chin and forehead. A heightened brightness to her eyes and the white-knuckled grip she had on her broom were the only tell-tale signs that anything out of the ordinary had happened in the past four minutes. Looking at each of the four students who had followed her safety drills to the letter, she took a couple deep breaths of air before saying, "Twenty points for each of you."
One of the four seemed more affected than the others. Madame Hooche approached her and placed a dusty, gloved hand on the Slytherin's shoulder. Looking at the girl straight in the eye, Hooche gave the younger witch a well-earned, in-frequently offered compliment. "Greengrass - well done - you made the right calls at the right time. You'll do well as a Rescue Flight Medic. Keep up the good work and I will write your recommendation myself."
Sweeping the rest of her students with her eyes, taking a head count as she walked over to the trembling Hufflepuff and his friend she tossed a question out to the entire class. "Why was it that Potter, Greengrass, Weasley and Malfoy were the ones to cast the safety-net spell?"
"Because they have the longest brooms," a voice answered automatically.
"That is precisely the reason why. Longer brooms equal greater area of safety and in an emergency every spare inch counts." Crouching down in front of the younger student, she brushed his hair out of his eyes. Taking a handkerchief out of her pants pocket and pressing it into his hands she asked gently, "Are you alright?" Too stunned to form words, the boy simply nodded.
Looking to her left to where the Hufflepuff was standing next to one of his friends, she beckoned for him to come to her. Putting a re-assuring tone into her voice, she smiled at her student and the underclassman who was his 'victim'.
"You'll be alright. When Madame Pomfrey gets here, I want you to go with her and let her check you out." Seeing the younger boy begin to shiver, and the terror still dancing in her student's eyes, she could see that the first stages of shock were taking effect. Snapping her head back toward the rest of her class, she called out, "I need a pair of robes! " Turning back to the two affected students, she switched back to her re-assuring tone as she shared, "It is important that we keep you warm."
A pair of heinously ugly, snake-heart-shaped-kissy-faced-definitely-not-school-issued-robes pooled on the ground in front of her. Glancing at Daphne and Draco in their house jumpers, their Slytherin-ness was apparent. They each had a perfectly good reason - and valid excuse - as to why they would not have to wear butt-ugly robes for the rest of the afternoon.
"Glad to help, Madame Hooche," Daphne said with a smile - relief in having the garment off her body echoing every word.
"Glad to be rid of it, Madame Hooche." Draco's response cut to the quick and brought a much needed chuckle to the group.
"Five extra points for each of you." The smile she had been denying herself since the start of class spread across her face as she acknowledged their Slytherin cunning. "For finding a creative, iron-clad way to evade an afternoon's worth of teasing by your fellow classmates."
Turning her attention back to the trembling Seventh Year and trading her mirth for re-assurance, Madame Hooche spoke very clearly but without reproach, "Tomorrow, I want to see you here. Together we will get you back on your broom and together we will sort out where the over-compensation for the additional weight took place. Agreed?" Hearing a small sound that sounded a lot like a 'yes', she draped one ugly robe and then the other over the two lads. Standing up, she winced at the crackling noises her joints made. It had been a long time since she had to execute a perfect Plan B.
"Common sense, knowledge of your broom and faith in your instincts are the three tools an aviator has to have on them at all time." Rejoining her class, she looked at each one of them in turn. "These four at the tallest in the class, and coincidently have the longest brooms. That is why they formed the safety net. Remember our line-up, people. If one of them were in the air, then the next person would have stepped up and completed the charm. But never forget: going to get help is equally, if not more, important. Being there for your fellow flyer is paramount. One of the greatest misconceptions out there is that those who fly are solitary individuals' who are hell bent on leaving the land-world behind." Pausing for a moment to let her words echo between her students, Madame Hooche let it be known how ridiculous that myth was. "You all know that every time you take off, you take with you the need to return - to come back to something, someone, some place. Tell me that is the mind frame of a loner."
A chorus of 'here, here' broke out around her. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the dispatched Ravenclaw approach the practice area with a satchel-laden Madame Pomfrey following close behind. A part of her relaxed as she saw Poppy quietly separate the two shaken students and begin to tend to them; it was the part of her she needed to finish teach today's lesson.
"Now. You have seen what a miscalculation can cost you. But you also know that what you all just saw is a reality that each of you carries with you every time each of you climb into the clouds. Don't let the possibilities of 'what if' over-ride your sense of probability and faith in your skills and brooms."
Bringing her whistle to her lips, she blew three sharp blasts and was back to her usual efficient self. Pomfrey was herding the two students towards hospital and the remaining nine members of her class had their eyes glued on their professor.
"Alright, people! Potter, Weasley - you're next. 'Dive and Dash' is the name of the game when we started today's lesson and it hasn't changed. Just in case you all have forgotten, this is a defensive manoeuvre. It was developed with the intent of inserting a flyer into a situation, collecting a person in trouble, putting them on your broom and orchestrating a getaway where both of you escape unharmed - or as undamaged as possible. As we have seen today - it is not as easy as it looks. You are used to one person on your broom: you. But, with weight distribution changed, your broom is not going to respond in the way you are accustomed. That rules out relying on the use of muscle memory and automatic compensations to manage your broom."
"In light of recent events, I think we are going to change things up a bit." Clapping her hands together in a way that sparked smiles among her students, she explained, "So. Here's what you get to do. Go out. Find a 'victim'. Bring them back. The last person back has to polish the other's broom for a month."
One long trilling blast from her whistle had both Harry and Ron throwing their legs over their broom handles, poised to take off.
The word, "GO!" had them streaking into the blue sky overhead.
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Circling the Herbology greenhouses did not turn up a viable 'victim' for his Dive-n-Dash assignment. Taking a pass over the student quad was an equal exercise in futility. The thought of having to have to polish Ron's broomstick for a month was motivation enough to keep looking. Leaning to the left, Harry felt the layers of his hair lift as he headed into the wind. Enjoying the way his broom cut a clean arc though the on-coming breeze, he drew in a lungful of the autumn air and blew it out. Just a hint of coolness tickled the inside of his nose.
Swooping over Hagrid's hut, it was impossible to miss the huge wheelbarrows lined up near the pumpkin patch. Just as easy to see was his friend pushing another wheelbarrow, filled to the brim with over-sized pumpkins, across school grounds.
