Caught Off Guard:Hooligan of Hogwarts/A Hooligan Among Us

Hooligan of Hogwarts

Shadows cast by the hovering candles wavered when the applause for the Sorting Hat’s latest verse crested inside the Great Hall.

Professors, faculty members and students looked at each other and the huddled cluster of nervous First Years as appreciative comments were exchanged.

In her signature evergreen robes and feather-adorned hat, Professor Minerva McGonagall gave the correct impression of a stern, commanding Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration Professor and Gryffindor House matriarch. It was the lightness of her step and the occasional twinkle in her eyes (currently directed at her three favorite house charges) that gave her the distinction of being fair and approachable.

Her gaze found three different heads bent together towards the end of one of the long House tables. Mr. Weasley (wearing robes just a few shades lighter than those around him) was the easiest to pick out of any crowd. Not only was he so tall (six foot three inches according to the school nurse) but his fiery red hair had no other rival in the school save his younger sister who sat several seats further down the table. As far as she could remember, there has been a Weasley (all of whom had red hair in one shade or another) in Gryffindor House for the better part of a generation. A wave of disappointment coursed through her as she suddenly realized that once Ginny Weasley graduated next year, she would have to wait until he, his sister or one of his five older brothers had families of their own before another Weasley would stand before the same dais to be sorted.

Where there was one, the odds were the other two could be found. Flame bright as Ronald’s hair was, Mr. Potter’s was darkly black. Coming in at just over six feet one inches, the boy was a perfect blend of his parents whom she had known, cared about and lost (along with the rest of the wizarding world) so many years ago. He had his mother’s intelligent green eyes and innately kind nature reinforced with his father’s roguish good looks and Quidditch talent coupled with an inner self possession that was entirely his own. Minerva McGonagall firmly believed that Harry Potter a.k.a. “The Boy Who Lived” would leave Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry “His Own Man With His Own Identity”.

And that was largely attributed to the lovely brunette who rounded out the group. If anyone administered Veritaserum to Professor McGonagall and asked her for the name of a student who had the most voracious appetite for learning, staggering intellect, possessed startling magical capabilities and independently headstrong, her answer would be Miss Hermione Granger. And if anyone slipped another dose of Veritaserum into her evening cup of chocolate, they would learn that if ever there was a child who entered the castle gates that she likened to a granddaughter it would be Miss Granger.

Going through the procedure of calling out each of the First Years by name; having them sit still while she placed the Sorting Hat on their heads and directing them to the different House tables did not require her full attention. She heard the Hat’s cries of “Ravenclaw!”, “Hufflepuff!”, “Slytherin!” and “Gryffindor!”, yet her private thoughts were full of The Trio. Harry, Ron and Hermione. Body. Soul. Mind.

She recalled a time when Mr. Weasley had been the leader of the three. He was the only one who had lived in the wizarding world prior to Hogwarts (both of his parents were wizards, and their parents and his great-grand parents – it was truly quite a lineage!). Both of Harry’s parents had been wizards as well but they had been killed by the time he was a year old. Minerva had been there that night when Harry had been placed on his uncle’s doorstep, despite her protests. She had also been there ten years later when he was sorted into her House. Hermione was very much like her; born to completely non-magical parents who embraced the fact that their daughter had a second world.

For both Hermione and Harry, their initiations into the world of magic were sporadic magical events instigated by the strength of powerful emotions: anger, fear and genuine happiness.

Harry’s formal introduction had been performed by one Rubeus Hagrid. The gentle half-giant who was an integral part of everything that was Hogwarts. Still was. Always would be. Miss Granger had no such mentor. So, she’d prepared herself. Inwardly smiling as she performed her duties, Professor McGonagall had no difficulty recalling her first interview with the bushy-haired, bright-eyed girl who’d ticked off on her fingers all the books she had read (having to do with the realm of magic AND all of her course books for that year) between the time she’d received her acceptance letter and the day she’d packed her trunk bound for the Hogwarts Express. Years of working with children had given her the insight to recognize that the bossy nature, seemingly know-it-all attitude and the conscience-on-your-shoulder-you-shouldn’t-break-the-rules stance she assumed was little more than a means of coping with and hiding her very real fear of rejection. By her peers, the school and herself.

