Caught off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts
Chapter 1: Rogue Bludgers
Shortly after sunrise at Hogwarts Castle…
Merlin's beard, that feels good.
Slowly rotating his head, Harry made sure that the hot spray flowed completely over his face and down his back. He knew that these early morning workouts with Ron were continuing to pay off as he felt the water channel down the groove created by his flexing back muscles. The cool shower tile was a welcomed contrast to the near scalding temperatures that pooled around his feet. After enduring yet another Dursley summer, he wouldn't trade the ability to take a hot-as-he-wanted-for-as-long-as-he-wanted shower for anything.Smirking into his well-lathered hands, well maybe give or take a few things.
It wasn't often that he found himself to be the only one in the shower room. Taking full advantage of being alone, he unbridled his thoughts and let the cascade soothe his joints. For someone who professes to have so little interest in Quidditch, I have to give Hermione some credit for making the team as strong as it is.
Months ago, he and Ron had been bouncing ideas off of one another in the Common Room as to how Hufflepuff - previously the weakest of ALL the House teams - had come within ten points of defeating Gryffindor in a match that took place in the winter of their sixth year. Neville, who had come down to get his Exploding Snap cards, overheard their discussion and shared something rather unexpected. According to their dorm mate, he vaguely remembered a conversation that took place just before Christmas Break between Susan Bones and Hermione. The quiet Hufflepuff was asking the cleverest witch in school for advice. But he couldn't recall any details. Bidding Neville "good-night", they both waited for Hermione to return from a study group before rounding on her.
She had no idea we would get so riled up! Remembering the look of confusion that clouded her face, Harry could still visualize Hermione looking blankly at her two best friends as he and Ron accused her of flagging her House loyalty. Hermione explained, once Ron and I calmed down enough to actually hear what she was trying to say, that she felt bad for Susan's House because they always got beaten so badly. While she declined to formulate strategies (As if! she scoffed), she had done - in her mind - the next best thing to help the Hufflepuffs help themselves. She had devised an exercise regime for the team to follow. And, not to be out done by a House whose mascot is a yellow and black bloody badger, neither he nor Ron allowed Hermione to go to bed until she designed and explained a superior, more challenging program.
Beginning that very week, every member of the House team was required - three times a week - to run around the lake and perform sets of push ups, sit ups and leg lunges. After which, the lake would be circled two more times. What time of day didn't matter, but it had to be done. Regardless of whether it was raining, snow had fallen or thick fog had formed along the lakeshore. This was to be in addition to the scheduled practices where the word "drill" took on a degree of repetition reminiscent of former captain Oliver Wood.
Because of his height, Ron had difficulty finding a running partner. Let alone someone who had enough strength and leverage to brace his feet when he went full out crunch crazy. For the most part, Harry was glad to pair up, although truth be told, living together, playing on the same team and taking a lot of the same classes, once in a while he found it necessary to run by himself just to be by himself.
Tracing the contours of his arms with his eyes as he stretched them overhead, Harry had to admit that she'd been spot on. Despite all the initial grumbling and misgivings from everyone involved. By the time last game of the year took place, the team was stronger, faster and able to just do more. Reflexes seemed to be more honed. He personally found it easier to hoist himself back onto his broomstick whenever he found himself dangling 50 feet from the ground. Ron was able to launch the quaffle further from the Keeper's Zone than before and the Chasers had fewer balls knocked out of play, as they were able to hold onto the quaffle more tightly. Even the accuracy of his Beaters improved significantly. Smiling into the steamy stream, much to Madame Pomfrey's besetment, I might add!
Calling it quits when the tap was pushed all the way to the right and he couldn't feel any change in temperature, Harry cut the water and reached for his towels. Wrapping one around his waist and absently rubbing his hair with the other, he scooped his running gear and headed back to the dorm room. Just in time, he mused. A sweaty Seamus came stumbling in with an equally damp Dean and a shiny, shirtless Ron (will he EVER tire of showing off his well-defined six-pack?) hot on his heels, jostling each other to get in the first heckling comment. From the way Seamus bolted for the loo, and the snippet of good-natured teasing he caught as he brushed past his mates, another round of "Let's See Who Throws Up First from Too Many Crunches" had concluded. Oh, well. So much for persuading Seamus to join the group, he thought ruefully.
Getting dressed at one's leisure was another item on the "Top 20 Things That Are Grand About Being Back at School". If anyone asked for the list to be prioritised, long unhurried showers definitely ranked higher.
Empty shower room, empty dorm room… life is good this morning. Reaching for a cup of cold water and transfiguring it into a steaming mug of blacker-than-a-Hogwarts' robe coffee (a decidedly handy spell Remus Lupin taught him over the summer) Harry seized the moments of peace and quiet to contemplate the plans he had set in motion. Fixing his gaze across the lake as he sipped at his Beverage-of-the-Gods, he knew it was those of which he had yet to implement that required the most finesse.
The sound of a body fetching up HARD against the closed door interrupted his introspection. Manic twisting of the knob interspersed with the sound of the locking mechanism catching and releasing broke it altogether. Squinting at the dust falling from the topmost hinge, what the hell…?
The appearance of a sopping wet Seamus clad in naught but his birthday suit was the LAST thing he expected. Seeing the dorm room door yanked open after several failed attempts effectively cleared Harry's mind of anything save the desire to summon Colin and his camera. Watching the naked Irishman turn around and shore up the door with both hands and a knee almost made Harry want to ask what was going on. That is, until he noticed several fresh looking red welts standing out on the other boy's whiter-than-the-underside-of-a-unicorn bare ass and thighs.
"Toss me my wand!" Seamus called over his shoulder. Beads of water began roll together, drip off his body and collect around him, "Quick!"
Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was a hint of mischief lurking in the other lad's eyes.
"You didn't plan your getaway?" Considering that this was the first time Harry had actually spoken to his dorm mate all morning, he couldn't help but feel that he chose a salutation that seemed most… appropriate. Given Seamus's current predicament.
Harry's priority shifted to protecting - his is coffee. Taking in the pattern on the vaulted ceiling, he had no idea how he was going to explain to anyone that there was now the distinct possibility of him needing psychological counselling.
Ron's voice carried through the thick wooden door, "Open this bloody, flipping -" the repeated thudding of shoulders striking castle grade wood drowned out a string of detention worthy expletives, " - RIGHT NOW!"
"Well," Seamus pleaded as his foot began to slide out from underneath him, "Are you just going to stand there?"