Angling his approach so that his altitude matched Hagrid's shoulders, Harry slowed down and came along side his friend.
"Hiya Hagrid!"
"Harry, what'er ya doin' here? Shouldn't you be in class or sumthin'?" Hagrid back peddled quickly, "Not that I'm not 'appy to see yer or nothin'."
"I am in class - Vectors."
"Madame Hooche," Hagrid nodded his head sagely. "You'll find no one better when it comes to flyin' or teachin' flyin'. Dumbledore did a good thing in hiring her, he did."
"No kidding." Harry immediate flashed back to what happened just a little while ago. Hovering next to his friend, he asked, "Where are you going with all these pumpkins, Hagrid?"
"I gotta get 'em picked and up to the castle in time fer Halloween Week. This load is fer the House elves to carve up and put in the dormitories and classrooms. The really big ones are fer the Hall and entryways. I gotta do those next."
"You do all this by yourself, Hagrid? " Doing a quick sweep of his friend's hut, the garden and large stretches of lawn without seeing a soul in sight, Harry was impressed - and concerned. But then realized who he was talking too… without a soul nearby… Harry found himself stifling any hint that would give away all the possibilities that were running through his mind.
"Pretty much. Every year I get a helper though," Hagrid's eyes shone with appreciation. "Never know who I'm gonna get. This year, though, I got a thumpin' good 'un. Took one look at the size of the crop, the barrows and the distance to the castle and - BAM! Cast a feather-light charm over the whole lot and an impervious charm on the wheel-n-axel without breakin' a sweat. Jus' what I woulda' done if I could use magic. I don't mind admittin' to you that getting' these to the castle 'as never been easier. I can make the trips back and forth lickety-split."
Sharing Hagrid's smile and enjoying his company, Harry knew he was running out of time if he was going to have any hope in beating Ron back to Vectors.
"Sorry Hagrid - I gotta go. Get back to class and all that."
"I understand. Maybe I'll see yeh this weekend. Come by for a cuppa. I baked some goodies this morning and they should be nicely set by this time tomorrow."
The image of Hagrid in his ruffled, checked apron sniffing pridefully over oven-fresh, inedible 'goodness' sprang to Harry's mind.
"I would like that but let me see how much homework I have. Don't want to fall behind."
"No - no tha' would never do." Watching Harry about to take off on his broom, Hagrid added, "By the way Harry - I told Ron to check near the stables when he flew through. You may want to take a turn 'round the lake before headin' back to class. Yeh know, to see if there is anythin' there worth pickin' up, if yeh get my meanin'"
Catching the knowing wink Hagrid sent his way Harry smiled and did a 'man-to-half-giant' nod to his friend, "Will do - thanks, Hagrid!"
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Coming up on the Black Lake, a naiad sunning herself in all her glory would have been invisible to him. All he had eyes for was the way Hermione looked, crouched down next to the lakeshore, dappled by early afternoon sunlight filtering through the overhanging tree boughs. Jumper less and tie-less, her shirtsleeves were rolled up as she rinsed each arm - elbow to fingertip - in the cool, fresh water. Once her hands were clean, she reached up and plucked the two hair sticks out of her up-do. He sighed in disappointment as he saw her gather stray strands, twist all her hair into one thick rope and re-secure the curly mass to the back of her head. Her curls suited her to perfection but it was a rare occurrence to catch her when her hair was down.
Narrowing his eyes, not sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing; his curiosity was piqued as he watched her begin to unbutton her white oxford shirt. Stopping when the last button was slipped out of its hole, she freed her shoulders and coaxed her wrists out of the cuffs. Slinging the shirt low around her hips she knotted the sleeves to keep it in place. A very becoming camisole, in a lighter shade of Gryffindor Gold, highlighted the elegant lines of her shoulders and décolleté without being overly revealing or too prudish.
Bending forward, splashing cold water on her face and spreading the water over her throat and across the base of her neck was something she did several times. Seeing Hermione look behind her, to the left, to the right and across the lake, Harry held his breath as he wondered what else she was going to take off.
A self-deprecating smile spread across his face when his stealth was rewarded by getting to watch his best friend strip off her shoes and socks, pick her way to an outcropping of rocks and let her bare legs dangle in the lake. Remembering something he had been told once, he changed the words to make them situation-appropriate: perves never prosper, Potter.
Hanging back a bit, Harry told himself to wait before approaching her. Privacy was found in so few places on campus and here he had perfect privacy to look down at his friend - his best friend - and really let his emotions roll through him without having to be on-guard for hidden Gossip Mill correspondents. A hint of hypocrisy echoed in his heart. He was trespassing on what Hermione perceived as private moments for herself. Shaking his head at the circles his thoughts were travelling - his privacy, her privacy, seizing the opportunity to lower his protective walls, at the same time she was obviously taking an introspective moment thinking that she was alone when in fact she was being spied on by him - it was enough to get him tangled in his own thoughts. Shaking his head at himself, he placated any residual qualms by being honest with himself: his thoughts were about her and him and what to do about putting the two words together - him and her - and making it one: them.
The Fall Ball was the perfect place for him to do what he had been planning, in one form or another, ever since the end of fifth year. Thinking back, every time he planned something with another girl, he always gauged the activity to what he thought Hermione would like. That is why he never took another girl to Madame Puddifoot's. All that pink, the ruffles and foo-foo ambiance would make her want to wrap her tie around his neck and nail it to a heart shaped window sill, keeping him there for everyone to see just what kind of ass she could make him out to be. However - a quiet corner booth out of sight of the main door was what Madame Rosemerta 'reserved' for him whenever he brought a date to The Three Broomsticks. It was because of Hermione he knew when not to talk when he was with a girl. Smirking at the memories of the days when Hermione would ramble on and on, not letting him get word in edge-wise, he knew that was not the reason for what his dates perceived as good manners. The reason was that, what he had learned, was that people say so much about themselves when they speak. It was not in what they said - it was in how they said it. The key was listening, not just hearing, to the other person. Number One on the 'Top One Hundred Things Harry Should Have Done Differently and Didn't': listening to Umbridge's opening speech back in fifth year. Sure, he heard what she said, but it was Hermione had listened to that toad-woman-from-hell.