Instead of seeing the dwindling number of wide-eyed eleven-year olds standing before of her, a mental image of a destroyed lavatory came into focus. It had been a Halloween night when a mountain troll had been let loose in the castle. An eleven year old girl (who was so small for her age) stamped down her fear when she looked straight in the face of a teacher – a deeply respected authority figure – and insisted that she’d gone looking for the troll because SHE had read all about them and that SHE needed SAVING and that Harry and Ron, having violated a direct order from the headmaster, were not to be punished because they’d gone looking for HER and without them SHE would probably be dead and so it was HER fault that they’d been there in the first place. What a defining moment in that young girl’s development! Realizing what was taking place, there was no possibility (especially with Professor Snape and the traitorous Quirrell flanking her) that she would contradict the falsehoods that flowed from Miss Granger. Nor did she want to. That is why Prof. Snape’s jaw had all but dropped when she ruled on the situation in what appeared to be such an out-of-character manner.

And, with the events of that night, The Trio was born.

Over the years, Harry became the leader. Other times, Hermione stepped forward and led the charge. And not to say they always got along: Hermione and Harry falling out when she’d turned in his brand new Firebolt one Christmas afternoon; Ron and Hermione hurting each other (and by extension Harry) over their familiars. Harry and Ron even stopped speaking to one another, if her memory served her correctly, during the debacle that was once the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Their roles were defined at first. Harry was the hero. Ron was the loyal. Hermione was the voice of reason and brains. It was interesting - watching over the years as they each took on and internalized each others traits. All three rose to the occasion to make self-sacrificing choices, being the Devil’s Advocate and stepping into the shoes of a pragmatist. And still, each of them maintained and developed their own unique gifts and talents. Hermione still hated to fly broomsticks. Harry had yet to beat Ron at chess, and BOTH boys gave their homework to Hermione to proof before handing in their parchments.

Sliding her gaze over the House banners that hung throughout the Hall, she let a small smile grace her face. It still amused her, after all the years of being an educator, to know that students were absolutely certain that a teacher could not tell the difference in one person’s writing style versus another. Although, she did have to give Mr. Potter credit for making more of an effort than that of Mr. Weasley – at least he tried to use his own words rather than those of Miss Granger’s.

The sorting done (what an exceptionally large group!) Prof. McGonagall removed both the Hat and the stool (which she deftly handed to the patiently waiting house elf standing at the edge of the dais) before taking her seat at the Head Table.

Fixing what she knew to be an imposing expression on her face, Minerva McGonagall swept all four tables in turn with her eyes and tapped her water goblet three times.

All talking immediately stopped.

“May I have your attention please?” The question was a thinly veiled command.

To her left, Headmaster Professor Albus Dumbledore pushed back his chair and rose. ”I have a few start of term notices I would like to announce.”.

Respectfully directing her gaze to Professor Dumbledore, she stole one more glance at The Trio. Just in time to see Mr. Weasley taking in a sharp breath. A sickle for a galleon would wager that Miss Granger had just kicked him underneath the table. Her elbow making contact with Mr. Potter’s ribs and mouthing the words, “Pay attention!” - in admonishment - was much more overt. Minerva, for her part, could not resist giving the young lady an almost imperceptible wink and the slightest of smiles. For her part, Hermione’s tiny smile of acknowledgement and reciprocated affection would always be the first image conjured by Professor Minerva McGonagall whenever anyone mentioned the name Hermione Jane Granger in her presence from that moment forward.

* * * * * * * * *

Harry at least made an effort to look contrite when one of his two best friends elbowed him in the ribs and TOLD him to pay attention. Ron - more than likely deliberately - assumed an aire of hurt innocence when he shot back a “What did I do?” look when her toes connected with his shin. Not that she would really hurt either of them – not that she could for that matter. Between their statures and the physical conditioning (which have rendered quite excellent results, if I do say so myself) that long hours of training for and playing on the Gryffindor House Quidditch Team produced, she would never stand a chance. As did any male who even thought of looking at her the wrong way. Let alone speak to her in an unseemly manner within earshot of he or Ron. Or dwell in peril for his mortal life if said male laid so much as an unwelcome finger on one hair of her head. And, if there was anything left of him by the time Harry and Ron got through with him, the entire male population of Gryffindor House would have a go.

