Caught Off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts
Chapter 3: The Traps are Set!
In the hour before dawn, the Halls of Hogwarts were silent.
With both palms facing a stone gargoyle, a lone figure stood chanting in the darkness. A floor length white cloak with the hood drawn up and over the owner's head completely obscured the identity of the wearer. The chant was repeated every time the same hands were brought together sharply. It was a spell. One the caster did not need to read off a piece of parchment. The same sequence of words and actions had been performed every Friday morning for the last six weeks. The only variation was in the number of times the enchantment was cast. Each time the incantation was spoken, the caster was required to bring their hands together before repeating the same words. As this was the seventh week out of an eight week ritual, the incantation was required to be repeated seven times. Hands had to be drawn together seven times.
Focusing intently on the words that flowed freely from memory, a familiar tingle began to tease the tips of caster's fingers. The spell is working! The tingle became more pronounced and a golden glow outlined the outstretched hands as the enchantment was cast again and again. Gold-coloured energy began pooling between the graceful digits and wrists. Clapping hands one last time, the enchanter raised both arms to shoulder height, brought both palms into alignment with the stone carving and with a deep breath, released the magic stored within. The wards that guarded the Headmaster Professor Albus Dumbledore's office shimmered and accepted the infusion of golden energy.
Gathering the few items that had been strategically placed around the stone guardian, the caster knew that the spell had worked. The secret is rousing the wards without setting them off. Sliding a rucksack over one shoulder, the enchanter pulled a rolled parchment from a pocket deep within the cloak. It was a checklist of things to do before the day even started. There was only one task yet to be completed - of which a trip to the Owlery would play a crucial role.
* * * * *
Door? Wall? Door? Wall? Bounding up the stairs that lead to the Student Quad, Ronald Weasley was running out of room - to run. Hence the debate. Do I head for the doorway at the far side of the Quad and then angle to the left or do I vault over the railing and head right?
"Just wait until I get my hands on you! You'll be eating flobberworms for a week!"
Ron did not even bother turning his head in the direction where that promise was cast. Escape meant that he would NOT be one of The Few, The Unlucky or The Unwilling who DO know the taste of flobberworms.
Wall! Having determined his most immediate means of escape, Ron now had to navigate the minefield - a.k.a the myriad of students who were lounging about enjoying some afternoon sun before dinner. All of who were completely innocent of doing something fiendish to one of their best mates while said mate napped during Divination - a class that started three hours ago.
The students who were lying on their sides were surprisingly easy to clear - all it took was for him to stretch his stride a bit more than usual. Those sitting up were either zigzagged around or hurdled. The path of least resistance led over a stone bench, around a Charms study group and put him within fifteen feet of the stone railing that separated the exposed corridor that led to the Quad from the rest of the castle. Measuring his footfalls with the distance to be covered, Ron put in an extra burst of speed to launch himself to the top of the railing with the intention of landing upright and still in motion. Cheering himself on, Ron mentally braced himself for what he had to do. Left, right, left, right, bend and R-E-A-C-H and UP and OVER and D-O-W-N and land with my left….Great Merlin's beard! Too much momentum - can't stop!
"Oomph!!"
Skidding, Ron collided chest first into another student. Papers and books were strewn as they both stumbled backwards. Instinctively wrapping his arms around whomever he crashed into so that when they toppled he would take the brunt of the fall, Ron only had time to recognize three things. One: thankfully whomever he ran into wasn't hurt - only surprised. Two: the person was definitely a girl with long blonde hair that smelled awfully good. And three: he only had enough time to help whomever it was he ploughed into gather up a few things before he heard his pursuer canvass the Quad as to what direction he was headed.
Thrusting a sheaf of parchments into her hands, Ron couldn't see her face through her veil of hair, "So sorry - gotta go - may not live to see my next birthday." Dashing off towards the far end of the corridor, he made a mental note to find out who she was so that he could fully apply the 'Weasley Charm' more 'sooner than later'. If I survive that long!
Weasley - what are you doing? Slowing down to take a corner, Ron turned towards the girl who was now picking up an inkpot, "I'll make it up to you!"
Summoning the layout of Hogwarts in his mind, Ron sprinted past the Great Hall and completely dismissed the idea of dashing up the Moving Staircases. He'll expect me to go that way. Maybe I can loose him near the Herbology greenhouses!
********
I know that fool came up here, but which way did he do? Hollering to everyone and to no one, "Has anyone seen a red-haired bloke who has yet to get the owl that he will not live to see his next birthday?"
Okay. Slightly amused students to my left - a broken line of slightly peeved students to my right. Focusing on someone blonde and wearing blue was the best Weasley Compass he could ask for - the dishevelled Ravenclaw picking up her books pointed exactly which way his prey went. You can run but you can't bloody hide Weasley!
Ever ready with his camera, Colin passed a bundle of contact sheets to his brother and called out, "Oi! Can you do that again?" Standing firm against a look that read 'You Have Got To Be Kidding' followed by a 'Do It And You Die' glower, Colin clarified his request and seasoned it with a bit of cajoling, "You know - that look you had in your eyes just a moment ago?"
"Colin. You light that flash and I will turn you over to a group girls with specific instructions OF WHICH I CAN GUARENTEE the results will be talked about for months to come." That promise effectively silenced the photographer.
It was a fairly common occurrence to see any one of the Gryffindor boys chasing any of his mates. A more frequent event was watching said boys trying to side-step whoever was hot on their heels. Verbally or physically. In fact, for many students it became quite lucrative to gamble on who would come out on top - the chaser or the evader. Provided there was enough time to create a betting pool.
