Caught Off guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts Chapter 2: Inter-Student Relations The first week of lessons begins…
"This class takes place Tuesday mornings and Friday afternoons. Tuesday's classes will be spent lecture style. You will be analysing theories and understanding terminology. Your assignment for the week will always be the same." Madam Hooch's knee-high flight boots clacked dramatically on the wooden floor as she firmly planted each footfall. Keeping her hands on her hips and flaring her over-cape around her robes, she paced in front of the ten students seated before her. "Every Friday, we will convene at the Quidditch Pitch. One by one, you will hand in a physical rendering - on parchment of a proposed flight plan based on that week's lesson of which you will then be expected to execute in the air."
Listening to Mme. Hooch's opening remarks, Ron and Harry knew that Vectors was going to be a class unlike any other. It loosely reminded them of Prof. Lupin's Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Recalling what Ron had said at breakfast the previous morning, what class could compete with being in the air - on one's broom on a Friday afternoon - as the last lesson of the week with nothing but the weekend to follow? Harry could not come up with one viable example.
Mme. Hooch's demeanour was a welcome change for ten elite fliers who listened to their flight instructor outline exactly what she was going to expect from them throughout the school term. Sans the pre-amble or the 'fire and brimstone' speech as to how challenging the class was going to be - which every seventh year student had come to expect as the opening lecture at the beginning of the first lesson of each class. Every other professor made it their mission to impress the level of difficulty and standards they would be expecting from all the students enrolled in their classes. If Harry and Ron had to hear the phrase, because you chose to be here… expounded on one more time, they both agreed that it would become an earworm that would drive them mental.
Professor Snape, head of Slytherin House, did not mince words when he blatantly stated that perfection was going to be the only curve by which they were going to be graded. The syllabus Prof. McGonagall handed out was the most challenging she had created to date. Defence Against the Darkest Arts opened with a psychological evaluation to make sure that those who elected to take the class were mentally sound enough to handle the rigors of countering the Dark Magic which was scheduled to be covered. Ghostly Prof. Binns' History of Magic 360 had ascended to a whole new level of impossible-to-pay-attention-even-if-the-sky-was-falling monotone dullness. Even Prof. Flitwick, the Ravenclaw patriarch and one of the more popular teachers, doubled the amount of homework previously assigned. Firenze seemed to be the only teacher who was nonchalant about the whole affair. The cryptic, albeit wise, centaur had simply flicked his tail and offered less than re-affirming words to his N.E.W.T level students by lifting his eyes to the treetops that brushed the ceiling of his classroom and saying, "Human lives are but the merest flashes of lights before the eyes of the stars."
Delivering her speech as she walked up and down the aisles, Mme. Hooch purposely timed her strides so that she was once again standing squarely at the head of the class.
"Attendance and broomsticks are mandatory. If you don't have your brooms, don't bother showing up. You don't show up, I will fail you. If any of you expect second chances - I suggest you fly on someone else's time.
Your final project will be the creation of your own broom of your own design. It will meet the criteria and perform to the levels stipulated by this class. The best broom will be determined by its capability of surviving the rigors of a Quidditch match. If it is still in one piece, then it's design will be submitted to Quality Quidditch Supplies for consideration as their newest model. I do not need to tell you what far-reaching implications that can entail." Half standing, half sitting on the edge of her desk she continued, "All of you are roughly the same calibre flyer. The only variable will be the quality of your broom."
A Hufflepuff seated two rows up and one seat to the left of Ron raised her hand, "Madam Hooch?"
"Yes?" Mme. Hooch (with her sharply enunciated tones, manly stride and absolute command of the material) garnered nothing but unflagging attention and respect from her ten hand picked students.
"What about this Friday?"
Judging by the look on Mme. Hooch's face, Harry knew that the coming answer wasn't going to bode well for any of them. It was a replica of what Oliver Wood projected just before he initiated a particularly nasty training session.
"This Friday," clasping her hands together sharply and giving her fingers a dramatically greedy twist, "I am going to put all of you through your paces. Make sure you are as good as I assume you are. Then, I am going to tighten you up." Standing, she marched around her desk and tucked in her chair, scraping its' legs on the floorboards, "Bring your brooms. Bring a towel. Bring a change of clothes." Looking at each of them in turn, she let herself indulge in a sincerely wicked-sounding promise, "If you don't, you are going to wish you had." Reaching for a piece of chalk, she scrawled a loopy over-sized V on the blackboard and slipped into her lecture by starting with, "Velocity is actually a formula…"
* * * * * * *
"Who knew there was so much vocabulary involved with flying?" Ron was more amazed than complaining as he collected the heaps of notes he took during Mme. Hooch's lecture. Struggling to get his long legs out from underneath a desk that was entirely too small for him, he was even more astounded over the fact that neither he nor Harry exchanged one look throughout the lesson.
Re-stacking his own books into something more easily managed, Harry concurred, "I will never use the word 'zoom' again."
Passing by their instructor's desk on the way out the door, Draco Malfoy was having a conversation with rather severe toned Mme. Hooch, "Mr. Malfoy. My class consists of two classes a week. If you cannot…"
The rest of what she was saying, as well as Malfoy's response, was lost as they crossed the threshold and entered the ebb and flow of a hallway jammed with students going to their next classes and lunch.