Not that she couldn’t take care of herself. Woe to ANYONE who thought they could out-Charm, out-Hex, out-Curse, out-Potion or out-Wit her. Or bank on the hope that she would be too much of a girly-girl to fully apply her skills. She definitely WAS NOT one of those simpering, swooning, gossip-dependent, I-am-only-a-girl-if-I-have-a-boyfriend females. She was one of the most competent, capable, intelligent and physically attractive girls he knew. Nor did the insight escape her that neither he nor Ron was immune to her feminine wiles. In their defense, very few were. Whether they were male or female. She wasn’t the cleverest witch in Hogwarts for nothing. Especially when she needed EITHER of them to do something that NEITHER wanted to do.

There were things he knew about her that he wished he could share with the world. But he did not have blinders on either. She had her secrets. So did he. Some he knew about. She made allusions to things he had never directly shared. Others he had guessed at and pinned hopes on.

Letting Ron take his lumps – that’s what he gets for sitting across from her! – Harry tried to figure out whether Hermione’s exasperation- laden “humph!” and tossing her hair over her shoulder was a continuation of the scripted, long standing response to Ron’s winding or if she actually wanted to hear Prof. Dumbledore’s announcements. Knowing her as he did, and having lived with Ron for the past 6 years, he settled for something somewhere in the middle.

Looking at her profile, he congratulated himself on the wise decision to sit behind her. First of all, he could consider her without drawing her (and hopefully everyone else’s ) attention. If he HAD sat across from her he would have NO DOUBT got some UTTERLY STUPID look on his face that he would have to stammer out some LAME excuse later when she rounded on him the MINUTE they returned to the Common Room. Second, he could think without her picking up on his tell-tale body language. It was uncanny the way she could read him! But, he fancied himself so slouch when it came to her. As far as he was concerned, there was little Miss Hermione could hide from him. And, whatever one missed about the other, Ron picked up.

He had some decisions to make that couldn’t keep. And, based on the outcome of those choices, plans would then be set into motion.

Thirdly, he just plain liked being in her general vicinity. And, in his book, the closer the better.

Making it a point to catch Ron’s eye (what she couldn’t see he wouldn’t have to try to talk his way out of later) and nodded in her direction.

Ron’s response of bringing his ear to his robe as if he had an itch translated to - yeah mate; she is in full-on concentration mode.

Somewhere Ron was aware of his headmaster’s warning about the Dark Forest being strictly forbidden to all students, the creatures which dwelled in the lake and the interminable list of items banned by Castle Caretaker Argus Filch. Been there how many times? Done that once. His brothers’ business provided a good fifth of the said contraband. But it was to Harry he was listening to. And picking apart. Now there is a bloke who would rather face down monsters rather than be emotionally demonstrative. Glancing at his perceived second sister as she shifted her weight on the unyielding bench , protecting her didn’t count. It had actually become a bit of a game to sniff out whatever utter GIT contemplated putting “the family jewels” on the line for the sake of a cheap shot at one of the best friends a man could have. Even if she couldn’t pee standing up. But mates were mates and brothers didn’t necessarily have to share blood to exist.

Knowing that he had Harry’s attention, Ron cast him a look which included a side trip to Hermione and a dual hand gesture that roughly translated to, ”Well, what’s the verdict?”

Not wanting to attract undo attention, Harry answered Ron’s question by opening his right hand, rotating his grouped fingers at Hermione’s back and widening his eyes. Which silently formed the words, ”I’m working on it.”

A disparaging eye-roll easily became the conveyed challenge, ”Well, what are you bloody waiting for?”. Keeping his hands close to the tabletop (and hopefully below Hermio-Radar) Ron’s facial contortion was quickly followed by twisting his thumbs together and flapping the backs of his fingers in Harry’s general direction. “When pigs fly?!?”

Harry’s response to Ron’s initial query was, “I’ve got it all in hand.”. Which became glaringly apparent that his friend did not buy it for a second which was why his now-narrowed gaze, “Sod Off!”, was currently shooting slightly blunted daggers at Ron’s bloody-flapping fingers as an amiably fueled promise of, ”Just wait until I get you out in the open Weasley!”.

Pulling his lips into some semblance of a sarcastic smirk, Ron flapped his hands again – this time giving a whole new way to say, “Bring it on, Potter!”

Not having seen when she actually pulled it out, but suddenly realizing that Hermione had begun to rapidly tap both ends of her wand on the table was enough for both boys to turn front and drop their hands in to their laps.