Shuddering at the thought of what fifth year could have been like if the DA had never formed, if that all that extra work hadn't been put into learning defensive spells and if extra study sessions hadn't been instigated, the evening they all spent at the Department of Mysteries would have played out differently - possibly tragically. Hermione lying on the floor unconscious and he not able to revive her was an image that still haunted him. But he had learned, and he had honed his ability to listen. Just listening gave room for contemplation. Not only in offering a thoughtful response to a question or comment but listening allowed him to be able to read into key elements in a person's personality.
One of his best litmus tests he used when out on a date was asking a girl what she did that day. He would pay attention. Not what they did that day but how his dates would go about it, sharing what they did during their day. Recalling one evening when all he did was listen to gossip and make-up tips, which if truth be told was quite informative and very funny, what he learned was that what his date was interested in had nothing to do with what he wanted in a relationship. Not that he wanted to get married or looking for Miss Right, but the thought of spending time with a girl who thought more of what others thought of her than what she thought of herself had absolutely no appeal. Different girls, different dates, different places he went with girls on dates all added to his knowledge of what he one: liked, two: found fascinating and three: had no interest in pursuing. Insecure girls who only wanted to talk about him had issues he wasn't ready for or in a position to help them overcome. Merlin knows I have enough of my own emotional baggage to deal with, the idea of helping some put themselves back together emotionally is something I cannot do right now. Girls looking to marry the Boy Who Lived and Has a Huge Bank Account were just plain scary. Girls who shared a lot of common activities made great friends but not good girlfriends. He found that they would have already talked about - or only talked about - what they had just done. This led to the discovery that having different interests had the makings of more interesting interactions later on.
But every time - every girl, every place, every date - he compared what he was doing with that he thought Hermione would think what he was doing and who he was with. And, when he explained it all to Ron during their trip to visit Bill in Turkey over the summer holidays, he knew he sounded downright barmy and pathological. But it was the truth. She was there, in some form, in one way or another, in every aspect of his life, because - and this was the one thing that sounded like it was the most stunning revelation to have ever graced his life rather than the most obvious conclusion that the entire population of Hogwarts had already deduced - she was the one person he wanted to have a part in every aspect of his life.
When he and Hermione talked, it was of different things but with similar points of view. She challenged him to think and speak about what was going on: school, life, Quidditch. He in turn, drew her out of academia and complex conversations with teachers and put her in a place where she could talk about what was going on: parents, room-mates, frustrations. When they were quiet it was natural and comforting, not awkward and prickly. She hated to fly. He was a natural born flyer. But, she appreciated his talent and cheered for him at every game and, if possible, brought her books with her to work on while he and the rest of the Quidditch team did their drills. She could get immersed in reading, cross-referencing and drawing conclusions from the most abstract threads. He knew he could watch for hours as her face went from concentration, to lighting up with the thrill of a chase, to the triumph of putting it all together and making a scholarly declaration. Come to think about it - what she does in research is very similar to what I do in Quidditch. I ride a broom, she surfs ideas. Both are precarious perches. We each have a Snitch. Mine is a little golden ball with wings and hers is a hypothesis playing out the way she expected it too. That is what is worth a hundred and fifty points to her. That is her House Cup.
Coming up behind her was easy because she had never checked to see if there was anyone above her. Coming up behind her without making a sound was easier because brooms did not make any noise. Coming up with a wicked plan to get her attention was the easiest thing he had done all day…
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Sweaty, grimy and feeling like she had half of Hagrid's garden imbedded in all of her cracks and creases, a quick jaunt to the lake to rinse off was exactly what she needed.
Taking off her shirt and tying it around her waist, the cool water she splashed on herself felt really good against her hot skin.
It might be late October, she thought, but working in the sun is working in the sun and today is a very warm day. A sudden thought sparked an impish grin.
Checking to make no one would see her being un-Head Girl-ish, her socks were quickly stuffed into her shoes, her feet were bare and she was enjoying the feeling of swishing water between her submerged toes. A full frost had yet to hit, but she was glad that the cooler night temperatures were slowly diminishing the mosquito population. The mental image of a pair of mosquitoes being seated at linen draped table while a tuxedo clad lightening bug presented the duo with a set of matching menus featuring 'Haemoglobin of Hermione' as the night's special sprang to mind. Nonetheless, a few winged critters buzzed around her head and every now and then she would reach up and bat them away.
The quiet is nice, she mused. I don't get a lot of that. Everything is so… much this year. It's good - I like it - but there are a few things that, if I had known in advance, could have made time-management a little easier.
Picking up some bracken from between the rocks, she tossed one piece after the other into the lake. She found herself smiling as the ripples from the debris hitting the water started to over lap. Waving a hand near her ear to fend off some air-bound blood-sucker; her fingers touched and traced the smooth surfaces of some small stones.
Staring at the rocks and transferring them into her hand, she rolled them around in her palm as her thoughts collided, crashed and bloomed in her mind. Transferring the stones to her other hand, she could not help but think that that was the problem: her mind. She was an organizer, she functioned off of logic and lists and pragmatism. Yes, there was room for spontaneity in her life. Yes, there was room for a bit of recklessness. But even she had to admit that her recklessness had limitations. Probability had to be in her favour for her to do something brazen and spontaneity could only be doled out in measured quantities.
A moment's worth of introspection had her dismissing those insecure thoughts. Sure she had a lot to do. And they were things she wanted to do because it was her choice to do them. Not things others expected her to do nor did she do things that she thought other people expected her to do. Staying organized was the only way to see all her projects come to fruition. No. That was not the problem.
Tossing the stones into the lake one at a time and enjoying the plunking sounds they made as they struck the lake's surface, she turned her thoughts inward to see what it was she was really feeling.
It was not loneliness. She had true friends who made sure she returned to the world of Planet Hogwarts on a regular basis.
It was not boredom. Her projects were enough to keep her busy.
Fear of the future? Nope - that was not it either. The future was going to come regardless - nothing she could do about that. True, it was not every day the Department of Mysteries summoned a student to a closed-door meeting in London in order to discuss what it entailed if one became an Unspeakable but that would also come to a resolution - one way or another.
Waving her hand around her head to encourage whatever was buzzing around her ears to seek its afternoon 'pick-me-up-snack' elsewhere, she really focused on what was truly going on with her.
Well, if it is not a something - maybe it is a some one?