"Did you hear that?"No answer came from the apparently distracted redhead. And because Harry was making his way down the corridor on the inside of Ron, he couldn't see what had captured his mate's attention. "Ron?"
"Watch this!" Ron dropped his voice and nudged Harry in a very conspiratorial manner.
A troupe of pretty Gryffindor fifth years were having a bit of trouble making their way down the hallway. Let alone in a way that kept their group together in a tight enough formation to talk amongst themselves. Bowing gallantly, Ron turned sideways, pressed Harry back toward the wall and with all due chivalry waved them ahead, "Ladies! Always glad to be of service."
Listening to them giggle behind their hands and whisper among themselves as they manoeuvred their way through the rift he created in the crowded corridor, Ron had to extend his gratitude to their parents for the way standard issued robes draped around their physiques. Responding to one girl who turned around to give him a winning smile he added, "Anytime, ladies." Not that you all will ever know that the group of you collectively said 'thank you' in the best possible way. "Anytime."
Stepping free of Ron's restraining arm, Harry couldn't help but smirk at his mate. Waiting for Ron to match his stride before 'gifting' the redhead with a well-placed body-check, "You cad. You just wanted to watch them walk down the hall."
Ron spared the briefest of glances at his friend - long enough to resurrect the "What did I do?" look he gave Hermione two nights ago and add a special Ron Weasley, "You wound me!" post-script. And then returned to 'making sure' that the ladies went on their way without 'any further incidents'.
Not having an immediate comeback for the hand he saw Ron clap over his heart, Harry had to settle for an insincere, "Ever the gentleman."
"Swish, my friend. Swish down the hall." Shrugging his shoulders, Ron sidestepped Harry's backhanded compliment, "Your point being? You're just sore because I intercepted them first. But think about it. If I hadn't, you would have. And then where would you be?" Daring to go one step further and performing his best Hermione impersonation he pitched his voice to a higher register and said, "So, if you were to follow your logic in a circular motion, you will see that I actually did you a favour."
Only Ron would attempt to turn something like this to his advantage. Or go down on a blazing broomstick trying. Harry bit his tongue and decided to play along, "Really. Is that so?"
Ron gave one of his signature "You're Really Going to Try That and Expect to Get Away With It Without Getting Hurt?" look to a sixth year Slytherin who tried to brush him aside. Watching the boy visibly pale after the green and black garbed dungeon dweller craned his neck and ascertained just whom he was attempting to challenge, Ron turned his attention back to the bespectacled boy beside him, "Slytherins really should make it a point to get more sun."
Getting back to the topic at hand Ron replied, "Yes that's so." How thick could you be, Harry? "Just imagine if word had gotten 'round that the Rake of Gryffindor had surfaced for a return engagement."
Harry wasn't sure if he should be flattered by the title or concerned that it sounded suspiciously like something Ron may have read in one of those trashy romance novels that occasionally turned up the Common Room. It does have a nice ring to it, and I did…date a bit last year. "The Rake of Gryffindor? Aren't you going a little over the top?"
"What gives with repeating everything I'm saying? Have you suddenly burst into feathers beneath your uniform?" Attempting one last time to wind his friend he asked rather pointedly, "What if it got back to you-know-who? Then where would you be," Ron asked as he watched the girls' bank to the left and out of sight. Until we meet again.
"Looking as apprehensive as Malfoy did just now?" Not ready to say her name in a crowded corridor, Harry referred to the blonde haired Slytherin.
With nothing new to distract him, Ron thought back to Harry's original question, "What do you suppose that was all about?"
"I don't know." Knowing that sometimes speaking out loud can help put puzzle pieces into place Harry stated, "He is Head Boy."
"So." I could care less, "You're the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. And I'm a Keeper and a prefect."
"Malfoy is the Slytherin captain." It's right there, but why can't I seem to put my tongue on it?
Impersonating Hermione again, Ron rolled his eyes disparagingly and looked to the ceiling, "Oh really, Harry."
"Wait until Hermione hears that you have been mocking her again."
"I'm only having a bit of fun!" Ron visibly winced at the quaver in his voice. I'm still 'enjoying' the rewards of her previous retaliation.
"That's it!" The missing piece of the puzzle snapped into place. "Hermione! It all makes sense. Why didn't I see this before!"
"Oh, come on Harry. Hermione and Malfoy? We're just about to have lunch! That was so un-necessary mate." Ron clutched his mid-section to further his meaning, "Completely uncalled for. Talk about a bona fide un-necessary visual image if I've ever heard one."
"As if!" Harry barked, "Let's just say that the potential for His Most Pure-Bloodedness to pro-create would be significantly hindered." The concept of Malfoy engaged in carnal acts warranted the Number 2 spot on the "List of 1000 Completely Un-necessary Visual Images". Switching back to continue his triumphant outburst, he said, "What I mean is this: remember what Hermione said the other morning?" Harry urged Ron to understand. Come on mate - put it together. You aren't that thick!