Prof. Dumbledore was winding down his welcome speech. “For our Seventh Year students.” Any murmuring which had started to bubble up among the upper-classmen ceased. ”As some of you may know, the competition for the title “Hooligan of Hogwarts” will be taking place shortly. This is only available those in their final year as they will be facing the ardors of N.E.W.T.’s this spring.

The rules are very specific. Any contender must successfully prank every House. Including their own. Extra points will be awarded for a successful prank on a professor. A rating system has been devised by which points will be calculated according to the ingenuity, execution and the admiration of their fellow class mates. No House or teacher can be pranked more than once.” Chuckling lightly, “Which will certainly challenge the playing field.”

Letting his half-moon glasses deliberately slip down his nose, Prof. Dumbledore lowered the timbre of his voice and underscored it with a more serious tone. ”I do want to state to all contenders that school rules apply to all scenarios AT ALL TIMES. Should anything destructive occur than consequences will occur.” Bringing a smile back to his face that reached his eyes Dumbledore listed the final few specifics, “Pranks cannot commence before October the 20^th with the Hooligan to be revealed on Halloween Night at the Fall Ball. And, as a special school treat, the staff and myself have agreed that this year’s Fall Ball will not only be open to all students, but it will be a costumed affair!”

Pausing dramatically, the Headmaster brought up the final details, “That does not mean that the rest of the school cannot get in on the fun. SHOULD the Hooligan be unveiled before the Ball, then the House to which that student - who has successfully ascertained the prankster’s secret identity - will be awarded the Hooligan’s acquired points.“ Quiet “oohs” and “oh’s” accompanied excited jostling.

Realizing that he’d left something out, Prof. Dumbledore raised his arms to capture everyone’s attention one more time. ”If a student believes that they possess the identity of the prankster, they MUST present their case to a House Prefect. For this is the reason why: should a student – and by extension their House – make a Formal Accusation that is proven incorrect, then that House forfeits any claims on the Hooligan’s points! However, if the said student belongs to the same House as the Hooligan obviously it would behoove both parties not to hinder his or her efforts.” Inhaling the excitement that was radiating from the 417 students before him (and the wonderful smells emanating from the fine feast he knew the house elves had prepared) Prof. Dumbledore made one final decree, “Let the feast begin!”

With a wave of the Headmaster’s hands, platters of food in every combination appeared on the tables. Jugs of pumpkin juice materialized at regular intervals. Questions about the latest Quidditch equipment, destination points during the summer holidays and the myriad of other questions thrown about by friends who hadn’t seen each other in 2 months vanished in the wake of Dumbledore’s announcement. Ideas and proposals as to who would, should or could participate were avidly exchanged and built upon as salt cellars were shared and food was passed.

Turning to each other, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all started speaking at the same time. Chuckling, Ron and Hermione quieted down enough to let Harry speak first, “Hey Ron? Did Fred and George…?”

Busy trying to decide what next to pile on his plate, Ron did not look up at his best friend as he answered, “Nah. Remember that business with High Inquisitor Umbridge?” The last three words were said with such a high falsetto that it left no doubt Ron held absolutely no respect for the person who once carried that title.

Harry, splattering mashed potatoes onto his own plate before passing the bowl onto their roommate Dean Thomas, took no offense at Ron’s concentration. Food is a priority to a seventeen year old boy. Among other things…

However, it was Dean who answered Ron’s question, “What a cow!”

Still chewing what he had in his mouth and filling his fork again, Ron pushed a bit of roast between his cheek and teeth before looking at Dean, “And how!” Beginning to talk as much with his free hand as his mouth, “Everyone in their year was too afraid to even ask if was going to happen. Let alone…. Anyway.” Breaking off his train of thought, Ron decided he wanted to end on a slightly more up-beat note, “Fred and George – too this day! – say they were gypped!”

Murmuring a quiet, “Thanks” to Hermione for filling his goblet, Harry watched as she reached for Ron’s before adding more to her own. The knuckles of her hand were becoming whiter by the moment. Setting the jug down with a little more force than necessary, Hermione reached for her napkin as a bit had sloshed over the rim. Splash much, Miss Granger?, he mused. Harry was about to add his two bits when Seamus Finnegan passed him the gravy he had asked for.