What WAS worthy of a H.G.M Special Bulletin was the fact that the Gryffindor Quidditch captain was now tearing through the Quad sporting bright pink hair. Courtesy of the Gryffindor Prefect, Keeper and Harry Potter's best mate.
* * * * * * *
All is right in the Universe and the Universe is as it should be. Balance has once again been achieved.
Rapidly descending the stairs from Gryffindor Tower with his Firebolt braced against one shoulder, Harry recounted the bargain The Wheedling Weasley negotiated just outside of the Third Years' greenhouse. Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age. Ron retaining the privilege of experiencing the Holidays without any new orifices in exchange for having to be my slave for the next week was really quite generous. Too bad I didn't have time to consult Hermione as to what she thought his 'what for' should have been. She always comes up with something really inventive.
With the issue of Ron's retribution taken care of, Harry thought that heading down to the Pitch to get in some flying time was one of the best impulses he had all day. Granted that the first scrimmage of the new school year won't take place for two more weeks, but he knew that his signature Standing Snitch Snatch could use some polishing. After all, the last time he had performed his crowd pleasing (and championship earning) catch was during the summer in the backyard of the Burrow. Before he and Ron went abroad.
Pausing on the next landing to get his bearings, Harry thought some more about the witch who occupied so much of his free time. So far, so good.
During the first few weeks of school, he went slow. Phase One focused on the little things. Like waiting for her to get up first (if his schedule permitted) from whatever table they were both sitting at and leaving with her if it were possible or offering a parting comment if he had to stay. Or scooping the extra books she always carried before she had a chance to discourage him. And earning himself a thankful smile in the process. Especially when she realized just how much easier it was to balance one's book bag while trying to concentrate on whatever parting question a student or professor was asking when she was NOT juggling fifteen extra pounds of tomes at the same time. One of the best indications he received that he was on the correct path were her constant looks of surprise when, during study sessions, he would make it point to ask Hermione if there was a book she needed and he would know exactly where the specific volume she requested was located. Not that he ever tipped his hand - he always followed his offer with some variation of needing some additional research material for whatever piece of work he was completing. What she will never know is that I memorized the layout of the library. In fact, I studied it as extensively as any one of my Quidditch plays.
Over the course of those first few weeks, Harry surprised himself by how much he had come to care about and think of ways to make Hermione's life easier. Merlin knows she can take care of herself. She was so self-sufficient that he actually found it difficult to find things to do for her. Not that others hadn't tried. More than a few of persons of the male population thought that by making her dependant them would hollow out a special place in her heart. The result for those blokes was an embarrassing trip to the Infirmary. With the specific need of ask Madam Pomfrey for a Forever Cold Pak or the necessary counter-curse for the various Hermio-Inspired trouncing du jour. Whether the afflictions were exacted by Hermione or the 'Gentlemen Don't Behave That Way' Intervention Squad, Harry added.
Bouncing down the last of the stairs, Harry figured that he still had a good hour before dinner. Contemplating the various ways to exit the castle, traversing the walkway where he and Remus Lupin had talked so poignantly about his parents appealed to him the most. The added bonus of taking a longer route to reach the Pitch so that he could continue contemplating Miss Granger only confirmed that he had made the right decision.
Tacking his way through the swarms of students eager to enjoy the last of the bright October sunshine, Harry decided that there was no reason why he couldn't enjoy his current fix. Instead of getting snarky with anyone who 'complimented' him on his 'new look', a wink and a smile became his answer of choice. After all, as each remark was spoken it earned Ron another item on the growing list of 'Slave, Do My Bidding!'
It wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that he felt that Phase Two could be set in motion without arousing Hermione's suspicions. All the courtesies of Phase One were to be maintained, but the re-instatement of their late night 'Fireside Chats' would round out his repertoire.
Learning his lesson when his intentions were first de-railed; he stepped back and re-evaluated the situation. If the added responsibilities Hermione had been assigned would directly impact his primary objectives - like looking to spend some time with the young witch, then it was up to him to find another way to acquire quiet moments with the busy Gryffindor.
The solution was surprisingly simple.
Of course factors such as school, studies, Quidditch and more studies - which did take up a lot of his time - had to be taken into consideration, but if he genuinely wasn't feeling too tired Harry would stake out an area of the Common Room and wait up for her. Not to mention that the likelihood of him being sidetracked by some 'Adventure' or whatever 'Splendid Idea' Ron or Dean had concocted was pretty much a given. Which translated to Harry still having a good third of his homework to go by the time Hermione wrapped up her own duties and returned to the Tower.
Climbing onto the Pitch and kicking off, the familiar sensation of cool air lifting layers of his hair always invigorated him. The freedom of not touching the ground was like a Pepper-Up potion for his spirit. It's the stretches of time when I don't fly that makes me feel like there is something physically wrong with me that can only be cured BY taking to the sky. Deciding that too much of the day had waned to do any serious work on his Snatch, taking a spin over the Dark Forest would be the perfect way to spend the remaining moments before it would be time for dinner. Flying would give him ample time to truly appreciate the events of past week and a half.
This time last year, Hermione would deliberately elect to sit at the opposite end of their favourite uni-cushioned couch or settle herself into a separate chair adjacent from where he chose to sit regardless if their talks stretched into the small hours of the morning. Not to say that this year didn't begin the same way. But last week something happened which brought the two of them closer together. Physically.
The fire went out.