"You swore that you would never bring that up again! As if I LIKE finding pillows spontaneously appearing underneath me in all of my classes. Talk about proof positive of the amazing capabilities of the Hogwarts Gossip Mill." Skewering Harry with a look of you-had-better-tell-me-now-or-you-will-reap-my-vengeance-later, "You mean to say that she's been the one who's been conjuring pillows under my arse?" You will so pay, Granger.
"Yes. No. Stop trying to confuse me, you dolt." Frustrated, Harry tried again, "Yes, it was her idea. She's the one making the pillows. No, it's not Hermione. It's Dean and Ginny who are… never mind." Damn, sidetracked again! Dean's going to trounce my ass once he finds out I gave him up! "Anyway. What did Hermione say the other day about her Head Girl duties?"
"I forgot," Ron shook his head wryly.
Harry let a disparaging look speak for him. Nice try Ron.
Answering Harry's unspoken rebuke with a half-hearted attempt to redeem himself, Ron all but sputtered, "There is such a thing as selective amnesia, you know!" Well, it was worth a try.
"And how, every Friday afternoon," Harry waved his free hand like he was playing out a length of twine, "she has a meeting…." Am I going to have to draw this daft boy a bloody picture?
Ron brought the hand he used to sweep his mate aside up to his forehead with an audible smack, "Gwawd! Why didn't I see it before! She's Head Girl, he's Head Boy and if she has a commitment every Friday afternoon, then he must as well."
The phrase, we have a winner! - echoed in Harry's head, "Malfoy must have been trying to wheedle his way out of class!"
Shifting his books to his other hand, Ron slashed at the air in front of his body, "There is NO WAY Madame Hooch is going to let him have his cake and eat it too!"
Entering the Hall for lunch, Harry spied the troupe of girls who had previously promenaded in such an agreeable manner. A well-placed elbow to Ron indicated their general location, "Ron, do you know what this means?"
Speaking in unison and giving each other the Gryffindor-modified 'high-five' Ron and Harry did not bother to hide their delight. "This is going to be a very good year!"
The revelation that made his friend's blue eyes sparkle mirrored the rush Harry felt when he watched the sun break apart storm clouds on the morning of a Quidditch match.
Ron made the most of his long legs and reached the seated lovelies a step and a half before Harry. Silently challenging Harry to a round of "Who's Got More Charm?" with a flick of his eyes, Ron deeply salaamed and addressed them in his most debonair, I-could-be-a-Turkish-prince-for-all-you-know presentation, "Fair maidens."
Harry regally nodded his head to the ladies and to accept Ron's call to arms. Stretching forth both arms, Harry captured the fingers of two different girls sitting nearest to him. Looking at one Gryffindorette as if she were the only girl in the room, he mimicked Fleur Delacour's French accent, "Enchante," before addressing her friend in the very same manner, "Mon amie."
Giving each hand a gentlemanly squeeze and all the girls a fox-in-the-hen-house smile, Harry dropped the accent in lieu of a more suave demeanour, "Mademoiselles. Are you familiar with the potential benefits that can be had, by the likes of such as lovelies as yourselves, at the hands of two fellow Gryffindors who suddenly find themselves," and risked a conspiratorial eye-lock with Ron.
Ron chimed in with perfect rhythm and finished his best mate's sentence, "In a Malfoy Free Zone?" and doffed an imaginary hat off his flame coloured head.
* * * * * * *
Now, where could he be?
Having been inside the dark castle all morning, stepping out into the bright, light-filled Student Quad caused Hermione to raise a shielding hand to her eyes. The midday sun had chased away all the shadows that lurked in the outdoor area students had claimed as their own.
She knew that she wouldn't have to search the entire Quad for her quarry. For example, she could skip the maple tree in the corner. It provided a haven for the Hogwarts Gossip Mill - a non-profit organization headed up by Lavender, Parvati and her twin sister Padma (who had been sorted into Ravenclaw) as well as the ever-present les saveurs de la semaine. The male 'flavours of the week'. The non-published and completely implied mission statement of the H.G.M. entailed keeping up with and re-weaving the threads of the hook-ups, break-ups, make-ups and shake-ups that made up the life of a Hogwarts Student.
Scattered about in the middle of the Quad - where the light cast the least amount of shadows and there was plenty of room to spread out books and parchments - were the various study groups reviewing the week's lessons. If she focused, she could listen to Hannah Abbott lead an Arithmancy discussion. Blaise Zabini - now that boy has an accent I could listen too all day! - was hypothesizing on some obscure theory pertaining to Ancient Runes. And, dear, sweet Neville, at the request of Professor Sprout (the Hufflepuff matriarch), had sacrificed his latest hybrid for a group of Herbology-challenged fourth and fifth year students.
Sparing the most cursory of glances to the section of the Quad where Malfoy and the rest of the "I Love, I Am in Fear Of, I Am Intimidated By Draco Malfoy Fan Club" typically held court, she couldn't help but wonder why no one had ever challenged the group of dungeon dwellers for their prime piece of Quad real estate. Not seeing His Most Blondness, she felt safe in conceding that the boy was indeed handsome and smart. He would be quite a catch if he didn't open his bloody mouth to say bloody awful things to people he didn't bloody like for no bloody reason other than their bloody heritage. And, she had to admit; he is a pretty good Quidditch player. Actually, he is second only to Harry.