In his broad Irish brogue, Seamus interjected, “Oi! Harry! Didn’t she try to…”

“Ban me from ever playing Quidditch again? Oh, yeah. Damn right she did!”, Harry answered Seamus’s unfinished question with a surprising amount of anger and resentment . After all, it had happened two years ago. Well, he thought, she did send a Dementor after me before school even began that year. YES! Vindicated!

The mood around their end of the table grew a little apprehensive. And quiet.

Too quiet.

Harry couldn’t help but think, maybe I’m not as vindicated as I assumed.

Deciding to evade a beater and put a quaffle through a hoop , Harry decided it could be done in one slightly protracted play, “That is, until she made a fatal error.”

Neville Longbottom, another dorm-mate, knew where Harry was going with this and added in a loud whisper, “I heard she dismissed the one person who was most capable of bringing her down.”

Neville’s conspiratorial tone was enough for Parvati Patel and Lavender Brown to put away their fashion magazine and join in on the conversation. They were good-natured gossips who had an ear for a good story and were not used to being left our of something fun. “What are you all talking about?”

Ron looked at his best mate and understood. With a mischievous glint and a new record (two winds in twenty minutes and being back in school only a matter of hours!), he took a fortifying swig (when did I pour this?) of juice. Offering a silent salute of thanks to Hermione, Ron noticed that she seemed awfully involved in her steak and kidney pie. He wondered briefly if he had the capacity to memorize every counter curse known to wizard-kind if he successfully slipped a copy of Steak and Kidney Pie: A History into her book bag.

Harry noticed as well. She had pulled it apart by ingredients. And, her bottom lip was being chewed on more than her food. Like she was trying to figure something out. Mentally he filed that thought under “List of Things to ask Hermione”. Currently, it was number three on the list.

Cries of sudden dismay erupted when everyone’s pupils became pin-points.

Colin Creevey’s flash went off. Lowering his camera, he shrugged his shoulders in an effort to offer an apology he didn’t mean. “Sorry everyone. It was too good of a picture to miss!” Not needing to look at his camera to rewind it, he placated the ruffled feathers of Parvati and Lavender (who voiced the cruelty of his timing as they had just spent six hours on a train and were not picture-perfect) by answering their question prior to his interruption, “Umbridge.”

Out of loyalty to their beloved Professor Trelawney, who they had personally witnessed being man-handled by that toad-like woman, they both spat out in unison, “What a cow!”

Everyone laughed as if that were the first time anyone had applied that specific description to the former Ministry official.

Except Dean. He glanced around and smacked his palm on the wooden table top to make sure everyone knew he used that word first, “That’s what I’m talking about!” His tone betrayed the underlying good-natured-ness of his intentions.

Seamus couldn’t resist, “Poor Dean. Always the bridesmaid – never the bride!”

Seamus graciously accepted the kudos and back-clapping everyone offered. Including Dean’s.

Everyone except Hermione. It was like she didn’t hear what was going on around her. Some small, secret smile was pulling at one corner of her mouth. Even when Harry exchanged the silent question - Are you with me? - with Neville that Ron had shot him moments before.

Neville bobbed his head in agreement. And secretly hoped he wouldn’t wake up some morning with two left feet some time in the near future.

Feeling the hairs on the back of her neck begin to prickle, Hermione came out of her reverie. It wasn’t that she wasn’t paying attention per se… just… something else needed fleshing out. Mentally tapping her “rewind” button, her eyes grew as big as saucers when she realized that Harry and Ron were about to take the conversation back in hand.

Ron shook his head denying Hermione’s imploring look. Mocking her as only a good friend could he answered her - Not this time, love.

Hermione still hadn’t released the dressing flagon she had asked Ginny for when she saw Ron give Harry “The Signal”.

Putting on her best “You can’t do this to me because I am your best friend” look, she turned to face Harry and cranked it up to full wattage.

Leaving Ron to bring the conversation back into play (pre-Colin!), Harry beckoned her to come closer to him.

Hoping against hope, she stopped within a foot of his face.

Setting his fork down in order to fully use his hands, Ron continued, “The person who lit Snape’s robes on fire in their first year.“

Harry heard Parvati croon, “Ooh - no way!”. He didn’t have to look at Lavender to know she was shooting a Why am I just hearing about this now - this is way too juicy of a story to be made to wait six years to hear! look at Ron. Instead, he kept his attention focused on Hermione and crooked his finger. Again.