Boosting his body onto the window seat in one smooth motion, Harry assessed the naked boy's predicament. "Let's see here." Resting forearms on thighs, he cradled his coffee mug with both hands and suspended it between his legs. Adopting a look of careful, howbeit amused, consideration Harry deliberated… whether leaning back against the window or remaining where he was would add to Seamus's anxiety level. After all, what are mates for if they can't back each other up?
"We know where you SLEEP Finnegan!" Dean's snarl easily reached Seamus and Harry.
The Lad Without Apparel lost a couple of inches in the back-and-forth-battle of two against one.
A slew of promises involving body part augmentation streamed into the room
"There is a volatile six-foot-three inch red head out there," - Harry motioned to the fingers and wrists snaking through the partially opened door, "Who also happens to be one of my two best friends in the whole world."
Seamus, with the need for survival overwhelmingany qualms he may have had about propriety, pivoted on his heel so that his back was now pressed firmly against the door.
Murmuring a warming spell over his coffee, Harry added: note to self - apply for therapy immediately.
"Mate." Raising his eyes from the steam rising off of his mug, "Between you and me? I've got two things I want to share with you. First of all, a little mystery is a good thing. Don't give it all away on the first date."
The comment went right over the lad's head.
"Not to mention a muscle-bound exercise fiend," Harry continued, getting back to the very real possibility of Seamus sporting bruises well into next week, "And fellow mate who is currently dating the sister of said best friend." Drawing over due pulls on his coffee and silently calculating how many seconds Seamus had left, "Who are looking to beat your hairy arse."
A truly wicked thought formed in Harry's mind, "And second, if you get splinters, you have two choices. It's either off to Madam Pomfrey with you - to whom you must tell the whole story sans Ron and Dean as to how the splinters got there in the first place." Maybe there is more of a Marauder in me than I thought?
Harry didn't make the couture deficient boy wait before he gave voice to the remaining alternative, "Or, you have to go to Goyle and Crabbe and ask them to pull the wee bitty slivers out for you. Together. With Dean and Ron standing in attendance." Running his tongue over his teeth, he briefly flashed to something someone had said about Hermione once: it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Unveiling his final condition, "And Colin has to take a picture as proof."
The ultimatum turned the boy's ruddy face the colour of ash, "You wouldn't!"
One of Ron's flashing blue eyes and half his mouth could be seen at the jamb, "Take your beating like a MAN, Seamus!"
"So I never got the owl on why the getaway is the secret to any good plan!" To Harry, his friend was starting to sound as desperate as Colin did the night before. However, it was the ever-so faint hint of anticipation that lilted Seamus's hindsightthat re-assured Harry that the young man slipping and sliding in front of him would survive to re-tell his tale.
Harry actually found himself starting to speculate whether Seamus was looking forward to the eminent showdown with Ron and Dean. And I shouldn't be surprised for what reason?
Trying his best to impersonate a Highlander's burr, "I'm telling ye the truth. Don't be trying to get out of this one. There'll be no denying what now lies between us wee Seamus".
Seamus fired back emphatically, "I'm Irish - not Scottish!" Craning his neck as if he needed to visually verify that he hadn't been splashed with a dose of SleekEasy's HairGro, "I don't have any hair back there!"
Muffled words drifted in to the room, "When I count to three..." The rest of Ron's instructions were lost when his voice dropped in whispering his plan to Dean.
Time and again, Harry overheard many a Hogwarts Quidditch veteran warn incoming freshman players that it was a cardinal rule of thumb NEVER to give Ronald "Surgically Lethal" Weasley a chance to regroup and reconfigure a failing strategy. Doesn't Seams know this?
Judging by the whisper of fun interlaced with sincere panic he was currently witnessing in the other lad - that would be a yes.
Harry transferred his mug to his right hand, gestured with his left and levelled a gaze that was the non-verbal equivalent of patting a small child condescendingly on it's head, "My friend. If you hadn't planned a contingency based on the possibility of getting caught, you can't expect to be rescued." There is more of a Marauder in me than I thought.
"T H R E E !" Dean and Ron completely breached Seamus's meagre defences as they combined forces and crashed into the door at the same time.Naked Boy (ah, yet another nickname for dear Seamus!) was sent skidding backwards and averted an arse-to-floor implant by grasping a privacy curtain hanging from the nearest bedpost.
Harry polished his lenses as he considered the best words to use when he would share this story with Hermione later. The phrases: 'not nearly as naked', 'mottled with anger' and 'hell-bent on revenge' would, in his opinion, most assuredly suffice. Along with confirming that Dean and Ron were wielding twisted, wet towels. Just in case I wasn't clear as to how the marks had come to grace Seamus's backside in the first place.
Mentally recounting the tale (as it unfolded before his very eyes), he decided he would embellish it by also telling her that, "It was hard to tell whether Seamus hissed the word 'Bollocks!' because he knew had no choice but to accept my challenge or at that specific moment in time, Dean's thick arm brushed against his body."
To Harry, watching from his perch with his own backside firmly planted and protected, as he witnessed two nearly grown boys chase a naked fool around the room, scramble over bedcovers, around the stove and back out into the hallway all the while wet towels were whip-snapped at said fool's bare ass…
… amid promises of retribution for the tell-tale welts…
"I'll get you for this!"
And the accusations of…
" … Like you were the one who brushed your teeth with the minty goodness of shaving cream!"
That such antics secured the Number 5 slot on his list of "10 Stupid Things Guys Do to Each Other".
*****
Ditched by Dean in favour of an al fresco breakfast with Ginny, Ron insisted that Seamus should come down for breakfast with Harry and him.
Anticipating an amiable ramble through the corridors, Seamus dominated the conversation by vacillating between re-hashing last night's events and re-iterating his vow of revenge for the lashing he took earlier so much so that Ron's perfunctory oh yeah's and yep's were only a marginal improvement over Harry's silence.
"Wotcher Harry," Ron warned as he had to stoop to pull the heel of his shoe free of his foot. Offering a self-deprecatinggrin, "It's a long way down for me!"
"Sorry. Thoughts are elsewhere." It was the prospect of a meal - one he didn't have to cook himself - that had him distracted. In a very good way, he silently added.
Accepting Harry's apology with a casual, "No worries," - Ron turned their attention to the reason why he had stopped dead in his tracks in the first place, "Ready?"
Harry couldn't help but experience dejavu as he witnessed Seamus drift his hand over the welts he had received less than an hour ago.Mate: you brought this on yourself.Despite Seamus's plight being entirely self-inflicted, Harry winged a consoling thought to the shorter boy. They could've done worse and taken a lesson from Hagrid - be thankful you aren't twisting your fingers around a pig's tail.