And speak of the devil. There he is. And what would be the odds that he is thinking about preparing for N.E.W.T's?
Thinking back on a previous musing, she decided that it would not be redundant to apply it to a certain someone who always caught her eye. Singularly written regulations pertaining to a specific seventh-year Gryffindor who possessed the ability to unconsciously cuff a reasonably intelligent, confident teenaged woman up-side the head with a Stupid Stick and render said female unable to string two coherent words together as body parts flushed in ever so embarrassing manners. Now there is a guy I can look at and listen too all day! Unfortunately, he is not the boy of the hour.
Spying the young man in question right where she would be if she were him, Hermione tacked her way through the crowd - dodging questions and waving off requests with a casual, "Stop by my office." or "Make an appointment with me later." - and announced herself with a light tap to the boy's shoulder. Coming around to stoop in front of the boy so that her face would be level with his, Hermione dropped the timbre of her voice to ask quietly, "May I join you?"
The thirteen year-old boy who had come out to the Quad with tears standing in his eyes (because he missed the familiarity of his own room and the way his dog would always want to play) couldn't pinpoint exactly when he stopped listening to the beautiful girl crouched down in front of him.
He knew that the lilting rising and falling of her voice had, to his ears, a musical quality. And the smell of fresh cut green grass and some mysterious light floral essence would be his scent of choice if he ever bought a vial of perfume as a gift. His tongue felt like it was too big for his mouth and felt as if it was wrapped in a length of Mme. Pomfrey's hospital gauze. He couldn't summon one word that he thought would sound like something she would want to hear. And, to get up just to get something to drink to relieve his thirst would mean having to end his conversation with the ethereal creature whose hair was haloed by the sun in such amazing shades of chestnut, honey blonde and red that breaking contact solely based on his immediate needs was not acceptable. Especially since he couldn't even remember her name. All he knew was that she said that she was Head Girl and that he should not be angry with his friends for telling her how worried they were about him. And that if he ever felt sad and wanted to talk to someone, her door would always be open.
That would be enough to go on for now. He would 'make an appointment' as soon as classes ended for the day. He also thought that a foray into the Herbology greenhouses for some flowers that smelled Head Girl-ish would be just the thing - after all this was his first Hogsmeade weekend and he had yet to invite anyone.
* * * * *
A steady round of classes, lunch, more classes, studying, dinner, trips to the library and then another bout of studying before collapsing into bed exhausted (only to rise again for an early morning work-out) made Friday seem like the shiny brass ring at the end of a carousel-like week.
With only Divination (a.k.a nap time) and Vectors (the best class ever!) to go, and a Hogsmeade weekend in front of them, Harry, Ron and Dean were taking full advantage of the sun-drenched day. All three boys had shed their robes with the purpose of turning them inside out and spreading them on the soft grass. Three jumpers were haphazardly piled one on top of the other.
Dean had taken off his shirt and tie and was lying on his side (very much like the famous Muggle artist's rendering of Selene's paramour) wearing only his sleeveless undershirt and leafing through a Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezees catalogue. Ron had opted to loosen his tie and had rolled up his shirtsleeves to completely recline on his back with his head pillowed by his interlaced fingers. He kept himself from tipping over by crossing his long legs at his ankles. Harry, for his part, decided that it was too splendid a lunch hour to wear a tie and unbuttoned his shirt until the plackets draped freely at his side. Not trusting himself to stay awake if he mimicked Ron's position, he settled for crooking one knee and letting his other leg rest slackly against his robe while propping himself up on his forearms. Number 8 on the "List of Things That Are Grand About Being Back In School" - not feeling the need to make conversation just because you and your mates don't really want to say anything at the moment.
Turning his face toward the sun, Harry resisted the urge to relax as completely as Ron had. It was his turn to be 'on duty' anyway. His charge - Merlin help him if she ever heard that term applied to her! was currently halfway across the Quad and offering solace to some homesick third year. How does she do it? Head Girl duties and Prefect duties at the same time - let alone studying for her classes. I am not sure even what she is taking this year. Well, if he had to tell the truth, he hadn't been able to keep her still long enough to discuss her timetable. Thinking that Ron's mother hit the nail on the head when she summed up her 'other' daughter's capabilities, "If you've got something that's needing doing - give it to a busy person." Which would explain how Hermione kept up with everything. But what does she do for fun?
Just last night, Harry was hoping to reinstate their 'Fireside Chats'. That's what Hermione had come to call our late night rendezvous when I couldn't sleep and I would find her in the Common Room exchanging sleep for study time. We would talk for hours or not at all. But, before he could extend an invitation to meet him after she returned from her rounds, Dennis Creevey (Colin's younger brother) fell victim to Peeve's latest antic and Hermione stormed out of the Common Room bellowing for the Bloody Baron (the Slytherin House ghost and apparently the only being which the peckish poltergeist paid any heed) to, "Collect that blasted poltergeist before I make him wish he was among the living just so that he could die again than endure more painful suffering at my hand!"