Ginny was the out-spoken, self-confident, 'fun-fearless-female' who always reminded Hermione that being athletic and a girl who only gave a passing glance at the odds was a potent combination and a force to be reckoned with. Granted, Ginny wasn't the one she would run to if she felt like she was feeling over-loaded or stressed out over a situation. Ginny's 'take no prisoners unless they can be used for ransom and plied for a bigger prize' and quick temper was great for immediate gratification and extracting retribution. But not so good if what she really needed were quiet validation and a sounding board to bounce off ideas and formulate potential solutions.
Ron. Merlin, she loved that man-boy. He was the first one to call her on something if he thought she was out of her mind and the first one to back her up and defend her in any situation. He lived in a world that consisted of two colours, two extremes: black and white, right and wrong. Similar to Ginny in personality, but he was infinitely more cunning. He is the ultimate strategist. He can size up a situation, see the best plan of action and see it through. And, he was funny. The way he blushed at off-colour comments, his ever-ready quips and his Don Juan de Weasley demeanour. Or how he thought he could get away with anything if he applied enough Weasley Charm had her smiling as the last of the stones were flung into the lake.
She was all for meeting her Prince Charming, but she did not need a knight mounted on a white horse to come and save her. As if! Let him come galloping up, but he had better be bringing a horse for her to ride on as well. As if she was going to sit meekly behind her Prince Charming, clutching his waist, and pressing her face against his back while he brandished his sword at whatever enemy they were facing. I don't think so. Mounted side-by-side on separate horses meant that both of them could face whatever was in front of them - together. Yes, there were times she needed help and was grateful when it arrived. I learned my lesson, I know better than to take on certain things on by myself - like mountain trolls. And yes, she knew just how crushed Ron would feel if he felt like he couldn't play the part of the Grand Protector of his Second Sister. But, she didn't need someone to fight her battles for her. She didn't like feeling that she was being pushed aside 'for her own good' while the 'men' took care of whatever was wrong. That was not her and that was not how she was going to live her life.
Draco. Draco was an enigma in every sense of the word. Smooth, polished, articulate, impervious to public opinion but at the same time, he held up his family's name like a badge of honour and wielded carte blanche access to the entire Wizarding world. Nor was he above pulling a prank for the sake of pulling a prank or using coarse language if he chose. The way he played Quidditch with a level of loosely leashed ruthlessness was as beautiful to watch as it was to condemn when other players paid the price for crossing his air-space. His haughty behaviour about the school and how it was run did not correlate with the talent and pride he took in fulfilling his Head Boy duties. He kept her guessing - in a good way. He never fought her battles even when it seemed that she was on the verge of losing control of a situation. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the way she would go about solving whatever was going on around her. It would not surprise her if she found out he was behind half the things she had to solve. Whatever he set in motion, it was not to see her chase her own tail. She would put a bag of chocolate frogs on that. It almost looked like… like he was testing her. Like he wanted to see exactly what she was capable of accomplishing. Not to mention that he was in possession of two of her secrets and showed no sign of holding them over her head.
Well, he does a little - hence the deals we struck over Friday afternoon Head duties and one other matter.
Drawing intersecting infinity symbols in the water with her feet, she thought more about the handsome Slytherin. He challenges me on a level that very few are capable of achieving: he challenges the way I look at the world around me. Not in a bad way - but in a way that makes me see that the world was made of more than the 'black-and-white', 'them versus us' and 'lines-drawn-in-the-sand' perceptions which Ron and Harry carry. Shades of grey exist and Draco never ceases to remind me of that fact. But, believing in a latent 'sense of goodness' the blond-haired boy might possess was one thing she could not do. Trusting him to react in a predictable manner wouldn't happen. She would have enough faith in what she had learned and, inadvertently, shared with him, to take him out of the 'Most Likely to Kill Me in My Sleep' column and permanently assign him to the 'Eternally a Prat, Git and Most Likely to Drive Me Mental' category.
Harry. Harry was more than 'just Harry'. The person I fancy knowing the most about I am having the hardest time putting into words. Well, maybe words aren't enough for someone like him. Surviving the cruelty dished out by the Durlsey's, overcoming the horrors encountered every school year since his arrival at Hogwarts, thriving in an environment where everyone expected him to save them.
Don't they know what they are doing to him every time they call him the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, Prophesy Boy? What about other titles he had earned? What about 'Best Friend'? What about, 'Most Likely to Succeed If the World Would Just Leave Him Alone for a While'?
What about the one person who, until today, believed in her enough to let her fight her own battles unless she asked for help? What about the one person who always let her say everything she wanted to say before offering what he thought of a situation? What about the person who she was convinced had learned his lesson about barging into a situation with a 'rescue at all costs' frame of mind? What had happened to Harry's realization, after the Department of Mysteries, when he confessed that he should have listened to her and taken a moment to evaluate what was going on then that night might have played out differently?
Chewing on her bottom lip, she shook her head trying to get her thoughts in order and to knock whatever it was that was crawling on the back of her exposed neck off. Harry was the one person who knows about the compulsion too, not necessarily hide who you are, but not quite share everything you are with the world at large - or even your closest friends. Unlike Ron, who took it personally when she held back, Harry accepted her need to keep whatever secrets she deemed worthy of keeping without pressing her for disclosure. This allowed her to trust him all that much more. Fledgling feelings, trust and unconditional acceptance moved Harry from the Best Friend column to 'Best Friend and Man-Boy Hermione Wants to Date the Most' column. She wasn't looking for a potential husband, or even Mr. Right, but she really did not want to think about the immediate future without him being a constant presence in her life - outside the parameters of friendship.
Her mental voice rose as a litany took shape and the first licks of anger touched her thoughts. He should have known better than to think that she would be vulnerable to someone like that Parkinson cow. He should have known better than to have traded one of the most special and mind-blowing kisses she had ever experienced for five more minutes of fame. He should have known better than to think she could not take care of herself. He should have known better than to take away her right to see the situation through on her own terms and not be reduced to piggy-backing on the heels of a public declaration.
He didn't trust me.
Anger dissipated and a sense of… not quite betrayal, but near enough, spread from her thoughts to her fingers. That is what really stung and hurt. He knows me. He knows how I think. Reaching for a larger rock, she aimed for the middle of the lake and threw it as hard as she could. Watching it sail through the air, a bitter thought reverberated as the surface of the lake broke out in concentric circles when the stone fell into the water.
He knows better.