No sooner than the words finished coming out of Ron's mouth, Seamus knew why his friend had been so emphatic about the three of them going down the Great Hall together. It's too late to back out now, you dolt. Lecturing himself again: when are you going to learn, Finnegan, to stop setting yourself up to be bushwhacked? Drawing a deep breath, Harry and Ron couldn't help but share a smirk as they heard him spend it on his favourite expletive, "Bollocks!"
Reaching the Moving Staircases, the first round of 'Don't Break Your Arse' of the new school year began.
To Ron, the rules were simple and very Gryffindor. Each participant (the roster was comprised of every male in the House) had to descend flights of stairs by leaping down as many steps as they could - at one time - without falling and 'breaking one's arse' on the extremely unforgiving stone. Seamus had been crowned last year's "Champion and King" - seeing as how he had earned the distinction of "busting his arse" the most out of everyone in the tournament.
Explaining to his roommates that because he was the one who made the proposition - that 'to be fair' he should be the one to go first - Ron bent his knees and launched himself. Fairly confident due to his reasonable standing last term, Harry quickly followed. Seamus, however, took his time in evaluating on how best not to continue his "reign".
Sharing a landing with the youngest Weasley male, Harry had to impart just how impressed he was with Ron's skill. Which had nothing to do with the current physical endeavours, "You, my friend, are a master of evil."
Lowering his head from where he was shamelessly watching Sir Whipped A Lot counting out loud before taking another false start, Ron felt the need to redeem himself, "I could have done worse."
Succumbing to thetemptation to argue semantics as his best mate arched an 'oh really' eyebrow in his direction, Ron proudly offered slightly different terminology, "I prefer the title - Purveyor of Wickedness."
Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, especially when it is offered on a pride-laden salver, Harry arched an eyebrow at the tall redhead,"Care for a wager?"
Remember what happened the last time you automatically snapped up one of the Boy Who Dares challenges, Weasley! Crossing his arms across his chest, Ron deliberately took his time settling his shoulders against the cool stone that rose behind him. The vivid memory of not only having to get caught taking one of Pansy Parkinson's dresses but specifically required to ask her to help him put it on and walk all the way to Hogsmeade and back permanently instilled upon him that clarification paved the way to self-preservation. "That he makes the jump or retains his title?"
Harry's proposition was drowned-out by Seamus issuing a victorious WHOOP! Whichreverberated off the cavernous stairwell and nearly drowned out, "Oh yeah! Nine steps in two jumps and I am STILL upright!"
The look on Harry's face was priceless when Seamus began his 'Dance of Joy'. Catching an eyeful of the dark-haired boy leaning against the opposite banister shaking his head - I'll wager a bag of Chocolate Frogs that Harry's considering whether or not he should physically restrain Seamus from whatever fit he's suffering from - Ron knew he wasn't reading his best friend incorrectly. He's got even less of a clue than I do. Maybe we both should solicit for an evaluation and get a group rate.
Dubiously looking down at the next set of stairs, Seamus wasn't quite ready to overly tax his newfound agility.Looking to buy himself some breathing space, he searched for a way to sustain a certain nagging suspicion that his two friends were keeping something from him, "What are you two going on about?I got a little carried away with my jig."
Far too experienced in talking themselves out of tricky situations with Hermione (despite the fact that they had a much higher success rate with Prof. McGonagall rather than Miss Granger), there was NO WAY Ron or Harry were going to be tripped-up by Seamus's amateur-level ruse. Rule Number One in "Not Getting Caught Talking About Someone When Said Person Deliberately Asks What You Are Talking About": do not implicate yourself or your conspirators by looking at one another. Rule Number Two: always follow the lead of the person who speaks first. Regardless of how improbable the response might have been. Rule Number Three: when in doubt - divert. Diversionary tactics are always an acceptable means of evading culpability.
Which was exactly why Ron slid his hands into his pants and pushed his body off the wall blurting, "Girls!" at the same time Harry improvised,"Quidditch!"
Rule Number Four: speaking at the same time will imply wrongdoing and could lead to digging oneself and partner(s) in deeper.
Attempting to recover one more time, Ron waggled his eyebrows lasciviously (and prayed that any member of the fairer sex did not decide to come traipsing down the stairs), "Girls who like - "
"Guys who like Quidditch." Putting a cap on Ron's sentence, Harry made good on Rule Number Five: never leave a mate flapping in the breeze.
I know you two were up to something. Seamus considered trying to coax it out of them, but seeing as how two of his favourite subjects were broached at the same time, he thought better of it. Okay, I'll bite, "Oh yeah? Like who?"
Outwardly, Seamus agreed or made arguments against the names tossed around by the three of them as they made their way to the Great Hall.Privately, he couldn't help but think that if the situation were reversed, he wouldn't hesitate to wager as to whether or not he would be retaining ownership of an obscenely padded pair of skivvies that he was presented with at the end of last term. Which were jinxed, much to my chagrin,in such a way that he had no choice but to wear the entire train ride home AND the return trips back to school. Just to make sure you bring them back had been the justification made at his "coronation".
********
The Breezeway of Honour served as the most direct route for all students to go between the dormitories and the Great Hall.
Thinking of the tetchiness on Ron's face, Harry gestured to one of the suits of armour in an attempt to distract his mate and perk him up, "Go on. You know you want to."
Seamus nodded in Ron's direction, "We're the only ones here. No one will know." Thinking of a way to tip the scales that were balancing in his friend's head, "If I spot anyone, I'll give a holler."
It's not that I don't want to or that I might get caught doing something that will feed the gossip mongers at least until dinner, but…"It's Hermione."
Seamus had no clue as to why Ron would bring up her name other than the fact that, hands down, she was one of the sexiest girls in school. And seeing as how all three of them were currently seventeen - and hence - hormonally driven begged the question, "Huh? Why'd you bring her up?"
"Remember last year? Binns assigned us that project about 'Objects and Retained Magic'? And Hermione chose the Timeless Knights." Ron recalled her presentation because it involved magic, spells, battles, honour and a beautiful girl talking about manly things like battles and honour.
Harry's memory seemed to be on 'perve mode' because what stood out in his mind about that particular classwas watching Hermione stand in profile as she gave her lecture. Which gave him not nearly enough time to appreciate which curves matched what body part. And, oh yeah, there was some talk of valour and battles. Stopping in front of one of the Knights, he found a certain level of pride in standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder with the silent soldier. Assessing the armourment the Knight possessed, Harry took in the scabbard that was slung low over its hips and the matched set of spurs that were strapped to both heels, "It almost seems as if he is standing at attention, doesn't it?"