Letting go of last night's events in lieu of the glassy expression Harry saw wax over the younger boy's face, he had to give the lad credit for choosing a girl that was worthy of being a first crush. Don't get your hopes up too high, my young friend. You are the latest passenger on the Lovelorn Express. Nevertheless, having a pointed conversation with the boy about Hermione was added to the "List of Things to Do This Weekend".
* * * * * *
I must have gotten through to him and he is just too embarrassed to speak, Hermione thought as she left a no-longer crying, apparently cheered up boy who nodded mutely when she assured him that he could talk to her - in the privacy of her office if he wished, anytime he felt sad.
Wishing that she could shed a few layers of clothing herself, but knowing that she had to set an example regardless of her personal comfort, Hermione had the feeling that she was being watched. Completely searching the Quad this time - surveying the boys involved with the Fall Ball Committee laughing at the 'girly nature' that the preparations were taking on and the way Seamus was trying to teach a group of non-Muggle-borns how to play futbol, she sought the identity of her voyeur. Harry.
Giving credit where credit was due, Hermione took in the sight of not only her best friend, but Ron and Dean as well. All three were lying about with aires of self-assuredness, confidence and aloof sexiness that was rare to find in boys of their year. Do guys come in any better packaging than that?
Harry flicked his fingers at the blades of grass that bordered the hem of his robe. Keeping one eye on Hermione and the way the sun set her hair alight with colour, he couldn't resist issuing an appreciative comment to Dean, "My friend - there are precious few who look that good even when wearing a school uniform, jumper and an over-sized robe."
Speaking from an entirely biased point of view, Dean replied, "Ginny's in the same league mate. She's a right sight. Especially when the fire in the Common Room is real low and there are only a few candles lit…"
A closed-eyed Ron didn't bother to sit up when he interrupted with a perception of his own, "Don't be - with me laying here - going all randy about my sister! Keep it," referring a saying Prof. McGonagall had explained was a Muggle way of rating entertainment, "PG when you talk about her - at least around me!"
Deciding that she earned the privilege of spending the rest of her lunch hour as she pleased, Hermione started to weave her way across the Quad towards the black-haired, green-eyed man/boy lounging on his robe.
It's about time, Harry thought. Pretending that he didn't see her heading his way, he lifted himself up higher and rested his weight on his wrists.
Hermione was about fifteen paces away when a red-haired, incoherent mess threw herself into the brunette's arms.
"Hermione, what am I going to do? The Ball is…. so fast and I… have…this FABULOUS idea for Dean and … But how am I going…." Words were tumbling out of Ginny's mouth faster than she could enunciate them.
Taking Ginny by the chin, Hermione lifted the other girl's distraught face, "Tell me what's going on."
Where is she? She should have been here by now. Harry grudgingly compromised his oh-so-cool façade to find his errant friend. What he saw brought a smile to his face. There are so many things people don't know about you, Miss Granger. Watching your eyes light up as you solve a problem in class fades in comparison to the glow that envelops you when help a friend. And witnessing a much relieved Ginny stand in the same place where a completely-out-of-sorts Ginny stood only moments before, gave Harry the go-ahead that he and Ron would not be obligated to have a conversation with a member of the male persuasion about how a real man doesn't mess with another man's girlfriend.
Finally! She blew a stray lock of hair away from her nose to vent her frustration. It's not that I didn't want to talk to the homesick third year or help Ginny find a way to procure her costumes for the ball - she really does have a great idea - it's just that I haven't had a real conversation with Harry all week and it left her feeling… a little empty. Like she needed a dose of Harry in her life. Being Head Girl is NOT what it was cracked up to be. She and Draco Malfoy had to fulfil not only their duties all week and through the weekend, but all the duties of all the prefects as well.
It was a newly instated policy that the Heads were to stand-in for the Prefects during the first week of school. The purpose of which is to give students a chance to settle in to their Houses and acclimate to being back in school and attending classes. She and Prince Charming had to patrol ALL the corridors of Hogwarts. Thank goodness Malfoy had agreed to alternate who would be accompanied by Filch - an experience truly unto itself. It also fell to them to solve minor disciplinary problems and dole out suitable punishments. And, as a special project, she had been asked by the headmaster to canvass all the Houses to see if there was anything that was intrinsic to the lives of the students that was lacking or if there was anything that the Houses wanted as a collective. Hermione already had a shopping list only Father Christmas could appreciate and she had yet to put the same questions to her own House.
Clocking one of Ron's huge feet with one of his own, Harry vied for his mate's attention, "Do you see what I see?"
To anyone else, the tall redhead was just trying to get the kinks out of his joints as he sat up, stretched both arms forward and pulled on his shoulder muscles. Very few knew that stretching was one of Ron's preferred ruses when he slipped into his 'Master Strategist mode', "What do you reckon that's about?
Hermione had taken no more than a few steps on her way towards Harry when she felt her elbow plucked from behind. Reminding herself that being Head Girl is a privilege and duty - she swallowed the, "What NOW!" that she wanted to wield. Instead, she turned and… looked up. One of the largest Slytherins she had every seen was looming near her. Silently, the Goyle-in-training handed her a note tied with an iridescent green ribbon. Unfurling the parchment, she bit back a retort and 'nodded' to her escort.
"It's your watch - how do you want to play this?" Ron made a show of reaching as far as he could behind himself - like he had a cramp in his arms that he could quite relieve as he addressed Harry. The game is afoot!