He let me down by not believing in me.
He is the one person who knows what it means to me to discover something new, to solve a particularly challenging puzzle. He is the one person who knows that sometimes all I need is to talk out a particularly difficult problem in order to come up with a solution. He didn't know that he was the one person who added colours and landscapes to her black, white and grey, academic-immersed life.
The greens in her life came from the colour of his eyes and corresponded with the Quidditch Pitch where he played, had his drills and knew she was welcomed without recrimination despite her lack of flying skills. Blues were added when they went for the walks around the lake and every time he made sure she enjoyed a beautiful day underneath a cloudless sky. Blue was also the colour of her fourth year Yule Ball robes, the moment when he realized she was just as much a girl as Lavender and Pavarti. Reds were for him letting her be angry when she needed to be angry and in the same time frame, sit with her watching the sky blaze as the sun set, not saying a word as the fiery orb disappeared behind the mountains that flanked the castle. Gold came from the way she treasured of friendship she found in him.
Treasure, or is that what you are telling yourself so that what you are feeling won't become anything more than a 'fancying'? That was the question that slammed into her thoughts and scattered her musings to the four corners of her mind. Not because it was true - but because it was moot. Her friendship with Harry had changed, in her heart of hearts, three years ago when a fourteen year old boy took on, triumphed and was very nearly broken by events manipulated by others who only saw Harry Potter as a means to an end.
Her present self sent an accusation to her younger self. Why didn't you do anything about it then? Retracting the accusation, her older self answered almost as quickly as her younger self defended herself. How could I? It was only recently I discovered the words that my thoughts and feelings kept secreted away. I was only fourteen. I was still unsure what I thought of boys in general, no where near ready to say, 'this is what I want'.
Staring across the lake, all she saw was the past.
Viktor and I dated but it was a 'romance' that was fit in between prepping for fifth year O.W.L.S, my work load for Fourth Year, helping Harry, and S.P.E.W. - not to mention fighting with Ron and dealing with Ron and Harry fighting with each other. And Viktor had his own schedule to maintain: training for professional Quidditch, school work, being used and placed on a pedestal by a traitorous Death Eater, being a Champion in a life-or-death themed Tri-Wizard Tournament.
And since then: school, grades, juggling obligations in the Muggle and Magical worlds, prefects, parents, Crookshanks and everything else. Yeah - I've loads of time for activities that would make a convicted Scarlet Woman blush, she snorted ruefully.
Everything that happened the year when that horrible Umbridge woman became Headmistress only re-enforced her feelings for Harry. Why else would she buck the system, push him to be the leader she knew resided within? There was no one to blame for the scar she carried on her body from the skirmish she, Harry, Neville, Ron, Luna and Ginny fought in at the Department of Mysteries except the person who cast the spell that sent that purple flame straight at her. It was her choice to mount that Thestral that night. It was her choice to stand side-by-side McGonagall three hours ago and face her accusers.
It is going to have to be our choice as to what happened next.
That thought had her sitting up straight and stilling her legs in the water.
It was her choice to fling both hands around her head and shoulders to shoo away that blasted bug that just wouldn't leave her alone. Not to have pair of hands thread themselves underneath her arms - as she was in mid-shoo - pull her off of her rock and hoist her onto a broom manned by a bespectacled green-eyed imp who was going to have his life expectancy cut short.
"By all that is Morgana, Harry - put me down this instant!" No sooner were the words out of her mouth was when Harry climbed higher.
"Not yet." Harry's face was resolute.
"This isn't funny!" The higher they climbed, the stronger the buffering winds blew and the more precarious she felt her perch become as she said, her voice quivering with fear, "You're scaring me!"
"Just hold on a second, Hermione." Harry was talking to her but had his attention focused on flying through the turbulence.
A tremor ran the length of the broom as she felt Harry tack. With the wind at her back as she sat side-saddle, her terror level dropped to something just short of stroke inducing and hovered somewhere near heart-stopping. A hand twice the size of her own and attached to a well-muscled arm wound around her waist and pulled her until she was pressed snugly up against his school jumper. Squeaking as the broom suddenly shifted sideways, both of her arms wrapped around his solid warmth.
"Hold on if you want, but look at me," Harry commanded. Locking her eyes on his bright green ones, the sky and clouds were reflected in the lens of his glasses. "You are only afraid because your eyes are telling you that this is not safe. You are also thinking of every Quidditch accident you have seen. We are not in a game and nothing is going to happen to either one of us."
"You can't promise me that." Tears crowded her lashes. He doesn't understand.
"Hermione, I know you do not like heights," Harry's eyes never left her face. "Don't look down, don't look up. Focus on me. It will be better in a minute. You just need a moment for your brain to tell your instincts that you are okay. Trust me."
The winds buffeted the back of her head and she could feel sections of her hair being teased free. It had been a whole minute since the last tremor and nothing had happened since. Inhaling deeply, the smell of autumn and warm male was a wonderful balm on her nerves. Closing and opening her eyes, she noticed how close she was to Harry. A smile stole its way from her lips to her eyes when she heard him murmur a warming-charm over her.
Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx
He knew he was taking his life in his hands by 'Diving and Dashing' Hermione, but he couldn't resist. She was sitting there so quietly and prettily - tossing stones into the lake and splashing her feet. At first, he thought he would scare her by blowing on her neck and ears like he was some sort of bug and then reveal himself. But, the visual image of her being so 'surprised' that she ended up IN the lake was enough of a deterrent for him to rethink his approach.
Plucking her off of her rock was easy enough, his broom's momentum helped with that aspect of the manoeuvre. Putting her on the broom was a little more challenging, but he had all week to work out the logistics and was pleased that the transfer went as smoothly as it did.
Calming Hermione down enough to prevent her from inadvertently tipping them both off of his broom took a little longer than he thought. Pulling her close was something he didn't know he did until her shoulder came to rest against his chest. Her arms around his waist felt comfortable and re-assuring - once her grip slackened to something just short of rib-cracking. Seeing the goose-pimples recede after he cast the warming charm made him feel slightly less guilty for her initial terror.
"What's that for?" Harry asked, referring to the smile that crept across her face.
"Truth?" Hermione asked.
"Truth." Harry replied in a way that told her that they always spoke the truth to one another.
"You smell nice." Her answer brought a touch of pink to her skin and her eyelashes fluttering to her cheeks.