Harry had assumed that he had banked it sufficiently to ensure that the Common Room remained comfortable. Too far away and far too small to make up for the rapidly dropping temperature, the wall sconces which lit the first few steps leading to the dormitories barely offered enough light for Harry to make out Hermione's features. Faced with the prospect of retiring for the evening and prematurely ending their day or re-lighting the fire of which would have the same affect, Hermione did something that was so…. Hermione.
Relocating Harry's Divination assignment from the top of the coffee table to a spot where the parchment wouldn't become damaged, she lifted the lid - Why didn't anyone tell me that there was a compartment inside that piece of furniture? - and pulled out a beautiful red and gold afghan complete with a splendid copy of the Gryffindor House Coat of Arms decorating the middle of the blanket.
She answered his, "You are a star!" with a casual, "It's no big deal".
Harry was fairly certain - despite the dim lighting - that Hermione sported a slight touch of pink on her cheeks. Which was independent to the cold nose she confessed to developing when the fire first burned itself out.
Six and a half feet of couch, a bit more than seventy-three inches of man-boy and only five and three-quarters feet of afghan meant that neither the Head Girl nor the Quidditch Captain could stray very far. By the time the two house-mates had decided to call it a night, they had successfully discovered a trigger for Hermione's nervous giggle and four different positions where they could each take advantage of the warm blanket and still maintain some semblance of personal space. If asked to pin-point the exact moment when both their barriers lowered sufficiently enough to make almost any subject broach able, he couldn't say. He did know that by the beginning of this week any and all awkwardness that might have existed faded like it had never bloomed in the first place. In fact, Hermione skipped filling the wood box altogether and if Harry didn't bank the fire, she didn't comment.
Breathing in the scent of the trees, Harry couldn't help but offer a, "Thanks," to the Overseer of Good Luck. It was the best thing that could have happened. Over the past ten days, our 'Fireside Chats' have become 'Intimate Conversations'. Maybe it is the safety of the lower lighting. Or an empty Common Room. Perhaps I have finally found a way to reach my best friend in a way that was more intimate than before, but our conversations - or more importantly - our silences contain a lot more self disclosure. On both our parts. Not that it happened every night. But the talks went beyond Hermione asking Harry why he couldn't sleep. Or Harry asking Hermione to look over his homework.
He had always known that she had a very wry sense of humour - it was as much a part of who she is as her sense of loyalty. But the way she peppered it with sarcasm opened up an entirely new facet of her personality to him. While playing Quidditch and spending times with mates is tops, there really isn't a lot of room for conversation. Immediately correcting himself, Well, yes there is. But not the kind of introspective, I-think-I'm-okay-but-maybe-I'm-not-what-do-you-think open discussions I have with Hermione. In the past, he had chalked up his reticence to growing up a la Dursley and the innate nature of just being a guy.
He could not have been more wrong.
Harry found that he liked talking. About everything. Which led to another insight. While he had always considered Hermione a bit of a verbal rambler, it became apparent that her occasional 'stream of consciousness' stemmed from insecurity that would pop up like a weed in the different terrains of her persona. Once she got past that, he found that she only spoke when she had something to say. When there were stretches of silence - whether focusing on their homework, scratching Crookshanks in all of his favourite places or just looking into the glow of the embers lost in their own individual thoughts - were not strained.
Landing with an inherent grace, Harry loosened the lacings on his protective arm gauntlets and brushed stray bits of leaves from his clothing with his insulated black flight gloves. Hefting his broom and meandering back towards the castle, he branched onto a tangent that whispered into his ear. On the surface, it seems like she ALWAYS has an opinion for EVERYTHING. The reality is more along the lines of her always finding the need to prove herself to herself. Which would explain why, over the past few years, she has asserted herself more quietly - yet with more authority - than when Ron and I first knew her. Would she own up to it if someone were to point it out to her? Probably. Would she ever admit to it? Never. Offer up a secret - any secret? Not any time soon. After all, she still shies away from topics that centre around her. But he learned a lot about her by what she DIDN'T say. Her use of body language was no more than anyone else's, but he was starting to feel more attuned to its nuances. Which was a brilliant addition to Harry's life because it brought the top three questions on his "List of Things to Ask Hermione" that much closer to being verbalized.
Still feeling nostalgic and a bit feisty, retracing his steps seemed like the his best way to 'breach' the castle's outer walls.
Thinking about those three questions in particular, his possessively protective nature decided to add it's 'two knuts'. He would never want to control Hermione's life. For that matter, she would stand for ANYONE - even him - telling her what she could and could not do. Sure, he could make a case as to why something wasn't a good idea. But this was Hermione. There were very few instances where she DIDN'T factor in all the angles. But, Harry did hold fast to the 'privilege' of being allowed not to like certain components that made up her life. Interacting with Malfoy on a regular, day-to-day basis was a constant red flag that kept the Slytherin in his peripheral vision. Especially now that I have seen with my own eyes just how much interest the Duke of the Dungeon Dwellers has developed in Hermione. Or patrolling the dark hallways and far too distant turrets of the castle alone. That's why Filch and Mrs. Norris draw a salary, isn't it? If anyone bothered to ask Harry what he thought, they would have gotten an impassioned speech as to why it is not her personal responsibility to make sure that the castle was secure each and every night Hermione was scheduled to be 'on duty'. We may talk a lot - and at great lengths - but there are still so many gaps in what I know about her life. Sure, there probably isn't anyone on campus who knows her better - what provokes her, the depth of her heart, the way she will not let go of an idea once she gets it in that stubborn her head of hers….
Harry was stuck by the quandary he found himself in - the very things that caused him the most consternation also contributed to the reasons why….speak of the devil.