“The student who retired Rita Skeeter’s poisonous quill!” Ron pronounced.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. And it was not directed at Colin’s jaw-bouncing-fish-out-of-water impersonation (Colin’s father worked at the Daily Prophet).

A sick feeling of being led did not keep Hermione from placing herself within 3 inches of the dark-haired man/boy beside her. Or crossing her toes in hope that he would rescue her at the last minute.

Ron was really having fun. Especially since Neville began clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in the rhythm of a horses gait.

Harry’s face filled her field of vision. She forgot that her arm, though slightly lower, was still suspended over her salad.

“The person who drew that Umbridge,” Ron pointedly looked at Dean to give credit where credit was due. Who, needing no one to spell it out for him, picked up on what Ron was saying and began to mimic Neville, “COW – “

Harry’s mouth was an inch from her ear.

“ - like the POISION she was !” Ron’s arms were really getting some air time as he punctuated every other word with his hands.

Being dorm-mates, Seamus knew the story and joined Neville and Dean.

“AND sent her DIRECTLY to St. Mungos via the Dark Forest!”, Ron exclaimed as he wrapped up: The Story of the Down Fall of Dolores Umbridge.

Tapping out what had been explained to him (by Hermione no less) as a muggle-drum roll, Ron rapped his forefingers against the edge of the long table, “The One…. The ONLY!”

Hermione’s mind scrambled. A mantra formed in her head: Oh please, oh please, oh please don’t. She watched Harry take a deep breath. She saw him lock his eyes on hers and the corners of his mouth curl up (‘he’s going to do it! He’s going to make everyone stop!’) in the most devilish of grins. She saw the sidelong glance he cast at Ron without turning his head. Her mantra raced through her mind even faster than before. She tasted her own anxiety when… she heard Harry’s tongue (‘NOOOOO!!!’) match the tempo set by the other three boys. The sharp smell of vinegar filled her nose when she involuntarily upended the flagon of dressing onto her plate as the climax to Ron’s declarations had all eyes – even those sitting at the near by Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables – on…“H E R M I O N E ! !”

And, just when she thought that the flush that pulled oh-so-hotly at her skin couldn’t get any deeper, she caught one last exchange between her best friends. Which was quickly relayed to the other three boys.

She was given less then three seconds to decipher why the look on Harry’s face was a cross between: ‘this will be good for you in the long run’ and ‘you’ll thank us in the morning’.

Simultaneously, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron and Harry neighed.

Hermione was convinced that at that point in time, every square inch of her body was a red as Ron and Ginny’s hair. And seeing the ever so composed Lavender and Parvati clanking their flat wear in lieu of their tongues (of which the boys resumed with only the occasional neigh which gave the impression that it was only a small herd of horses which had taken up residence in the Great Hall) was enough to send her face into her hands.

Now this is going to be a show! Harry found himself laughing, clucking and neighing so hard that at one point he actually listed against Dean. Righting himself, he had a front row view of a mane of chestnut waves cascading over delicate fingers which was flipped dramatically back to reveal a beet-red face. He watched as her fingers slipped inside the mass, down its length and lift it away from what he knew had to be a very over-heated neck. Hearing a neigh from Seamus in that Irish accent of his sent himself, Ron, Hermione and everyone else within hearing range into histrionics.

Feeling the need - the duty – as her best friend to add the proverbial “icing to the cake”, Harry cleared his throat in an effort to garner everyone’s attention one more time. After all, if she was going to hex me, she would have done it already - right? “So. Let it be known,” - Harry made sure he made eye-contact with everyone seated to the left of him, “from this day forth,” - his gaze rested on everyone on his right - “ Woe be to ANYONE.”- with that, he opened both arms to include everyone – students and teachers alike, “Who underestimates the intellect, belittles the causes - compromises the integrity - of Miss Hermione Jane Granger.”

With the last word leaving his lips, Harry rose from his seat with his goblet in hand. Ron did the same. “A mind to be reckoned with, Elf Freedom Fighter,” he could not resist adding, “and a right hook to be remembered.”

Neville, Seamus and Dean could not pass up on the opportunity to share with anyone who was listening just WHOM the last comment referred to, “MALFOY!”

A fresh round of side-stitching laughter ensued.

Remaining in their seats, Seamus, Dean and Neville followed their mates example and picked up their goblets as well. Not to miss out on would be quickly dubbed as the best first night back in school in 6 years, Parvati, Ginny and Lavender did the same.