"Well, you know - hygiene is rumoured to be a good thing," Harry teased.
"Put me down, Harry. Please." Lifting her lashes, her expression was shuttered. He could not read what she was thinking.
"No. Not yet." Feeling her stiffen and change her grip to something necessary rather than desired, he looked down and recaptured her eyes with his own. "Why?"
"I am still angry with you and I am not ready to talk to you yet." Her truthful answer sacrificed her cool façade.
"Hermione," Harry knew what he wanted to say but took a moment to make sure his words would come out in a way he needed them too. "Neither one of us gets a lot of privacy, not to mention free time - if we talk here we are guaranteed both."
He watched as the truth of his words struck a chord with Hermione.
"You kissed me," Hermione began.
"You kissed me back," Harry replied. He was holding back. He needed to know where she was in her thoughts. "But, as I remember it, it was you who kissed me first."
"It was amazing, Harry," Hermione's distant look told him she was re-visiting the moments they shared in the dark.
"For me too, Hermione," Harry was emphatic. Alone, with her, he was free to be everything he was - whether they were exploring each other's thoughts, feelings or mouths.
He was completely unprepared for what came next.
"Why did you do it, Harry?" Hermione's voice became hard despite a sense of hurt that clung to the outer edges of her demand.
"Kiss you? I thought you would have figured that out by now." Harry reined in his need to counter her accusation and made himself listen to whatever was going to come next.
"No - not that," Hermione brushed off his comment. "How could you not trust me? Why didn't you believe in me, Harry?"
Her accusation, seasoned with disappointment, was enough to have him stopping the broom they were riding on and shooting her a stunned look. "That is not what happened at all, Hermione."
"Then why did you do it, Harry? Why did you toss one of the most thrilling experiences of my life to the Wolves of Hogwarts, Harry? Why did you thump your chest and announce to the WORLD that you snogged the Head Girl in a broom cupboard?" Hermione's eyes were flaring with emotion.
"You are way off base, Hermione."
"Why won't you answer the question, Harry?"
Hermione's eyes were glowing with banked cinders and his were sparking with indignation. If he - they - weren't careful - they would set each other off.
"Hermione - Pansy had you cornered. When the Hall got quiet, all I could hear was that cow's accusation hanging in the air. I reacted before I thought. I said the first thing that I thought would exonerate you."
"Rubbish, Harry." She wasn't buying what he was saying. "That might be the excuse you are telling yourself, but - "
"- that is NOT what happened, Hermione." Harry cut her off. "I wanted to protect you."
"BOLLOCKS! You didn't trust me, Harry. The only thing you were looking to protect - "
"- I trust you. It was that Slytherin witch I didn't trust. Who knew what she was going to do next! I was protecting the piece of my heart that YOU have and that the Parkinson cow threatened to chew like cud!" The vehemence in his voice rose sharply as he interrupted her again. "Do you know what it is like to see someone, who you care about, singled out and the feelings of helplessness that swarm all over you when you realize that you can't do a thing for them?"
Hermione pulled her right hand from behind his back and poked his chest several times as she countered, "I know EXACTLY how that feels! Have you ever had to stand in a spectator's arena while your best friend battled a dragon? Have you ever seen someone who you care about walk into a room sporting scrapes, bruises, blood and soon-to-be-new-scars that you have every idea where they came from but were denied the chance to help -"
"Wanna compare notes? Let's talk petrification. Let's talk about watching his 'friend' cry out in pain while in the throes of a potion induced sleep and knowing there was nothing you could do but wait until the spasm passed!" Harry heard himself bite out the words as the memories of Hermione's recuperation swam in vividly front of his eyes.
Why do you think I did not visit that much, Hermione? Why do you think I only came to the Hospital Wing a couple of times? Because I could not do anything for you!
Ruthlessly re-burying the memories of digging his nails into the palms of his hands as he sat, stood and paced at her bedside was the only way he could return to the present and the girl who was perched nearly underneath his chin. Shifting his feet until they were nestled deeper into the prongs at the base of his broom, he subtly pulled on the handle of the broom and resumed their flight.
"Let's talk about being left high and dry by someone who should believe in his friend enough to know that if she got herself into a situation then she is capable of getting herself out of it!"
"So, let me understand this properly." Harry kept his tone scathing as he locked his gaze with hers and refused to break contact. "If you were standing in front of a firing squad and you were about to be fired upon I am supposed to sit back and -"
"Yes! Let them fire!" Her vehemence echoed around every word. "More than likely I would be wearing a bullet proof vest!"
Hermione's heated declaration had him snorting derisively and looking at her incredulously.
"More than likely?" Parroting her words, he scoffed at her metaphor. "That's not good enough, Hermione - not nearly good enough. I would have to KNOW that you were wearing that blasted vest."
"Wrong answer Harry," Hermione tersely fired back. Changing tactics, she lobbed a Logic Bomb at him. "What if it was Ron - "
"- It wasn't and don't even go there." Plucking the fuse from her Logic Bomb didn't earn him any headway. If anything, he could see her thinking of an alternate means of making her point. Shaking his head as all his thoughts and feelings began to get all jumbled together, he blurted out, "Ron would never let it go that far. He would have figured out a way to get out BEFORE the firing squad was even assembled."
"But what if were necessary? What if what happened had to happen because that was the way it was supposed to play out?" The look on her face was unreadable beyond the resolve that was etched into every part of her body.
"Hermione, don't you get it?" Sighing deeply, he released all his locked muscles and looked squarely into Hermione's flashing eyes. "If there was ever a possibility that you would not be a constant, everyday presence in my life, then I would do everything in my powers to minimize any threats levelled against you. It's that plain and simple Hermione."
"Then Harry, we have a problem." Hermione's eyes danced around his face as she shared the reason why she suddenly looked so sad and her demeanour switched from enthusiastic debate to pensive resignation.
Harry saw the unhappiness on her face and blew out a breath of frustration. He was getting nowhere fast. "You are right - I should have trusted you. For that, I will apologize for. I will not make amends for wanting to protect you."
Hermione sighing in exasperation had him stamping down his temper and opting for patient explanation. "I am going to do this, Hermione. Protect you. It goes with the territory."