Never tiring of watching people wither in the wake of Hermione's 'McGonagall-esque' glower, Harry (who couldn't help but notice that the younger Slytherin errand boy had a good foot in height and about seventy-five pounds on his best friend) waited until he saw their retreating backs before mobilizing his 'lieutenants'. "Dean?"
Knowing the game - how could I not, seeing as how I am bunking with the 'Boy Who Loves and Is Running Out of Time to Do Something About It' - Dean was ready to help. After all I wouldn't be taking N.E.W.T level Transfiguration without her. "Name it."
Extending his hand to 'help' Ron clamber to his feet, Harry used the time it took for Ron to resettle himself to button-up his own shirt and tidy up the loose ends of his plan, "Dean - can you take our robes and books to Divination? We'll meet you there."
Savvy enough to know how not to compromise the element of surprise that Harry and Ron were counting on, Dean didn't even look up from his catalogue when he promised, "Done."
Clapping Ron on the back, Harry jovially announced, "So mate - fancy seeing if there is anything left on the Lunch Table?"
Answering with an easy going smile that did not reach his eyes, Ron matched Harry's tone with just as much volume, "You know me - I'm always up for a snack." Snake meat is my favourite - tastes like chicken!
* * * * * *
Funny. This is a prime site for an ambush, but all I can see are the suits of armour bedecked with holly garlands and enchanted to sing Christmas carols. Hermione surprised herself with the unexpected tangent taken by her imaginative mind.
Her 'escort' had led her to the Breezeway of Honour and abruptly loped back towards the Great Hall.
Appreciating the craftsmanship of the halberds and swords that armed each Knight, her reverie was interrupted by a coldly aristocratic inflected, "Granger."
Sliding into her 'thrust and parry mode' that was growing more typical with each interaction she had with Draco Malfoy, Hermione carefully hid any emotion from her face as she turned slowly - at my leisure Mr. Pretentious - and met his gaze unwaveringly, "Malfoy."
Ron and Harry tiptoed into the Breezeway and each chose a Knight to conceal their positions - and drawn wands.
Making a show of checking his hair in the reflection of one of the warrior's breastplate, Draco smiled. Not at his perfect coiffeur. But at the way Granger had dismissed Goyle's younger brother with out having to say a word. And the slightly bored tone she used with him just now. Draco had to give his counterpart credit. Her skills are growing by leaps and bounds. And it didn't hurt that she was one of the most attractive witches at school. And according to the class rankings, the only one to best him academically. In fact, the only thing that was holding him back from claiming her as his own was the fact that she was Muggle-born. The school-wide knowledge that she didn't like him or that Scar-Head and Weasel drew a protective circle around Hermione would have - in any other girl - only heightened his desire to chase. Not that I would ever give her a reason to like me. That will stay under lock and key.
Pulling at the shoulders of his custom-cut linen school shirt to redistribute it more evenly, Draco only met Hermione's gaze at the last possible moment before his behaviour crossed the fine line from assertiveness to impoliteness, "We need to talk."
Rolling her eyes to the ceiling before training them over the well-polished metal men, Hermione let her lack amusement clearly underline every word she spoke, "If you needed to talk - why involve a lackey and why a deserted corridor?"
Malfoy did not answer her. I thought actions spoke louder than words to a girl?
Letting her ire show just enough to convey that she wasn't amused, Hermione crossed her arms, "I'm busy. I have things to do, Malfoy, that are more important than knocking down the feeble hoops you think you erect for me to jump through."
Watching him stride towards her, she had to confess that the boy was well put together. Just as tall as Harry and equal in muscle mass, Draco sported perfectly groomed thick blonde hair, beautifully proportioned features and piercing grey eyes that she had seen pale to almost light blue or darken to a steel colour only observed when weather was at its worst. When everything is said and done, Draco Malfoy is as drop dead gorgeous as specified by the very definition of the word. However, she felt a slight blush start to creep around her neck as she got caught brazenly giving Draco Malfoy a head-to-toe-and-back-to-head once over.
"Do you like what you see?" Malfoy levelled a smouldering look at the honey-haired brunette standing across from him with so much attitude. "Shall I pivot?"
Damn. Busted! But, she made more than an adequate recovery with, "Just returning the favour, Malfoy."
Drawing parallels between the two boys, Hermione could actually see herself becoming drawn to the Slytherin Heir-Apparent. Completing the briefest of comparisons, she came up with one - glaringly important - difference between the two. Harry was a good guy who had the capability of being fierce only when necessary. Malfoy, on the flip side of the same galleon, was dangerous except when called upon to 'play nice with others'. It's a potent mix - brains, beauty and a chronic case of Bad Boy-itis. If his reputation is even remotely based on reality, quite a few girls from EVERY House have succumbed to his charms.
Lapsing into perfect French, Malfoy nodded in Hermione's direction, "Touché, mon cher."
Ron didn't speak French, but whatever the soft sounding syllables were that flowed effortlessly off Hermione's tongue put Malfoy squarely in his place.
Switching back to English, a rebuffed Draco dropped his icy demeanour and politely commanded, "Take a stroll with me."