Seamus approached one nearest to him, "It's like they are ready to spring into action at any moment." Taking in the sight of the other eleven that lined both sides of the corridor, "Weird."
Ron clarified his position, "I know I have been saying it for ages about how I want to peak inside one of their visors. But, it's like, I don't want to at the same time. Get my meaning?"
Looking as sceptical as Ron made sense, Harry countered, "You know you're sounding a bit mental?"
"Remember what Hermione said in her report? That the Timeless Knights were originally muggle soldiers who defied their liege to defend Hogwarts." Ron couldn't remember what she had said about the coat of arms etched into the shields that rested against the shin of each defender. Instead, he considered the strength each warrior had to possess to wield the halberd that stretched as high as his own shoulder.
"The king commanded Rowena Ravenclaw to perform some kind of blood-of-a-kinsman-sacrifice-ceremony that would ensure him a victory over some kingdom he wanted to conquer. But, she refused. She told him that such Dark Magic came with a price. And, for him, it would cost him the lives of his children. So His Royal Daftness attacked The Founders and laid siege to the castle." What was the rest of it? Oh, yeah, "Despite the battle that ensued, The Founders couldn't justify mortally harming any of the Knights. The cunning they demonstrated in breaching the castle gate, the loyalty they showed one another, the bravery it took to actually battle their way into the Great Hall and the wisdom to stop when they were within feet of fulfilling their orders to kidnap Rowena once they understood why she refused King Nutters in the first place. Because each of the knights demonstrated all the attributes that each of The Founders held as the cornerstones of their own Houses, Rowena gave them the ability to make one choice - a wish - with the condition that they would have to abide by it for all time."
Separating the memory of Hermione holding the class enthralled (alright, I was enthralled) and the tale she recounted, Harry struggled for the remaining details, "They unanimously chose to eternally stand watch and guard Hogwarts. Each one, in turn, swore allegiance to the Lady Rowena and they stalwartly served her and Hogwarts from that moment forth. Even though their ability to rise to any challenge would diminish incrementally as the years passed."
Seamus finished recounting the final aspects of the story for his two friends, "According to the legend, any female Ravenclaw could call upon the bravery of the knights if she found herself in need of their services." A horrifying thought caused his voice to crack, "You don't suppose they are still…in there?"
Two out of the three Gryffindors standing in the Breezeway couldn't find the words to express the mental images running through their imaginations.
"So - what do you say mate?" Harry couldn't resist piquing Ron's curiosity, "Change your mind?"
******
Grandly sweeping his arms as if he were presenting royalty, Harry allowed Seamus and Ron (both of whom were immediately hailed by others) to precede him into the Great Hall.
Separating and branching off into different directions, Harry scanned the growing throng for a friendly face. Specifically one friendly face: a completely put together Hermione caught his attention. As did Hannah Abbott - who was standing in front of his friend with a not so pleased look on her face - whose agitation was further demonstrated by the way she kept locking and unlocking her knees. Reining in his protective instinct, he could tell by the way Hermione scratched periodically on a piece of parchment that she wasn't being threatened. Even if Hannah is making it perfectly clear that the conversation isn't going the way she planned.
Sliding out of "protector mode" Harry smoothly re-shouldered the good mood he had temporarily set aside BEFORE he gave Hermione yet ANOTHER opportunity to tap her foot in impatience and LECTURE him about his modus operandi. It did not escape him, as he watched Hermione tuck unseen hairs behind her ears and keep her focus on telling Hannah something the other girl obviously didn't want to hear, that all the elements for A Plan were in place.
Applying his considerable skills as a Seeker to a different kind of Snitch, Harry tacked his way through hails of his own as he closed in on his quarry. "Just a few more yards," he muttered.
A bludger in the shape of an evergreen clad, lavender scented arm came out of nowhere and knocked him off his broom.
"This is for you, Mr. Potter," was the only explanation spared by Prof. McGonagall as she bustled off to intercept another unsuspecting Gryffindor.
"Great. Thanks." Great was for his plan dashed beyond salvage as he heard Hermione bid a quiet, hasty goodbye to Hannah as her gaze touched his. 'Thanks' referred to whatever (currently rolled and tied with a ribbon of House colours) was so important that it cost him the perfect opportunity to scare his friend out of her wits.
Casting a casual, "Good Morning," to Hannah as the girl made her way over to the other Hufflepuffs, Harry tucked his long legs underneath the table and settled himself into his usual seat. This morning, it was to the left of the honey-hued brunette beside him. Usual for him was any side Ron didn't claim first. Or vice versa. Except when it comes to the proximity of undesirables. Specifically certain Slytherins who never grew tired (or grew up for that matter!) of using the term 'Mudblood' or an unnecessarily difficult Potions Master. In which case, she was doubly guarded. Hence, the frequently repeated lecture he and Ron were subjected to, on a regular basis, titled: 'How Intimidation Never Truly Solves Anything'. But you would be surprised, Your Head Girlness, at just how small Ron can make a specifically chosen tight space when sharing his 'thoughts' or the affect of a deliberate wand twirling when the action is coupled with a few quietly spoken, carefully selected words, was the counter argument that each boy had rehearsed but never uttered to their mutual best friend.
"So, how's Hannah? She enjoyed her summer?" Five points to Gryffindor for nonchalance!
Drawing together her thoughts before turning to face the green-eyed gremlin she knew was sitting just beyond the corner of her eye, Hermione carefully weighed her options. Uncrossing and re-crossing her legs as she came about she looked at him for the first time since last night. Why didn't I start to pack up before Hannah came over to talk to me? By Orion's eye, I had better come up with something star-worthy in order to pull this off. Reviewing the last few moments - and he just gave it to me on a silver platter. She could accomplish her objective by doing one of two things. On one hand, she could verbally flay him over his un-realized scheme to DELIBERATELY frighten her out of her seat. Or, on the other - better yet, I could pretend that there was NO devious plot and get back at him later.
Hermione made it a point to twist her napkin with more agitation than she actually felt. She was annoyed. But, in all fairness, who could blame him? Like it was his fault that she had earned herself the reputation of becoming so engrossed in whatever she was working on that the rest of the world fell away.
Who am I kidding? It is completely beyond me to let anything go without saying something. Her ire was temporarily abated with the tried and true eye-rolling, exasperated, "Oh really Harry!" Throwing her napkin down (and effectively covering her parchment) for emphasis and switching to a tone underscored with indignation, "Just how thick do you think I am? I heard the click of your heels the minute you walked in the door".