Walking along the same length of passageway where he stood with the best Defence Against the Dark Arts professor to ever teach at Hogwarts, Harry spied a wavy haired spit-fire in the distance - who had her back turned to him.
I warned you, Granger.
* * * * * * *
Hermione had one foot on the floor and her opposite shin pressed flat against a support beam. Balanced rather precariously on her raised thigh was her over-flowing book bag.
"Come on Granger - where did you put that blasted piece of parchment." She was frustrated - with herself. It had been a heck of a day already. Missing lunch because of a commitment that lasted longer than she thought necessary, she was hungry, grumpy and now unable to find something that was really rather… sensitive. Flipping through her mental thesaurus, another appropriate word would be detrimental. Finding an element of humour in her situation, she spoke out loud in her best Ron-esque voice, "Like talking to yourself isn't proof positive that you are beyond nutters and actually mental." She had to concede that adding the punch line, "Only if you answer yourself," aloud only proved that Ron did have a few pearls of wisdom in his arsenal. No doubt something he picked up from his mother - was her snarky post-script too apt to resist.
"RRRRAAAUUUGGHHHH!!!" Growling out loud like a jungle cat outsmarted by its prey did not help. So much for Plan B.
Where is it?! It wasn't in her book bag. Nor was it in the stack of books she carried in her other hand and braced against her oblique. Why weren't those books in her bag? Because the tomes couldn't fit inside her book bag. The concept of only toting the books she actually needed for the classes she took was not even remotely viable. Of course she had to carry huge volumes that might be necessary at some point as the only source of some archaic reference. If she didn't have them, she would feel like she was showing up to her lessons in her underwear. Where is Harry when I need him?
Forming a new strategy that involved a procedure she had coined as 'Digging Deep' - and trusting her bag to stay where it was and not fall - she started rummaging through everything for a third time.
So far, so good. Bag is staying put…. And now my blasted hair is falling in my face. As if I could see the blasted piece of blasted parchment if my blasted life depended on it! Lowering her head as she lifted the elbow of the hand that was now buried in the depths of her rucksack in an attempt to push the tendril - which had escaped her barrette only to land on the bridge of her nose - Hermione could feel the first tell-tale tremors of an oncoming Book Bag Regurgitation.
Okay - I can do this. All I need is a battle plan. Since the bag is slipping right so I will twist to the left. I can use my breath to puff my hair - which is causing my eyebrows to itch so unbearably - up and away. Which means that I can bring my other leg up and transfer the whole blasted lot over and avoid a full-on Regurgitation.
It was a great plan. A fabulous plan. A stupendous plan - in theory. It did occur to her, after she set her plan in motion beyond the point of no return, that she did forget one fairly important detail. Of all the magical creatures she had studied over the years and despite the rather potent capabilities that she now possessed, it was beyond the capabilities of ANY witch or wizard to remain in an upright and standing with BOTH feet off the ground without swishing, flicking and saying, "Wingardium Leviosa" - unless she had spontaneously generated wings and just failed to notice.
Scrambling to salvage the last vestiges of her plan, she bent over her bag in an attempt to stabilize it from the inside. Reaching for her wand with her free hand and repeatedly trying to 'puff' her hair, she was just on the outside edge of victory…. when the crack of a broom handle coming into contact with the stone wall immediately to her left ripped her concentration to shreds. Snapping her head up, she involuntarily jerked the hand buried inside her pack. Funnelling all of her will power into her mantra: please don't, please don't, please, please, please don't, gave her the false hope that she could prevent a Purging by wishing it NOT to happen and keeping everything right where it was for one glorious micro-second.
Until a gravely voice whispered right in her ear and a black sheathed arm blocked her only other means of escape.
"Your books or your life?"
Those five words caused her whole body to jolt. With nowhere to go, Hermione did the only thing she could. Anyone who was walking in the corridor at that particular moment in time was privy to the heart-stopping shriek that the Head Girl expelled from her lungs as she simultaneously jumped three feet off the ground.
Great Merlin, I'm good! I am going to be able to brag about this for ages. It was Harry. Who also had the distinction of having the 'second best seat in the house' for a bona fide Book Bag Regurgitation. Books, parchments, quills and ink-pots produced a spectacular example of Modern Art. Ron is going to be so sore when he hears about this. Especially since he will be denied being able to lay any claim to fame to saying that he had a hand in it!
Lowering her hands down to her sides, Hermione instinctively switched to a self-defence position that Tonks taught her. S.I.N.G.
Smiling at his friend, Harry knew exactly why she had partially crouched. How could he naught - his name had been right along side Hermione's on the sign-up sheet for the special seminar taught by the young Auror. Bring it on!
Solar Plexus - Hermione crooked her elbow with every intention of connecting it with the mid section of whoever was behind her. Which Harry effective prevented by grabbing onto her on-coming wrist as it completed it's down-swing.
In-step - she didn't even get a chance to lift her leg in order to smash it onto the centre of her 'assailant's' foot. He - she figured it had to be a he by the size of the shadow cast on the wall - tangled her intended target with her ankle.
Knee - this time, she was pulled flush against a hard body which thoroughly prevented her from driving any kind of force into the hinged joint.
Groin - Harry didn't want to put 'his boys' on the line when he realized what she intended her next target to be. Instead, he released her with a gentle reminder spoken softly in her ear, "Do you really want to do that to me?"
Finally free to turn around and verbally flay the rat-bastard who not only scared her out of her wits but caused her bag to purge it's contents all over the hallway floor, her scathing words of choice softened - slightly, "Harry James Potter! You are SO lucky that you can still see straight!" What a prat! He looks like he has not only gotten into the cream, but frightened the hens AND stolen the dog's bone all in one raid! "Look at what you've done!"