Harry didn't know whether to wing Hermione a 'Well done!' for making Malfoy fall in step with her or corner her with a, 'How can I protect you if you don't let me!' At the last minute, Hermione changed the direction that she and the Green Goblin were heading (which would have led them straight towards he and Ron's hiding place) and began walking towards the far end of the Breezeway - away from her two 'protectors'. The acoustics in this hallway are terrible to begin with and with those two being so far away, there is no way for me to decipher what is being discussed.
Striding back to their starting point, Draco was - grateful. Hermione had acquiesced. Having concluded his business, he felt the compulsion to offer a formal, albeit abbreviated bow to the witch in front of him. Out of appreciation of course. Nothing more.
Doing something unexpected, he offered, "Jusqu'an temps des texts, mon digne adversaire."
Wondering if rendering Malfoy capable of a civilized conversation outside of his own House could be considered one of the necessary miracles needed for canonization, Hermione made sure she spoke last, "Un tarde plus Messieur Malfoy. Bon soir." And made sure she maintained the last word by turning on her heel and leaving Malfoy's presence.
Pulling at his shirt one more time, Draco was faintly stunned. The Mud-blood actually sounded cultured. Swivelling on the soles of his hand crafted leather shoes he listened to the gentle tick of his heels reverberate inside the Breezeway. Which was very similar to the way new thoughts began bouncing around in his mind.
Knowing that Malfoy would not discover them when the sound of his precisely placed footsteps faded altogether, Ron and Harry stepped clear of the long dead soldiers who provided such effective screens.
Heading back towards the Quad, both boys were too caught up in their own thoughts to say much of anything for several moments.
"Ron," Harry didn't know where to begin in tying together all the threads of what just happened. Why would Hermione answer a summons from Malfoy? What did they talk about? More importantly, what was that look on Malfoy's face after she left?
Ron was stumped. He had seen Hermione fire scathing retorts in response to Malfoy's taunts. Bloody Hell! I remember the day she socked him across the face for being gleeful about Buckbeak being sentenced to death. And here she is - talking to him without barbs and needles! Ron made a mental note to check with Firenze to see if the stars had been jolted out of alignment by some cataclysmic celestial event, "I'm right there with you mate."
Somewhere on the school grounds, the single chime of a tower clock tolled.
"Harry!" Ron clutched at his friend's shirtsleeve in a panic.
Stepping out into the still very sunny - and now VERY deserted Quad, Harry knew exactly why Ron's eyebrows were touching his hairline.
"BOLLOCKS!"
* * * * * *
The eminent verbal flaying that they were going to receive at the hands of Mme. Hooch due to their over-protective, possessive natures was enough to ruin Ron's and Harry's mood during which was quickly becoming their afternoon nap time - also known as Divination. It had nothing to do with the teaching style of the professor. As centaurs went, Firenze was positively animated and forthcoming. Granted the words animated and forthcoming had slightly different definitions when applied to Hogwarts students.
Because they chose to 'look out for their best friend', both boys failed to remember to save enough time to backtrack to Gryffindor Tower for a change of clothes. Let alone, retrieve the two brooms that were propped against the far wall of the Gryffindor Common Room. Precisely where Ron and Harry had left them the night before. Playing 'Catch the Quaffle' seemed to be the best way to enjoy the fading evening twilight.
Not even the prospect of a Malfoy Free Zone could not erase the trepidation from their faces as they faced their first practical flying lesson without the two things they needed most - Ron's Cleansweep and Harry's Firebolt.
Dragging their feet all the way to the Quidditch Pitch, Harry and Ron were not blaming each other for not being prepared for the best class ever in the history of Hogwarts. If they were suddenly given a time-turner and the opportunity to repeat the past few hours, there would be nothing that they would do differently. They STILL would have followed Hermione and they STILL would have only just made it to Divination on time. And because Firenze's classroom was so far from the Quidditch Pitch, they STILL would not have had enough time to collect their brooms and rucksacks.
It is because of times like these I wish I weren't so tall, Ron lamented, if I were shorter, I could maybe blend in a little better. Running a shaky hand through his hair, By Orion's Eye, whom am I kidding? It's like Harry trying to hide. Neither one of us could be inconspicuous if we wanted too. Between my hair and his scar - we would be spotted straight away!
Harry did the only thing he could think of - he made sure that he and Ron had the last two spots in the line up.
Mme. Hooch was true to her word. As she rattled off all the manoeuvres she wanted demonstrated, Harry sent a furtive prayer to the Overseer of Good Luck that they would run out of class time before he and Ron would be asked to perform the stipulated sequence of feints, banks, barrel rolls, steep climbs at ferocious angles and a very complicated tactic that was referred to as a 'Swoop and Dash'.
"Well, well, well - what do we have here? Two little kittens who have lost their mittens?"
Snapping his neck in the direction of the mal-applied and grammatically challenged nursery rhyme, Harry felt like he had just been struck in the solar plexus by a rogue bludger.
Ron knew his mouth had dropped opened so wide that the bludger which ricocheted off Harry would not have any difficulty clearing his teeth and tongue as it made its landing next to his tonsils.