Counting his physical being lucky get off as lightly as he did (good thing she never gets as mad at me as she does with Ron), he couldn't resist pushing her good will a little further. Is it my fault that she's struggling to keep a straight face?
"Next time, Granger. Your luck can't hold out forever."
She knew exactly what he meant and her vexation returned.
"Promise?" She surprised herself at just how saucily and languid that one word rolled off her tongue.
So, she wants to play with double-entendre? Let's see what you've got, Granger. "So. You and… Hannah?" Harry made sure that he said the other girl's name in such a way that there was no mistaking the innuendo. What he didn't say could be heard echoing off the rafters if anyone had half a mind to listen.
Reaching again for invisible hairs to secure among her plaits, Hermione carefully sealed her inkpot and evocatively blotted her quill on a much-stained piece of cloth. Pouting with a coy, downcast gaze, "If I can have your word as a," moistening her lips ever so slightly, "gentleman." Deliberately elevating only a portion of her eyes through a veil of thick eyelashes, "She wanted to know about my participation… in a study group."
Nowhere NEAR ready to give in, Harry dropped his voice to a husky, post-shag timbre, "For a class completely sanctioned and thoroughly researched by the administration?"
There should be a law or at the very least regulations put into effect about certain men who have the ability to turn a woman's mind to jelly just by the sound of their voice! Standing fast but wise enough to know that her nervousness was quietly growing, Hermione knew she had to stay on the offensive, "Oh, yes. The class is very competitive. There are so many applications… to be had in the outside world. Should any one of us fall behind, there are special provisions built into the course where extra credit can be earned."
Minx! Ignoring the chills that prompted the hairs on his arms to stand on end, how far are you going to take this Miss Granger? - and narrowed his gaze, "Am I to understand that this is a closed class?"
By all the constellations in the heavens, does he have to look at me so intensely? Hermione had to shut her eyes. If she didn't, she was afraid that her composure would fail at any moment!
Hah! I've got her now! But then, why do I feel like it's not an honest win? A small voice brought up the fact that he had an edge that she didn't. He had knowledge… obtained over the summer… while he and Ron visited with his older brother Bill in Turkey…that was evident she had yet to…achieve. Squeezing his knuckles white, something deeply primeval inside him roared.
Completely oblivious to the half-moon marks embedded in Harry's palm, she let every seductive thought she had ever possessed flow into every part of her body. Putting her 'money' where it would 'do the most good' - in for a sickle in for a galleon - she slipped the knot of her tie loose and undid the top 3 buttons of her blouse. Relying on one of her favourite daydreams to guide her, Hermione arched her back and lifted a hand to her neck as a starting point for a slow, sensuous self-massage.
Stroking the underside of her chin all the way down to where her pulse could be seen undulating between her collar-bones, she turned her head so that it rubbed against the back of her hand. Turning her attention to the side of her throat she followed a path that led to the back of her neck. Twisting her head again so that she could actually feel friction-generated warmth when she dragged her palm back toward the breadth of her collarbones only to half-bury her fanned fingers underneath the placket of her fitted shirt. Confirming that she had his FULL attention by the way she heard him drag a steadying breath audibly over his teeth, she pursed her lips together one more time. Heat prickled the skin she had just caressed.
Desperate to mask the sincere sounds of pleasure she mewed as part of her act, "There were so many …prerequisites. I wasn't sure…" Pretending to massage a particularly 'sore' spot with feather light strokes of her thumb, "I wasn't sure I was going to make it." Pausing dramatically as if she were catching herself from revealing something she shouldn't, she 'hastily' added, "In."
Oh, Miss Granger - you've done it now. There was no reason for him to hold back. He was free to 'up the ante' in a way he knew she would NEVER see coming.
Reaching forward, he tenderly wrapped her whole cold hand (hmmm, nervous Hermione?) in his fingers and pulled it within inches of his face. Rotating her palm he raised it so that it was directly in front of his lips. Keeping his eyes locked on hers with a look of absolute…empathy - he blew a hot, moist breath directly between her love and lifelines, "The lengths we go to for academic excellence."
That's it. He won. I'm out.
Unless…"Especially for professors that would do anything for you. From what I have been made to understand, they go to great lengths to ensure you completely understand the material."
Huh? Where did that come from? Deciding that silence would be the better side of valour, he kept the empathetic look on his face and his mouth shut.
Okay, this is my last shot. Making her eyes as big and as soulful as possible, she played her trump, "I could NEVER disappoint Prof. Trelawney and Caretaker Filch. They really are excellent, hands on trainers once you get them…going."
Hermione's latest insinuation topped the extensive, therapy-seeded list of Harry's "Top 1000 Un-necessary Visual Images Ever". Never had he, in his most deranged, groping-for-the-nastiest-combination-to-gross-out-his-mates or extreme I-must-verbally-annihlate-Malfoy-and-send-him-whimpering-to-the-dungeons moments, could he, would he, summon such a combination. It was so vile a concept that he released her hand and snatched his glasses off his head to prevent the mental image from being emblazoned on the inside his lenses. As well as he knew his name, notion of Trelawney, Filch, Hermione and Hannah engaged in acts (of which he had first hand knowledge) had the potential to permanently challenge his ability to produce his Patronus. He lost. Badly. Reaching into the pocket of his robe for his handkerchief, he hoped that Hermione recognized a "white flag" when she saw one. No matter what colour it is.
Giving into the temptation to squeeze a little lemon juice into Harry's open wound, "I've heard Filch provides an extensive array of costumes."
A long, drawn out groan vibrated in Harry's throat at the sadistic wench who now inhabited the body of his formally innocent-as-the-driven-snow friend. He was so 'withered on the vine' that his personal attributes bordered on retraction.
"Costumes? How can you be talking 'bout costumes at a time like this?" Looking to console himself with anything within reach that was edible, Ron began indiscriminately piling food onto his plate before sitting down. Eyeing the hard bench he muttered, "You'd think that a place like this could afford a few cushions!" Dropping something crumpled (suspiciously the same size and colour of as the long forgotten 'gift' Harry received from McGonagall) next to his plate before slowly lowering himself opposite Harry, Ron seemed to be talking as much to himself as to the persons sitting in front of him.
He'd been feeling completely put out to begin with; not knowing why Hermione was blushing didn't improve his disposition. Further, seeing Harry's face contorted like he had just choked on something rubbed against his grain, "What's gotten into the two of you?"