And, because he did not want to spend the next week sleeping with one eye open. Yes, I am looking to save my own arse from being hexed into next Tuesday - just in case she has a hormonally-charged delayed reaction, he finished with, “And the GREAT sense of being to keep pace and challenge” looking directly at the red face screwed tight with mirth, ”the likes of us!”

And with that, he and the rest of the Gryffindors - whether they knew why or not - toasted Hermione.

It was not an every day occurrence to see the serious, studious Head Girl completely let herself go. Not surprisingly, it was everyone else seated at the table who tipped their goblets to Ron and Harry for doing only what only they could do. Literally.

Of all the peals of laughter going on around him, Ron was most glad to hear Hermione’s waft over him as he took his seat. It was rare to see her let go of the tight reins she kept on her emotions. Outside of their group – it was almost unheard of. Sure she was consistently kind, compassionate and most assuredly you could count on her to speak her mind; whether you wanted to hear it or not. And sure, she had bickered enough with him over the years that it practically formed a second language which was unique unto themselves. Of which, he ruefully mused, they had shared, on more than one occasion, with the entire House. Now, here she is, swaying between Harry and Seamus, clutching her side as salad dressing was snaking it’s way in my direction because she was laughing so hard.

Similar thoughts pulled at Harry as he felt her robe brush against his arm when he sat back down. Returning Dean’s particularly gooey napkin to him the hard way (having recognized Harry’s attempt at self-preservations for what it was) Seamus inadvertently got him back by clapping him between his shoulder blades so unexpectedly that his glasses fell into his mashed potatoes. Another round of guffaws followed. This time directed at him. And it didn’t matter. What did matter was that this was the only situation where watching his best female friend gasp for breath would be acceptable.

Intuitively, Harry stuck his arm across the table in a very muggle, Gryffindor-modified version of a ‘high-five’. This time, no one missed the translation. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! And, instead of two right hands clasped in friendship, a very feminine third stretched itself across both of theirs.

Somehow Hermione saw through a haze of tear-clumped lashes just in time to see Ron and Harry grasping each other’s hands. Forcing her oxygen deprived legs to quasi-support her, she lurched forward. In that moment, it was the best way she knew how to make sure that they knew that they were just important to her as she was to them.

For the second time that night, Harry, Ron, Hermione and everyone else in their immediate vicinity were blinded by Colin’s camera going off three times in rapid succession. The group shot, he argued when his house mates rounded on him for the second time in one night, was something that he couldn’t stage if he had a month to prepare. As for the shot of the three oh-so-different friends leaning over the House table with their hands clasped in friendship and bodies still laughing – was truly a moment that deserved to be captured and immortalized in more than memories. The third shot – well that was pure photographer’s instinct.

Harry was just looking up from seeing the last hand to disengage his. It belonged to Hermione. It was… cold. Insight flared. Hang on; her hands only get cold when she is nervous about something. Someone? Enter number four on “List of Things to Ask Hermione”. Going from her hands to her face, Harry caught the tail end of something as it flashed across her countenance. Which was mirrored in his now-darkened green irises as she shyly opened her hand and he relaxed his. In the hairsbreadth it took for that to happen, that was the instant that Colin’s flash ignited.

From her position at the Head Table, Minerva McGonagall exchanged her own private, silent conversation with Professor Dumbledore. Watching the three friends come together and “infect” those around them was truly magic in it’s purest form.

And when the group of Gryffindors groaned in unison at Mr. Creevey’s proposal for, “Just one more picture!”, the Gryffindor matriarch knew that this was going to be a most memorable year. As if feeling the need to demonstrate her revelation, she amusingly watched Miss Weasley and Mr. Finnegan rise to block Mr. Creevey’s attempted escape. Passing the breadbasket to her right, Minerva angled her head to hear a little more clearly.

Furtive pleas of, “Look at the camera!” took on the desperate edge of groveling when the group collectively raised their goblets in the direction of the cornered photographer as he begged, “Watch the camera! Not the camera!” and doused him with pumpkin juice.

Not NEARLY ready to sit back and let Harry and Ron have all the fun, Hermione climbed onto the bench and stretched out her hand, “Accio camera!”

Harry and Ron could only look on in admiration as she adjusted, focused and snapped Colin’s picture with his own camera.

With that, the ENTIRE hall erupted into applause for the second time that night.