Harry had to finish bowing and murmuring the phrases, "Thank you,", "Don't forget to buy your tickets in advance for the next show," and his favourite, "I'll let you now when 'Remedial Sneak Attack 101' next convenes ," to those who took the time to congratulate him personally or bestow mock-bows of their own as they walked by and offered the salutation, "All hail the master!' before turning facing the very real threat of Hurricane Hermione. Putting on his own, 'you-can't-kill-me-because-I'm-your-best-friend' look and looking down at the flushed brunette, he knew that he would need something more potent than charm if he was going to get out of this jam and back into her good graces.
Opting for the 'honesty is the best policy' axiom, he knew that there was no hope of keeping his eyes from dancing with laughter, "Admit it - you know I got you good!"
Is it wrong to find someone so incredibly sexy when they are looking so fierce?
Great Orion's Eye! Deliberately stepping within Harry's personal space, Hermione forced the taller boy to take a step back if he didn't want her nose to be pressed against the base of his throat, "If you EVER do that again, I swear by the constellations that I will wreck such vengeance…." Just about to vow something truly original in way of salvaging her pride, Hermione looked around at the few students who were walking by. They were laughing - not at her but at the situation. One of the most popular boys in school just got one of the most respected girls in school so good, and watching them root for her as she made Harry back down, took all the fight out of her. Oh, what's the use? I am SO busted. Laughter bubbled up and out of her.
Harry was right there with her. Watching her transform from a fierce warrior capable of performing some serious damage back to a seventeen year-old girl who stood a good seven inches shorter was quite the sight to behold.
Stepping back and away from Harry, she rested her back against the wall. Letting her arms fall slack at her sides, she got a good look at her best friend for the first time since Transfiguration. Oh, Mr. Potter - what have we done to ourselves now? Hermione knew she didn't have to do ANYTHING to Harry that hadn't already been done. "Harry? What did you do to your hair?"
Sheepishly running his hands through his vibrantly pink locks, he summed it up in one word, "Ron." Holding up a stray hair that got snared by his black flying gloves only to release it and watch it drift in the breeze, "I was napping. Don't give me that look - I'm still a growing boy you know! - and when I woke up it was time for Vectors."
Only getting half the story, Hermione didn't say anything and waited expectantly.
"Anyway," she always knows, doesn't she? "I kept getting these weird looks or claps on the back with even more bizarre compliments. I couldn't figure out why. Madam Hooch, after class had already started, pulled this sign off my back that read: 'I'm Too Sexy For This School'. I put two and two together and thought THAT was what everyone was talking about."
Stooping to collect her quills, parchments and books, she figured where the tale was headed. But watching Harry drop down to one knee and help her while recounting all the 'gory' details was just precious to interrupt.
"So here I am - three hours after Ron did this - leaving class when Malfoy of all people stops me." Ron could not have planned it better if he tried!
"What does Draco have to do with Ron's plot against you?" Now this is a lovely turn of events. I had better be prepared to do some serious damage control.
Since when does Hermione use Malfoy's given name? Deciding to save that discussion for another time, Harry soldiered on, "Malfoy said that for someone with my facial features and complexion, that if I were to dye my hair any colour -I should have gone with blue-black and NOT Princess Puke Pink. And that he would glad - for the sake of anyone who would suffer just by looking at me - to make an appointment with his own colourist if I ever changed my mind. Of which he recommended to do so - before I convinced myself that I should have 'gone pink' years ago."
Hermione felt a smile creep across her face and any latent feelings she had about getting back at Harry flew out the window. Crooking her finger, she used the same tone of voice that she usually saves for Harry during their late night rendezvous, "Come here."
A seventeen year-old male is not equipped to refuse the summons from an exceptionally pretty girl. Stepping just short of her personal space, Harry knew that this was as close as he could get - in public - without making her skittish.
Realizing that he was too far away for her to help him, Hermione reached out and pulled him closer. Sliding her hands from his upper arms to his head, she closed her eyes. Recalling the counter-curse, she systematically ran her hands through every inch of his hair. Her fingers chased the horrid pink and replaced it with his natural true black hue.
Harry stepped even closer when it dawned on him that she was having difficulty reaching the back of his head. He knew that he liked the subtle, light floral scent that she wore as perfume. What caught him so unprepared was the way she looked un-Hermione-like in the rapidly purpling twilight. Not to mention that her hands felt so soft against his skin. Feeling her slim fingers gently tug his glasses free from the anchors of his ears, the way she traced his eyebrows and the area around his cheeks and down his neck where he shaved, he felt like her de-pinking much more seductive than all the sexual promises he had ever heard being offered. Or the blatant, over-the-top, Veela-esque behaviour he had witnessed in so many of his friends lives. Keeping his eyes open and watching her concentrate on the counter-curse, he like the gentle sway her body moved in time with the words she murmured. She had moved so close to him that if he wanted encircle her waist, all he would have to do is lift his arms and wrap his fingers around his wrists. Harry was glad to Harry. Not that he generally wasn't, but this was a moment that felt…significant.
She was prepared for the course-silky texture of his hair. More than once he had dozed off when resting his head against her and she had succumbed to the temptation to run her fingers through his chronically 'messy-sexy' mop. She had braced herself for that uniquely Harry smell that she knew would waft over her. What she couldn't plan on was just how much body heat emanated off him. He was like a well banked fire! Or the way his eyes changed when she broke her spell - in more than one sense - and informed him, "I'm finished." Needing to stay upright, Hermione used the wall to prop herself up.