Pointedly angling his chin (because his hands held his knife and fork) at his best male friend who was re-pocketing his hanky, "You - you look like you got something stuck in your throat that you can't quite swallow." Scrutinizing Hermione with her shirt half open, "And you. You look like you were the one who fed it to him."
Harry knew he had just become another statistic on the Hermio-Slam-o-Meter. Hermione had all she could do to unsuccessfully stifle overly loud snickers behind the palm Harry had oh-so-chivalrously warmed for her.
Whatever happened here, I can still see the debris and smell the fall-out. Ron couldn't resist asking, despite Harry's muttered assurance that he would fill him in later, "What have you been slipping this boy?"
"Nothing yet." It was the instantaneous chagrin in his voice that betrayed him. If Harry hadn't heard the words come out of his own mouth, he would have tried to plead that he was under an Imperius Curse and therefore had no choice but to verbalize the first thought that raced through his mind that formed some semblance of an answer to Ron's query. Because, short of a time turner suddenly dropping into his lap, there would be no way he could take back the furious flush that reached the tips of Hermione's fingers and the razzing he was going to be subjected to by everyone in the dorm.
Summoning the last dregs of self-control, Hermione made sure she was the epitome of propriety when she placed a napkin wrapped bundle (with all un-due ceremony) equidistant between the two boys. It was the need to speak that blew her reserve, "Only toast." She barely squeaked out, "And jam."
At that, Ron may not have known exactly why Harry's façade crumbled, but he caught on to the fact that it was definitely worthy of stashing it away in a special "Things to Tease My Mates About When They Are Least Expecting It" file.
"She knows… it's my…favourite…and was… saving it…just for me." Harry was so thoroughly trumped that it took a couple of tries to verbalize the next few words, "That is my favourite…" There is NO WAY I am going to stammer out another word. Everything that is coming out of my mouth is a euphemism for something sexual! Silently correcting his choice of word, down right naughty is more appropriate.
Deciding that having the knowledge to really get Harry good sometime in the future was enough of a coup for the moment, Ron redirected the conversation as to give the poor lad a chance to recuperate. Picking up his tirade where he left off, "Well, go ahead." Referring to the rolled piece of parchment Harry had yet to unfurl, "Open it." The look on Harry's face after he tugged the ribbon ends free mirrored his own as sick disbelief rivalled for abject horror, "See what I mean?"
Hermione drew a deep breath and slowly started to count backwards from thirty.
Harry held in his hands his list of classes and his eminent downfall. Snatching Ron's to make sure there wasn't some horrible error committed, he made a rapid comparison and blanched.
Mondays: Advanced Potions - double session, Lunch, Charming the Charmed and History of Magic 360
Tuesdays: Diviner Level Divination, Vectors: Practical and Theoretical Flying Applications Lunch, Hypothetical and Realized Transfiguration - double session
Wednesdays: Charming the Charmed, History of Magic 360, Lunch, Defence Against the Darkest Arts - double session
Thursdays: Hypothetical and Realized Transfiguration - double session, Lunch, Advanced Potions - double session
Fridays: Defence Against the Darkest Arts - double session, Lunch, Diviner Lever Divination, Vectors: Practical and Theoretical Flying Applications
"What kind of school would allow two sessions of DOUBLE Potions - N.E.W.T level no less - in one week?!" Slathering a piece of toast with marmalade, Ron managed to cram almost all of it into his mouth.
Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen… Gross! Interrupting her own countdown, Hermione help but think: does he have to do that?
Making a less than polite face in response to Hermione's disapproval, he chewed vigorously before continuing on with his assessment of the dubious capabilities of whomever drew up students' time tables, "It's savage! Inhumane! Tell me. Who in their right minds could spend practically six hours a week in the dark, dank, Slytherin infested dungeons in the company of that greasy-haired git? Have I mentioned that it's utterly savage?"
Still hoping that the universe would take pity on him and open up a portal to another dimension where the last ten minutes never transpired, Harry mutely stared at the platter of pancakes that fell to Ron's plundering. No sleeping until Christmas Break; don't forget to ask Dobby if he would deliver bread and water to the Common Room every other day… hygiene is over-rated as it is…. find a suitable vessel for bodily functions.
Three, two…. Reaching her destination, Hermione chose a different tack. "Ron." No answer. He was intently coating every inch of his breakfast with syrup, "Ron!"
Having not nearly eaten enough to flag his temper, "What!"
Harry could see it coming from the far side of the Quidditch Pitch. Oh, come off it Hermione! You keep him wound and the likelihood of me getting anything more than cold cereal for breakfast would be on the far side of remote. Couldn't she tell by Ron's mottled face that when he reached this stage, the best thing to do is to let him come down on his own?
Finding herself in need of a distraction so that she wouldn't end up tossing her tepid tea all over Mr. Congeniality sitting kitty-corner from her, Hermione tried to look at Ron as if she had never seen him before. "You know - there are very few good looking red-haired men in the world."
Ron let his ill-tempered smirk say what his currently engaged mouth couldn't: Flattery will get you nowhere, Granger.
Okay. Relax. He is just feeling a little panicked. And you know what he his like when he feels threatened, "What I was going to say is that all three of us have pretty much the same schedule this term."
A glimmer of hope pricked at Harry's despair. He made it a point to press his thigh against Hermione's knee in appreciation.
Ron, though, still remained sceptical. After all, he had been exposed to his timetable a lot longer. Which meant that it had more time to fester.
Sensing that she had gained at least a foothold, she pulled out her own schedule and tiered it with the other two, "With the exceptions of Divination and Vectors, the three of us have all the same classes."
"So what you mean to say that we," swinging his index finger between Harry and himself, "Won't have to face this alone?" Ron felt like he could just see the clouds start to part. The sun wasn't shining yet, but the potential was there.
"While you both are in Divination, I have Arithmancy and the Ages. Rune Casting is at the same time as Vectors."
It was the second time she had mentioned Vectors, but for the first time since McGonagall pressed that bloody tube in his hands, Ron was able to suppress his misery. Granted, given half a chance, it wouldn't take much for his temper to flare again. But it was a start.
As much as Harry was grateful for Hermione's ever-present level headedness, the way she looked swathed in sunlight (or moonlight - they both became her), or the promise of academic survival with sleep, real meals and the return of his relished long, hot showers - it was the prospect of Vectors that re-animated him.
Madam Hooch was known to take only the very best into her signature flying class. Some years, it didn't even take place because there weren't enough 'qualified' (by her standards) students to support the class. If there was one cornerstone of the class that Mme. Hooch was most steadfast in upholding, it was her resolve that all of her students were handpicked by her based on demonstrated skill. It was truly a fete to be enrolled. Harry and Ron both knew it.