"Harry - friends trust one another…" Hermione was shaking her head. He could see the wheels in her head turning as she put the flat of her hand on his chest. "I don't need or want…"
"I'm not talking about friendship Hermione." Taking a deep breath, he said, "We already have that for the rest of our lives. I am talking about the privilege someone is entitled to when they care about another person deeply." Not hearing any interruptions, he seized the moment. "I will always be there to watch your back, Hermione."
"I don't know Harry. There is a world of difference between watching my back and being pushed behind you while you fend off whatever is coming." Her crestfallen face showed just how much she was affected by their conversation. "There is a lot to think about."
This is not where, or how, he wanted this conversation to take place or occur and this was definitely not the way he anticipated this conversation going. The moment was on him and - by extension - her. It was the crossroads, which he and Hermione had approached several times but had yet to cross. Now, it was their chance to do it together. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he knew his next question had the potential to go either way.
"Does this problem change the way you feel about me?" It was a fight to keep his voice as even as possible despite the heavy, deep, isolated thuds of his heart.
The world stopped as he waited for her answer.
"No." Her lips trembled with the effort it took to make her confession. "No it doesn't."
Watching her eyes flit from his eyes, to his lips, back to his eyes before focusing on a distant point beyond his shoulder, he knew that what she shared was going to all he was going to get. Freeing one hand from the broom handle, he used it to gently pull out the hair sticks that secured the chignon to the back of her head. Watching her swivel her neck to look at him again, Harry felt his breath catch.
"That's better." He felt the corners of his eyes completely relax as his whole face softened. His turn for a confession, "I've been wanting do that for a while."
She looked beautiful: her cascading curls swirling towards him, the ends rising and falling with the up-drafts as they flew across the grounds. The lighter glints burnished by the afternoon sun, matching her camisole shade for shade, eyes burning with emotion, her cheeks tinged with the fierceness she displayed just moments ago. Her lips parted to allow her tongue to replace the moisture the wind stole. Dean's assessment of Ginny paled in comparison as to what was going through Harry's mind about Hermione: brains, beauty, compassion, fire, loyalty, laughter and mystery are all in one place with this girl.
"Why did you do that?" Her confusion carried a hint of smile.
"So we can do this," Harry whispered.
Time stopped.
The world fell away.
Even the sun slipped behind a cloud out of respect for what this girl felt for this boy and how much this boy felt for that girl.
Harry wasn't kissing Hermione. Hermione wasn't kissing Harry. They were kissing each other. Lips pressed against lips, neither vying for control nor trying to make a point. Hands caressed contours found on faces, necks, shoulders and arms. Tongues caressed teeth and half formed words were swallowed by the other. Nothing was urgent and since time stopped, it was no longer a factor. With the world falling away, the moment belonging only to them, they revelled in the emotions that flowed and ebbed between them.
Feet touching soft grass restarted time. Green eyes taking in the freely offered emotions floating around in a pair of brown eyes brought shy smiles to two sets of faces and a series of quick, sweet, closed-lipped kisses. A delicate feminine finger traced a path from the outermost corner of his eyeglasses, down along his cheekbone, the pad of her finger barely grazing the sensitive divot underneath his bottom lip had him slumping forward and his forehead inclining to connect to her brow.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah, Harry?"
A quirky smile stretched from his lips to his eyes. "What was it that Luna was supposed to give me?"
A delicate blush had Hermione turning her head into the wind to cool off her suddenly over-heated face.
Deepening his smile, Harry asked again, "Not going tell me?"
Turning back to look at him, she dropped her eyes to the grip he had on the broom handle before chancing a look at his face. "I bumped into Luna in the hallway. I was upset - she asked if she could do anything for me."
"And?" Harry prompted, knowing her answer was going to be good - regardless of what she said.
Shifting almost imperceptively on her narrow perch, it was a moment before she took a deep breath and said in a rush, "She was supposed to give your ears a good boxing." A wicked smile stole over her embarrassment. "I told her that if she saw you before I did, then the best thing she could do for me is box your ears because apparently you had lost the ability to hear in the first place and that no damage would be done by one of us clapping our respective hands simultaneously over your ears."
"I am glad she opted not to give me my 'present' then," Harry said with a sense of relief.
"I bet, Mr. Potter," Hermione sniffed at his sense of self-preservation.
"Well, if she did then I would not be able to hear the answer to my next question because my ears would still be ringing," Harry insinuated.
"Oh, really - and what might that be Harry?" Hermione teasingly challenged.
"Will you go to the dance with me?" Harry asked hopefully.
All teasing and mirth left her face as she realized his question was sincere and not a continuation of their play.
"No Harry, I can't. I'm sorry, I have…" Her voice trailed off as sincere regret filled her eyes.
Snatching his hands off of her shoulders Harry jerked upright - like someone had pricked him with a hundred needles.
"What? Hermione! I don't understand. Why? Why won't you go with me?" Harry could not wrap his mind around the fact Hermione said no.
"Yes, Granger - I think we'd all like to hear the answer to that one." Striking a casual pose - arms folded just under his chest and one ankle crossed against its mate - as he leaned the small of his back against his horizontally hovering broom, pausing long enough to form an evaluating smirk. "Come on now; don't keep us waiting in suspense."
Draco's aristocratic drawl brought the world crashing back around him and Hermione with a round of applause, wolf whistles, and catcalls chasing his words.
Grouped around his broom was the entire Vectors class - complete with a narrow-eyed Madame Hooche and flabbergasted Lavender. Next to him, frozen in place, Hermione dragged a ragged breath over her teeth and spent her air on one phrase.
"Oh. Sacred. Morgana."
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Ron knew that if he felt like crawling out of his skin because everything had gone to Hades in a hand-basket, then Hermione must be mentally begging for Hades himself to open up the ground and drag her down to Persephone's side. For the second time in the span of a few hours, he saw Hermione become the centre of attention courtesy of his best mate. The irritation he felt towards Harry just before Divination began to simmer and churn in his chest.
Thinking about Hermione and what she must be feeling, a deep breath was all he needed to go from student-fly-boy to 'Nobody-Messes-With-My- Second-Sister-So-Don't-Even-Think-About-It-Unless-You-Want-To-Answer-To-Me' persona. Using his size to elbow his way through the small group, he gruffly said, "Come on now, you lot. Make a hole; prefect coming through."