It was a real effort to keep his emotions neutral. For once, there was no skittishness in Hermione. Despite what had just happened. That doesn't mean that I am not human. Raising his arms so that she was once again trapped, Harry settled for a multi-layered-much-more-is-implied-than-these-two-words, "Thank you."
Having gone as far as she was prepared to go for one day, Hermione ducked out from underneath his arms. Making quick work of the remaining books and papers - There it is! - on the floor, she was ready to go. Almost. "Harry - aren't you the least curious as to how I knew what spell Ron had used on you and precisely what the remedy would be - without you telling me?"
Huh what? "Huh what?" Blasted rogue bludger. "I just assumed you knew because you know pretty much everything."
Hmmm. Unsure as to whether or not Harry was being sarcastic or offering one of his signature back-handed compliments, Hermione started to walk away.
Rising to Hermione's bait, Harry hailed the retreating brunette, "Hermione!"
Stopping in mid-stride, I knew you couldn't resist. Playfully coming about by pirouetting, "Yes?" Enjoying the blank look on Harry's face for just a moment, she asked, "I forgot to ask - have you gotten back at Ron yet?"
Not quite ready to lower all of his defences but having the memory of his most recent negotiation extremely fresh in his mind, "We came to an understanding that was - how shall I put this? - mutually beneficial?"
Raising both eyebrows at once in a slightly congratulatory manner, "So it is done?"
"I would say so - he has to be my slave for a week!"
"ONLY for a week?" Ron got off easy - maybe Harry is getting soft in his old age.
"Hermione." His tone was low. "Why do you ask? What would you have done?"
"I would have something much more…involved. Especially if he had 'gifted' me with THAT particular spell" I can all but see the cogs in his head turning!
That is something I definitely did not want to hear. "Well. It's too late now. Wait until you hear what he has to do…"
It was habit for Hermione to check her watch - even if she already what time it was. Blast it - I'm late! Interrupting her friend because she was now crunched for time, "Harry. The reason why I knew the counter-curse was because I was the one who taught that spell to Ginny as a way to complete her costume. She must have shared it with Dean and that is who gave it to Ron." Tossing one last parting comment, "See you tonight at the House meeting?"
"Yeah. Sure. See you there." Harry could see that he had a ticket but had yet to board the Inbound Logic Tram.
"Harry - it is a complete and comprehensive hair colour changing spell." Now it should sink in. Turning on her toes, Hermione trotted down the hall and sailed past the Great Hall - and dinner. I'll just have to try to grab something later.
The conductor on the Logic Tram punched his ticket as her words finally made sense. I never thought I would be so GLAD that I never developed chest hair. Then he noticed that his ticket was round-trip. Bloody hell! Carefully checking to see if anyone was looking his way, he hooked his thumbs into the fabric of his trousers and skivvies, pulled them both free of his waist and looked down.
She was still close enough to hear Harry swear some fairly specific vows pertaining to the prognosis of Ron's on-going health and longevity.
* * * * * * *
Ron had saved him his usual seat among the Gryffindor Seventh Year's. Looking around and not seeing someone, he asked, "Where's Hermione?"
Without pre-amble, Harry levelled a fixed gaze at his friend.
Rolling his eyes, but knowing that it was way too soon to drop the whole Servant-Master thing, Ron added, "Oh Great Quidditch Seeker, The Most Gryffindor of all the Gryffindors, Master of the Hippogriffs - pray tell - have you seen the Lady Hermione this day? Will she be joining us in our evening consumption of culinary delights?'
Playing his part with all that was due him - after all Ron wasn't the one walking around with shockingly pink pubic hair, "Slave. Pass me my meal."
Dean, curiously devoid of Ginny, had a 'funny feeling' that something was going on. And when the love interest of one friend is absent and there were no nasty faces exchanged between the Malfoy Maladies and Potter's People, there was only one viable option, "Okay Ron. How long this time?"
Turning away from where he had just draped Harry's napkin across the bespectacled boy's lap, Ron answered, "Just a week,"
"Smashing colour Harry!" Craning his neck around Ron, Dean made eye contact with Harry, "Mate - I thought I heard somewhere that you dyed your hair pink on purpose."
Plunking himself down opposite Dean, Seamus offered his own kudos - to Ron, "Good show!" as he settled down and tucked into his own meal.
Looking to turn the conversation away from his hair, Harry piped up, "Hey Dean." Making eye contact with his friend, "Where's Ginny?"
Sounding sincerely apologetic, Dean wiped his mouth before saying, "Sorry - thought you knew - she's with Hermione taking a delivery."
Finally able to get down to enjoying his own meal now that Harry's plate now resembled an artist's palette, Ron asked the same question that was on the tip of Harry's tongue, "What are you going on about?"
Knowing that what the girls were up to was not a state secret, Dean filled in the blanks for everyone, "Ginny has been selling her own variation of a SleekEasy shampoo, conditioner and body soap. Apparently Hermione was the brain child and consultant for the project. According to Ginny, Hermione arranged for all the necessary ingredients. Ginny's the one who designed the packaging. She's shown me her list of clients - Ginny's raking in the galleons." Focusing on some internal emotion, the smile on Dean's face was not directed at any one specific person currently sitting down to dinner. "Brains and beauty mate, brains and beauty."
Lavender, sitting on the other side of Ron substantiated Dean's story "The stuff she's selling is FANTASTIC. It's half the price of SleekEasy's stuff, it smells better and it works twice as well. The whole school is snapping it up! There isn't a House that DOESN'T buy from her."