Feeding off of Harry's excitement, Ron verbally rolled right over him in expounding what he thought the class was going to be like. The rapid-fire exchange of between the two boys was dizzying. Coming up for air, Harry felt compelled to look at his briefly forgotten friend. She had her back twisted away from them and seemed awfully intent on working out the kinks in an already straightened strap on her book bag. Not to mention that he caught her whispering, "Protego" over a piece of folded parchment before slipping between her books.
Passing the potatoes to Ron, Harry felt compelled to nudge her, "It's only the first day of term." Looking down at her, he gently added, "You haven't even had to cast a Darning Spell on it yet. "When did I hurt her feelings?
How does he do that? "Are you?" More than once she thought the words that her tongue now gave form, "Do you have some kind of empathic ability that I don't know about?"
Chancing a look at Ron to make sure he had the next ten seconds available without his best mate chiming in, "Only when it comes to you, Miss Granger." Keeping his face as emotionally even as possible allowed him to be aware of her becoming… skittish? Realizing that he needed to offer some way out for her, "After ALL that we have been through, do you really need to ask something like that?" Skittish? Hmmm…number seven on the "List of Things to Ask Hermione" just appeared. Seeing her face relax, "What the blazes have you signed up for this year?"
Grateful for his teasing bringing them both back to a more familiar footing, Hermione filed Harry's previous comment under "Things to Sort Out Later". But her feelings were hurt. And Ron was being really disgusting in the way he kept shovelling food into his mouth. I'll answer your question, just not in a way you'll be expecting, "Every Friday afternoon I will have a meeting with some aspect of Hogwarts Operations."
Another blasted bludger unseated him, "Huh?"
Unconsciously falling back on an old, bad habit, Hermione let her voice climb to that bossy, know-it all persona indicative of her younger, more insecure self, "You know. Someone who has something to do with how the school operates." Blithely ignoring Ron's heated glare, "Sometimes it will be with Dumbledore or the Head House Elf." Not quite suppressing her distaste, "Even Argus Filch has set aside some time. Hagrid is on the list as well. He is the Keeper of Keys and Grounds, you know." Sliding her shoulder strap diagonally along the length of her body, "It all goes with being Head Girl," and waved her hand in the air as if that were enough to explain it all.
Ron's clenching jaw muscles had nothing to do with the food that remained on his plate. He HATED when she did that - dredging up the spectre of a ten year-old girl that he honestly associated with being a nightmare instead of the beautiful, vibrant, AMAZING individual he knew she was. The dying embers of his temper began to smoulder, "Listen, Hermio-NINNY." Striking back before he knew he wanted too, "Just because I'm a lowly Prefect and not bloody Head Boy…" No one could mistake the sarcasm that punctuated every word.
Interrupting him was part of her strategy to purposely invoke some semblance of Ron's ultra-wonderful, EVEN-MORE-formidable-than-her-son-when-she-is-in-a-tizzy mother. Recalling Molly Weasley's scathing words to Ron she had enclosed inside his first Howler way back in Second Year, "Ronald Weasley! How dare you!"
Harry surreptitiously moved the container of syrup beyond her reach. He's in for it now.
Hermione knew that goading Ron in public was only going to escalate their argument. The view she had of his ears turning red only served to prove her theory. But damn it, their lack of interest hurt her. The classes she had this year were just as prestigious as their precious Vectors. And Ron's focus on stuffing his face rather than giving a passing thought to someone he called best friend made him just as guilty as Harry. Who at least made some kind effort… at something I shied away from…why did I do that?
The likelihood of shattering a plate didn't even enter his mind as his fork clattered onto his plate. Ron tried to hide a twinge of discomfort as he shifted in his seat. Trying to gain better leverage he crossed his legs at the ankle and wove his hands around his upper arms, "How dare I? Have you taken a listen to yourself?"
Harry resigned himself to cold cereal. The flagon of juice he set down where neither one of them had easy access.
Parroting Ron, "Heard myself?" Hermione her followed 'question' with a 'Ronald-Weasley-is-so-bloody-thick', withering tone, "How can I when my ears are full of you talking about yourself? Hmmm? Answer me that!"
Snapping back with the first thing that came to mind, Ron pressed the tips of his fingers flat against the tabletop, "You're just jealous!"
"I'm jealous of you?" Her tone indicated that she was anything but.
Appreciating the way the milk in his cereal bowl changed colour didn't alter the fact that lunch couldn't come soon enough for Harry.
Guilt was starting to eat away at the edges of Ron's indignation. This is one of my two best friends!
Hermione felt her rigid posture unlock by degrees. This is not how I wanted to spend the first day of our last year of school with my best friends. Like I don't have enough to do without doing this with Ron. Chewing on the inside of her lip, even if I did draw first blood.
Raising his wrists, Ron smacked his palms against the table, "Yeah!"
I don't want to do this. Scrambling for a way where they both could save face, Ron baited Hermione one last time, "You only WISH you had my good looks!"
Not missing the "out" he had opened for her, Hermione began to brush invisible lint from her robes, "You caught me. My secret is out in the open." Resettling her book bag and leaning her chin on her palm while propping her elbow just right of her plate, Hermione let her voice take on a tone of whimsy, "I wish I were the Casanova that all the girls talk about."
"I may have kissed a few girls," Ron ran out of face for the huge grin he was now sporting. Skewering Harry with a glance that just dared him to allude to their…escapades abroad, "But am I really compared to Casanova?"
Something sexy and dangerous glinted in the back of Hermione's eyes.
Wotcher Ron! It was times like these Harry wished he had been born with the gift of telepathy. She's setting you up!
"What I said, Mr. Weasley - if you were paying attention - was that if I had your looks than I would be the class Casanova and all the girls would want to be with me." Putting a far-off, dreamy look on her face, "Hmmm." Opting to give the boys a 'clue' as to which student she was thinking about, Hermione imitated her cat's purr before sighing, "Snogging Lavender Brown."
Never under estimate the recovery power of an adolescent male, especially when there is an allusion to girl-on-girl contact. Conjuring a mental image of a dishevelled Hermione sneaking out of a near-empty broom cupboard wearing the same shade lip-gloss as Lavender only improved Harry's…. Patronus. The turtle is out of his shell. Thinking back over the past six years he's been at Hogwarts, it had been five years since Harry last begrudged the mandate that robes must be worn at all times while classes were in session.