Draco Malfoy sauntered silently onto the Quidditch Pitch and had gotten the drop on the two Gryffindors. Sliding into his rightful place in the line-up, he opted to address his two rivals a tone very similar as to how one would speak to a baby, "Awe. Isn't that just the sweetest thing. Weasel and Potty are incapable of speaking on their own unless their little girlfriend is near by to feed them each the King's English." And with that, Malfoy extracted the first of the three brooms he was carrying.
Harry was shocked - to say the least - to see Malfoy handing him his Firebolt. Ron, he knew, was struck dumb when the taller boy grasped his Cleansweep in his right hand and looked into the light grey eyes of a perceived adversary and did not immediately retaliate with a biting comment of his own.
Thankfully, Ron was the first to recover his faculties, "What are YOU doing here?" Definitely not my best work.
"When will I ever learn? Father has always said, 'No good deed goes un-punished'." Shrugging his shoulders and speaking in a purely rhetorical manner, "Must be why he was always so frightfully wicked."
Switching back to Weasley and Potter, Draco summoned up his best woebegone expression, "And here I am - thinking that we were going to be friends," Draco was loving this - it wasn't often that he had such an advantage over any of The Trio, "and go back to your Common Room and play Tea Party with your dollies."
Harry's mind snapped back into play when a familiar looking rucksack was tossed at his feet. It belonged to Hermione and it was being delivered courtesy of one Draco Malfoy, Arsehole Extraordinaire. Laying a foundation of steel beneath his words, Harry was quick to retaliate by stating, "I'm not buying this for an instant." Thinking about the owner of the sack, "Where did you get this? If you did ANYTHING…"
Draco backed off - just a little, "Don't get your knickers in a twist." Nah - can't do it. I have to see his reaction to this. "Unless of course you are still wearing hers. Perhaps the pair with the pictures of flying ponies stamped all over the backside?"
Ron put a steadying hand on Harry's shoulder, "Wotcher Malfoy; you're about to run into some turbulence."
A sweaty and grimy Hufflepuff landed hard. With a shrill blast of Mme. Hooch's whistle, a Ravenclaw kicked off and soared into the air. All three boys shuffled toward the head of the line, but remained in the same en guarde stance.
"Careful, Weasel. Don't write notes that your mouth - or your family can't honour." Draco said as he changed his tone to something more amenable. Not because the other two boys intimidated him but because he was growing bored with the zero effort it took to bait Potter and Weasley. Unlike Granger, at least she provides somewhat of a challenge for me. And well, he had promised her that he would play nice. Or as nice as Draco Malfoy could play when dealing with two individuals whom I clearly don't like. "Listen. She is fine. We struck a deal. And part of that deal was for me to meet her in our office just before Vectors and take your, " sneering at Ron's perfectly serviceable however less then crowd stopping broom, "brooms and that pack," referring to Hermione's bag, "with me on my way to class."
So, that explains some the mystery of surrounding Hermione and Draco. But why do I feel like he isn't telling us everything? Harry's mind started to turn at the possibilities.
Apparently Ron had the same sense of intuition, "Spill the rest of it, Malfoy."
Sliding his own broom off his shoulder and leaning the handle against his chest, Malfoy shared what he had been holding back. Why I had to agree to this part, I'll never understand. Pulling out a wax-sealed piece of folded parchment, Malfoy offered it to Harry, "I was… encouraged… to give you this."
Mme. Hooch blew her whistle and called, "Mr. Malfoy. Glad to see you are still with us."
Typical of her mannerism of using as few words as possible when it came to dealing with anything that had to do something beyond the world of flying, Quidditch or flying in a Quidditch match, she forced air through her whistle once more, "Get ready. You're next." Barking an order to the Ravenclaw in the air to execute a particular feint again, "And this time, don't choke your broom handle like your are trying to strangle the life out of it!"
Harry broke the seal on the note and held it up high enough so Ron could read it as well.
Dear Harry and Ron,
Since you take such good care of me, the least I can do is return the favour.
Just 'looking out for my two best friends'.
Love,
Hermione
Ron took the note from Harry's hand and placed it in the front pocket of the rucksack. The bag contained Ron's favourite Chudley Cannons sweatshirt, Harry's zip-up windbreaker with contrasting racing stripes down each arm that were wedged between two full water bottles and braced upright by two rolled hand towels. Exactly what they would have chosen if they had packed the bag themselves.
Looking at the note then at Ron, Harry accepted the fact that they were busted, "Do you think we should put this one with all the others?"
Nodding his head in affirmation, Ron shrugged his shoulders, "Might as well. I reckon that we'll only get more seeing as how this is only the first week of the term. At least she didn't send a Howler this time." An after-thought brought a concerned look to his face, he asked, "You don't suppose she messed with any of this stuff?"
Harry suddenly felt a little dubious as he considered Ron's hesitantly proposed hunch, "I dunno. What do you think?"
The staccato of Mme. Hooch snapping her fingers and shouting, "Weasley! You're on deck," at the two best friends effectively ended any further speculation.
Which was only continued two hours later when a pair of sweaty, grimy, itchy boys appeared on Madam Pomfrey's doorstep looking for relief that, after a half an hour of searching her cupboards, none of expert healer's potions, salves or creams could provide.