Holding an emergency Costume Conference with Miss Brown and her sister Parvati, Padma Partil gushed, "Ever since Parvati turned me on to Ginny's - Aren't You Gorgeous! - Personal Products, all of us Ravenclaws have gotten positively hooked on the stuff! The men's line is called Quidditch Pitch and it smells like pine and freshly fallen snow with a hint of sandalwood. The girl's stuff is called Cloud Nine. It is made up of some sort of green grass scent, lily of the valley essence and something that I haven't been able to identify as of yet. But it is very light. You really do think that you could be floating on a cloud!"
The mention of the Ravenclaw House stirred something in Ron's memory, "Hey Padma!"
Having completely forgiven Ron for being such a wet blanket during the Yule Ball nearly three years ago, Padma was more than glad to answer, "What is it Ron?"
Knowing that pointing to someone with a butter knife - well, any knife for that matter - was not the most politically correct way to identify whom he was referring to, but he didn't want to seem too obvious. Just in case she's watching all she will see is me asking for more food. "This afternoon I…bumped into someone from your House, but seeing as how the circumstances were such as they were, I couldn't make out who she was."
Harry was intrigued. Usually girls chased Ron - now he was on the trail of someone who wasn't after him? Very interesting.
Tabling the rest of their items on their agenda for the moment, Parvati and Lavender quieted down so that they could hear without missing a single syllabi.
Needing more information than a rather general description of what happened to one of her fellow Ravenclaws, Padma knew that if she was going to help she would need something more to go on, "Do you know what she looks like?"
Thinking back, "She was a bit willowy, tallish and she had long blonde hair." Please, let that be enough information!
Focusing on the Ravenclaw House flag, Padma tapped the tines of her fork in a rhythm that suggested that she was mentally recounting the entire female population of her House. Coming up with half a dozen names without any means of disqualifying any of them, Padma pressed Ron for more details, "Is there anything else?"
Think Weasley, what else did you see? "Ummm…. I remember picking up a Dead Languages text book."
Parvati tugged on her sister's sleeve and came up with the name of Ron's mystery woman, "It's Luna. I'm in that class too AND she is the only one out of the eight of us that has blonde hair!"
Summoning up what he remembered of the slightly off-kilter girl, Ron wasn't filled with joy and rapture. But I do need to make up for the fact that I completely bowled into her this afternoon.
"Luna?" Dean stepped into the conversation again, "Yeah, she's good people. She and Ginny have become pretty good friends. They are in the same year after all. I like her well enough." Winging Ron an encouraging thought on dating the same girl without calling it quits after three dates, Go ahead mate. Give it a try. I'll bet you'll like it!
The appearance of a non-descript barn owl swooping down out of the rafters and landing directly to the left of Hagrid's basin sized soup bowl barely raised a comment from anyone at the Gryffindor table. Nor did anyone pay particular attention to Hagrid deftly removing a roll of parchment from the owl with a lot more dexterity than one would suspect. The Magical Creature's professor pooled a bit of water for the bird to drink in his giant-sized spoon and eagerly excused himself from the company of his fellow teachers.
What was unusual was for Seamus to take notice of the hasty departure, "A bit early for mail, isn't it? Owls usually arrive at breakfast or at the latest - lunch time. Wonder what he's up to now?"
Falling back on something both Ron and Harry had heard Hagrid admit to more than once, the two friends spoke as one and mimicked the half-giant's accent as closely as possible, "Goin' to see a stranger I met down the pub!"
* * * * * * *
It was many hours later when a very well-travelled Hermione crossed through the portrait and entered the Common Room for the final time before the next sunrise.
She had to admit that she was glad to see a pyjama-clad Harry sitting on their favourite couch in front of a cheerfully crackling fire. Not to mention the salver of fruit and cheese complete with a flagon containing - dare she hope? - pumpkin juice arrayed on the coffee table. He even remembered the napkins! Blurting out the exact thought that sang through her mind, "Harry - you are a star!"
Plopping down and reaching for the blanket which they now kept underneath the sofa, she became involved in draping the blanket over the both of them before she announced, "Today has GOT to be one of the longest Friday's in recent memory."
Watching her fill her own goblet with pumpkin juice, Harry was glad to see her as well. It had been a long day. No heavy discussions tonight. With the weekend already spoken for with Quidditch practise, a monstrous essay due for Snape first thing Monday morning and an oral presentation to be delivered that afternoon during Charms, there was going to be no rest for the wicked.
Helping himself to some snacks, he couldn't help but notice that Hermione was a lot more alert than tired.
Surprised at just how right Harry was, she verified his assessment, "I know. It's weird. I should be asleep. I deserve to be asleep. But I am just so excited."
Now that was an unexpected answer. "Excited over what?"
Popping a grape into her mouth and spreading some soft cheese over a two wedges of perfectly ripened fig, she airily back-peddled, "I just got a lot accomplished today. I always feel so good when I wrap up loose ends," and passed Harry her version of a tasty treat. "I think your idea of new Quidditch equipment has merit."
Not ready to cross that gastric bridge, he set the fruit down on the far edge of his plate. However, a hunk of cheese died a quick and painless death in Harry's mouth. "When you asked if there was anything we, as Gryffindors, wanted to bequeath to the school - the stuff we have is okay but I don't mind saying that a lot of it has seen better days. In fact, the Snitches will be outdated by the fall. New equipment sounded like something that would be appropriate without being too outlandish." Like Lavender suggesting that a hair salon should be installed in the Tower.