Ron's elation superseded any "protection" his robes had the potential to provide. Just as Slytherins knew that the best lies were framed with truths, he knew that the best barbs were equally as well equipped. Raising a hand to his temple, he gave Hermione his best-seated salaam before making his way to the lovely - and apparently enamoured - Miss Brown.
Having been Hermio-Road Kill not less than twenty minutes earlier, he knew she wasn't done with Ron yet. Compelled to say something for his unsuspecting mate, he locked his green eyes with those of a cinnamon hue, "Is it true?
Hermione merely shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head in affirmation.
"Will he be damaged?" What isn't she saying?
As she looked at Harry in the eyes, a truly wicked grin promised, "Not permanently."
Harry had two thoughts competing for attention as a triumphant Ron returned to the table. The piece of paper she tried to hide from him was one.
"Guess who has a date for Hogsmeade this weekend!?" Returning to his friends, an overjoyed Ron reached for the hand of the person who had rejuvenated his social life, "Hermione?" Seeing her disentangle herself from the table his voice rose a bit with uncertainty and disappointment, "Leaving already?"
"Oh, I've been here a while", she replied airily, a bit of lilt in her voice.
Why do I have a funny feeling that she is NOT referring to this morning? He watched her intently as she circled the end of the table only to sit down again. This time, it was next to Ron and straddling the bench.
"Hermione?" He knew that he sounded confused. In fact, he was actually baffled. She may be one of my two best friends, but what will I say to Lavender if she gets any closer?
Harry had no idea what she began to whisper in Ron's ear. Clever girl; she eliminated the possibility of lip reading by cupping her fingers around both her mouth and his ear. All he had to go on was what crossed Ron's face. And the sidelong look she gave him before rising from the breakfast table.
Knowing that her morning's work was done, Hermione gave Ron her sauciest wink before sashaying toward the door. Gambling on both boys gaping in her wake than at each other, she grabbed an unsuspecting Seamus by the arms and swung them both so that her mates would have an unobstructed view.
"What ever I did, let me know so I can do it again!" Seamus called to one of the hottest girls in school who had just kissed him unexpectedly on the cheek.
Watching Hermione flounce her way out of the Great Hall, stopping only once to blow a kiss in Ron's direction, was only slightly upstaged by Ron collapsing his neck and shoulder muscles and dropping his head in a full-on Table Implant.
"Ron." What he desperately wanted to shake out of his best friend was: What did she say to you? He had to settle for, "Are you okay?"
First the shaving cream, and then… and now…this day is going from bad to worse. He could barely form words. Let alone bob his head in acknowledgement to Harry's hail.
For his part, Harry had a hard time understanding what Ron was trying to say in the moments following what appeared to be abject humiliation. The red head had yet to pull his nose free from the tabletop. His forearms pillowed his forehead. Harry had to work to put together the two syllables that translated to, "I'm doomed". Somehow Harry thought he heard something that resembled, "Girl is a menace," and a barely discernable, "Needs to come with a warning label".
Walking the fine line between wanting to be supportive and needing to slake his curiosity, "Buck up mate. Can't be all bad?'
Ron lifted his head only enough to bring his eyebrows and eyes above his wrists. The last time he felt like this was when he discovered he had played almost an entire Quidditch match with a strategically placed rip - which occurred when he was trying to get out of the path of an on-coming rogue bludger - in his Quidditch trousers. Correction; I have been side swiped by a rogue Hermione.
Harry groped for something upbeat to talk about - as a diversionary tactic so that he could ask his best mate what Hermione had said before a Second Ice age set in, "At least you have a date this weekend."
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Harry heard his mate groan loud and piteously. I think even his eyebrows paled.
"Hermione said …" This is going to hurt…
Harry couldn't remember the last time that girl failed to make good on a promise.
"Hermione said," drawing a much-needed fortifying breath, Ron was slow in letting it go. Once this gets around, I'm a goner.
Harry's eagerness tripped over his impatience to hear his friend's tale, "You said that already."
"Hold on. This isn't easy you know." Ron knew his tone was more like his pernickety older brother but he didn't feel the need to apologize to his friend for being Percy-ish. After all - I'm not going to live this down for a long time.
Swallowing his pride, Ron dropped his voice in a vain effort to prevent the inevitable, "That on the train ride back to school, all the girls participated in a school-wide poll. When all the votes were tallied, that my arse rated within the Top 5 and she wanted to warned me that I could compromise my standing - if I 'broke my arse' - AGAIN between now and Saturday." How could she know I lost to Seamus? Trying to think of a way to patch his ego, his mind turned in a different direction. Even if I did know, what good would it do? For that matter, how does Hermione do anything that Hermione does?
Prideful disbelief would be good words to describe Harry's reaction to what just came out of Ron's mouth. And relief over the fact that Seamus would not be engaged in a conversation later on in the day that neither he nor the Irishman would enjoy pertaining to Hermione kiss. "She said that?"
Number Six on "The List of Things to Ask Hermione" has just been bumped in favour of ascertaining my standing.
Unfolding his arms only to press the heels of his hands against his cheekbones, there was no way Ron could meet the gaze he knew Harry was levelling at him. Sulkily directing his voice to the tabletop, "Well, I did clean it up a bit before repeating."
The laugh that had been tickling the back of Harry's throat could not be caged any longer. Outright knee slapping, all-encompassing cachinnations was avoided. Barely. Calming down enough to offer a now-smirking Ron consolation. Which he delivered man style, "Ronald, my friend - you have just been s p a n k e d."
"With my skivvies down around my knees and my fingers wrapped around my ankles." The truth hurts.
Dismissing his soggy cereal with a grunt, Harry tossed a casual, "Ready when you are," to his Hermio-Nilated friend.
Pushing his plate away, Ron knew he must be on the road to recovery if he was contemplating the status of his breakfast. Eggs never do taste the same after they get cold.
Matching his gait to Ron's, both boys tramped their way out of the Hall. Gaining the corridor, the best indication Harry had that Ron was coming back to himself was being on the receiving end of a particularly bruising blow to the soft spot just below his triceps after he draped his arm across the taller boy's shoulders and asked, "Was it as good for you as it was for her?"
Sliding into an easy going smile that kicked up the corners his eyes, Ron mockingly pleaded with Harry, "Promise not to tell Hermione I needed a fag?"
Harry eyed the corridor for a path of least resistance before stopping Ron with a hand on his shoulder. With a look of wry sincerity, Harry offered the only assurance Ron would believe, "Just as long as you don't tell her that I met you down at the Quidditch Pitch to have one of my own."