Ron narrowed his eyes as he watched Harry dismount his broom as soon as Hermione's bare feet balanced on solid ground. Watching her wince as she stepped on something sharp hidden in the grass had Ron shooting a nasty 'What the hell were you thinking' look at Harry. Getting only 'this is none of your business' scowl from his dorm-mate, Ron looked at Hermione and another flash of Protective Big Brother surged through him as he took in how beautiful she looked - despite her trembling like a deer-caught-in-wand-light.
"All right, Hermione?" Ron heard himself ask her quietly enough so that she could hear him. A terse nod and a subtle, darting look in Harry's direction told him that all she wanted to do is get away from Harry and the group of ten people who were dissecting every unnecessary moment this scene lasted so that they could retell it later with all sorts of embellishments firmly attached.
Placing a steadying hand on the sleeve of his robe, Hermione had yet to answer Harry's question or rise to Draco's bait.
Shouldering his Firebolt, Harry reached for Hermione's elbow and tried to spin her around. That is, he tried. Her grip on Ron's robes kept her from being completely turned around - and the fact that she yanked her arm free of his fingers helped a bit as well. Catching the reassuring look she gave him, Ron saw her swivel her gaze back onto Harry's face.
"Harry. Don't do this." The warning in her tone reverberated across the Vectors training area.
Ignoring the second 'what-the-hell-gives-Harry?' look Ron sent to his best mate, Harry still opened his mouth.
"Why, Hermione? After everything we talked about…" Harry could care less who was around or the fact that Hermione would now settle for Zeus splitting the sky with thunderbolts if it meant she could get away all that more quickly. Ron wished he could do something more, but the longer he stood there, just to the side of Hermione, the more he disliked the one possibility guaranteed to liberate Hermione and put an end to the un-necessary drama. "How can you say that?"
"Oh, Potter! Going to kiss and tell after all?" Draco taunted from his side of the clearing, which were only feet away from where everyone else was standing and staring. Sweeping the small group with his eyes, Ron saw Draco make sure everyone was focused on the melodrama unfolding between his two best friends. "Listen up everyone, this aught to be good. Potter is going to find out for all of us why Granger turned him down."
Ron could not keep the look of shock out of his eyes when his head snapped in the direction to where the Slytherin Prince was holding court. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? Malfoy, in his own twisted, 'I am a degenerate git' way, try to warn Harry to shut up as well?
"Harry - stop." Hermione words were icy. She knew where this was going - it was etched in every fibre of her stance - and did want to go there.
The crowd, their murmuring, and their collective side-show-attraction gawking skills were making it harder and harder for Ron to hear anything that was being said between his best friends.
"No. I won't Hermione. Not until you tell me why." Harry was adamant in his demand, which Ron knew would only push more of Hermione buttons.
"Oh, this should be rich everyone. Listen carefully - would not want to miss a syllable that's for sure." Draco egged the couple. "Anyone have a spare RememberAll to preserve this precious moment?"
"Ron? Get me out of here, please." Hermione asking for help rarely happened. She was the most capable person, beyond his mother, he knew. Shrugging self-consciously back into her school shirt and pull the plackets tight against her body, Hermione's quiet pleading was the equivalent of him dropping an armoured faceplate into place and donning a pair of gauntlets. Sir Ron of the Noble Order of Big Brothers was being hailed.
Falling in step with her as escort, Ron could feel his eyes snap open in astonishment when he saw Harry make another grab for Hermione and actually succeed in spinning her around and forcing her to face him. Ron did not miss how Hermione made a slight grimace of discomfort when Harry's hand latched onto her arm, which earned Harry a patented Ron-Weasley-Look-of-Death.
"Hermione - tell me. I thought you…" Ron could see Harry ignoring everything and everyone around him - the lad only had eyes and ears for the brunette who was now fighting a case of the shakes as the level of emotion soared in his best girl-friend.
Harry mate - you are treading on thin ice, Ron silently chastised as his own anger at Harry bubbled and frothed at how Harry was carrying on.
"Fine, Harry," Hermione's control snapped as she yanked her self free from his room-mate. The air all but crackled between them as she ground out, "I cannot go with you because I ALREADY HAVE A DATE! There - are you satisfied now?"
Surprise wrapped itself around the training area and Ron used it to propel Hermione away from the crowd and transfer her within his circle of safety, giving her the opportunity to walk away. Even Draco seemed torn between feeling sorry for Hermione, being angry on Hermione's behalf now that her private affairs were dragged into public and amused at the way Harry stood there as if he had been Stupefied.
Seeing Harry start towards her one more time with a dark expression on his face, Ron bounced a determined look at Madame Hooche.
"Class is over, right Professor?"
"Yes, Mr. Weasley. Class has been over since these two landed," Hooche clarified.
He's going to make me do this. Stepping in Harry's way, Ron put up a hand to stop him from chasing after Hermione. "Harry. Don't make me do this."
"Ron. Move," Harry's green eyes were almost black behind his glasses. "I gotta sort this out."
Flashing a quick glance at Daphne, he asked, "Got your first aid spells handy, Greengrass?" Seeing her nod in puzzled affirmation, Ron used every part of the inch and a half of height he had over Harry to make his friend stop in his tracks and back down.
Harry only glowered when Ron stepped forward and blocked the path that led back to the castle.
"Get. Out. Of. - "
CRUNCH!!
Ron's fist connected with Harry's nose and Harry went flying backwards - not quite falling but everyone saw the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain as he was sent reeling backwards for several steps before recovering his balance - before Harry could finish his demand.
"Sorry, mate, but no body hurts Hermione." Ron reminded Harry of their promise to one another regarding their other best friend and why the 'Gentlemen Don't Behave That Way' Squad was formed in the first place. Giving his best friend a chance to wipe the blood from his nose, Ron added, "That is YOUR rule - remember? - that we and the rest of the boys swore to uphold."
Wiping off his knuckles with a corner of his robe, Ron silenced the catty comment that was about to come out of Draco's mouth with a blatant warning ground out from somewhere deep within his throat. "Don't Malfoy. If you value walking upright, you won't go there."
Recalling one more detail, Ron swung his head towards thunderstruck Lavender. "That goes for you too, Lav."
Turning back to Harry, Ron said, "Harry, go get cleaned up. I'll see you at dinner."
Grabbing his Cleansweep and giving a respectful nod to Madame Hooche, he turned himself around and trotted after a small figure delicately picking her way up the slope and making her way back to the castle.
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