"I think that it is a splendid idea. I'll get started on it immediately." Thinking back over something that happened before the House meeting, Hermione playfully swatted Harry arm at the same time she used her toes to pry off her trainers. Which earned a Ronald Weasley inspired, What-did-I-do? look.
"That's for me having to deal with something ugly today." Recalling the conversation she had earlier, "Hannah approached me today. That was one of the reasons why I wasn't at dinner. She felt the need to share with me that Ernie Macmillan still has hair on his palms." Without missing a beat, she pointedly asked a question she knew she wouldn't like the answer, "What did you do to him? Brush his hands with HairGro when he was sleeping?"
Settling his back more comfortably against the springs of the sofa, "Me? I didn't DO anything to that wanker."
Hoping that she would not have to channel Prof. McGonagall and brow-beat the truth out of her friend, "I'm asking as a friend - not Head Girl."
Giving Hermione a long, side-long evaluating once over, he figured that 'fessing up would not be the end of the world. She would probably trip up one of the other guys and find out anyway. "I'm the one who found the hex. Well, Remus had the hex from when he, Sirius and my dad used to be the resident jokers. I thought it was hilarious. I showed it to Ron who immediately dubbed it 'BRILLIANT'. Seamus and Ron practised it together. But I am not sure who actually cast the spell." Thinking about the boy who now wore gloves inside the castle at all times, "Why did she come to you? Doesn't she know about the time he all but stalked you? The kid's not right, Hermione."
Being in too good a mood to become exasperated, Hermione smoothed her hair away from her ear, leaned back and pillowed her head against her upper arm. Giving Harry a rueful smile, "We are in the same study group - don't you remember?" Dodging a pillow Harry tossed at her, she continued, "She is his 'girlfriend' and with Ernie being a Prefect, she thought I should be the one to handle it." Getting no answer from the peanut gallery, "Come on Harry - please! Help a girl out!"
Conceding defeat - after all who can resist a girl who pouts so well? - Harry spilled, "Tell him to stop being such a wanker."
"Come off it Harry. I can't do anything about his personality!" He is really going to make me work for this! Referring to her pouting skills, "I know - I am not even close to being a defenceless female for pouting to work."
"No, you are not. And yes - you pout quite well." Turning to place his forearm on the arm rest and resting his ankle on his knee, Harry reassured his friend, "No. I mean that as soon as he stops being such a wanker, then the hair will go away on it's own."
Thinking that she wasn't even in line to BUY a ticket to get on the platform to even begin to consider boarding the Logic Tram, Hermione chewed on her inner lip, "Has he been bothering anyone else and I just haven't heard about it?"
Harry started to laugh. She must be more tired than she thinks she is! "Hermione - you're not listening to me. Last week, Ron went to let Ginny into the Prefect's bathroom and they walked in on Ernie WANKING!" Hearing Hermione inhale sharply and a I've-got-it-now look cross her face, he continued, "It's a self-renewing hex. Literally. Every time he wanks, the hair grows all over gain. The more he wanks, the furrier he gets. All he has to do is to go seven days - wank free - for the hair to go away. I've got 5 galleons riding on whether or not he'll be sporting opera length gloves by Monday morning!"
Hermione had just finished drawing a long pull on her beverage when Harry revealed Ernie's 'counter-curse'. She never knew pumpkin juice burned when it was forced out of one's mouth by a sudden expulsion of laughter. Sputtering, "I think that this going to be an ideal opportunity for Draco to develop his people skills."
That was a close call, he thought as he watched Hermione wipe pumpkin juice off the front of her jumper. All cognizant thoughts evaporated when Hermione gave up on her jumper, pulled the wet garment over her head and dropped it unceremoniously on to the carpet.
Checking to make sure Harry was as covered as well as he wanted to be, Hermione pulled her legs onto the sofa, nestled one knee behind the other and tossed the remaining few feet of blanket across her body. Deciding that the best place to rest her head was on her best friend's thigh, "I feel like reading. What about you?"
Picking up the piece of work they had started Tuesday night, Harry asked, "Do you mind if I read tonight? I'm really getting into this whole Much Ado About Nothing play-thingy. I had no idea Shakespeare was capable of being fun!"
Twisting herself into a more comfortable position, the suddenly sleepy girl couldn't think of a better way to drift off than listening to the tale of Beatrice, Hero, wicked Prince John and the rest - as it was being read by one of the most special friends a girl could have - in iambic pentameter. "He was one of those rare authors who wasn't afraid to give his female characters brains, heart and wit." Branching off onto an entirely different subject, "Do you realize what day today is?
Looking to make his friend smile, Harry piped up with, "Its Friday - has been all day actually."
Not quite stifling a, "Humph!', Hermione got to her point, "Friday, October the seventeenth Mr. Smarty-Pants. Monday will be the twentieth."
With everything that had been going on, there was NO WAY Harry was going to forget about that, "I am quite ready, thank you very much! Beware of the Hooligan."
Tucking one hand underneath the book and splaying the pages with his thumb, Harry saw a pair of cinnamon eyes looking up at him, "Ready when you are, Mr. Potter."
Finding her most comfortable position entailed sliding her hand between her cheek and the soft flannel of Harry's pyjama clad leg, she sighed contentedly and let the tale set in long ago Italy fill her imagination.
Taking a break from reading the part of the play when Beatrice was verbally sparring at the masque, Harry noticed that Hermione was asleep. Brushing a stray lock of hair off her cheek, a fairly familiar thought followed the action placing the errant curl among its mates. There are so many things people don't know about you, Miss Granger.