Making sure his palms were dry by hastily rubbing them on his thighs, Harry reached up and ‘helped’ Hermione down with all the pomp of assisting a lady alight from a carriage. Gaining the floor, Hermione spread her robe wide in mock-curtsies to answer the bows offered by those around her. That’s my girl!, he thought as he slung his right arm across her shoulders and pulled her tight against his body. Number five was added to the list when she wrapped her left arm around the far side of his back and didn’t let go until they both sat down.

Oh, yeah, Ron acknowledged, she gives as good as she gets. Fred and George would be proud. Hell, I will be for the rest of my life.

* * * * * * * *

Professor Dumbledore did not have to canvass his fellow teachers to know what they were thinking. They were all hoping, especially Minerva, that they would have the strength NOT to hold future classes to the standards set by the current group before them. He included.

Touching the rim of his goblet to Prof. Flitwick’s and then doing the same to Prof. McGonagall, Dumbledore toasted his fellow colleagues. Surveying the students arrayed among the four tables, he raised his glass to the student body: Bring on the Hooligan.

.

Caught off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts

Chapter 1: Rogue Bludgers

Shortly after sunrise at Hogwarts Castle…

Merlin’s beard, that feels good.

Slowly rotating his head, Harry made sure that the hot spray flowed completely over his face and down his back. He knew that these early morning workouts with Ron were continuing to pay off as he felt the water channel down the groove created by his flexing back muscles. The cool shower tile was a welcomed contrast to the near scalding temperatures that pooled around his feet. After enduring yet another Dursley summer, he wouldn't trade the ability to take a hot-as-he-wanted-for-as-long-as-he-wanted shower for anything.Smirking into his well-lathered hands, well maybe give or take a few things.

It wasn't often that he found himself to be the only one in the shower room. Taking full advantage of being alone, he unbridled his thoughts and let the cascade soothe his joints. For someone who professes to have so little interest in Quidditch, I have to give Hermione some credit for making the team as strong as it is.

Months ago, he and Ron had been bouncing ideas off of one another in the Common Room as to how Hufflepuff – previously the weakest of ALL the House teams – had come within ten points of defeating Gryffindor in a match that took place in the winter of their sixth year. Neville, who had come down to get his Exploding Snap cards, overheard their discussion and shared something rather unexpected. According to their dorm mate, he vaguely remembered a conversation that took place just before Christmas Break between Susan Bones and Hermione. The quiet Hufflepuff was asking the cleverest witch in school for advice. But he couldn't recall any details. Bidding Neville “good-night”, they both waited for Hermione to return from a study group before rounding on her.

She had no idea we would get so riled up! Remembering the look of confusion that clouded her face, Harry could still visualize Hermione looking blankly at her two best friends as he and Ron accused her of flagging her House loyalty. Hermione explained, once Ron and I calmed down enough to actually hear what she was trying to say, that she felt bad for Susan's House because they always got beaten so badly. While she declined to formulate strategies (As if! she scoffed), she had done – in her mind – the next best thing to help the Hufflepuffs help themselves. She had devised an exercise regime for the team to follow. And, not to be out done by a House whose mascot is a yellow and black bloody badger, neither he nor Ron allowed Hermione to go to bed until she designed and explained a superior, more challenging program.

Beginning that very week, every member of the House team was required – three times a week - to run around the lake and perform sets of push ups, sit ups and leg lunges. After which, the lake would be circled two more times. What time of day didn't matter, but it had to be done. Regardless of whether it was raining, snow had fallen or thick fog had formed along the lakeshore. This was to be in addition to the scheduled practices where the word “drill” took on a degree of repetition reminiscent of former captain Oliver Wood.

Because of his height, Ron had difficulty finding a running partner. Let alone someone who had enough strength and leverage to brace his feet when he went full out crunch crazy. For the most part, Harry was glad to pair up, although truth be told, living together, playing on the same team and taking a lot of the same classes, once in a while he found it necessary to run by himself just to be by himself.

Tracing the contours of his arms with his eyes as he stretched them overhead, Harry had to admit that she’d been spot on. Despite all the initial grumbling and misgivings from everyone involved. By the time last game of the year took place, the team was stronger, faster and able to just do more. Reflexes seemed to be more honed. He personally found it easier to hoist himself back onto his broomstick whenever he found himself dangling 50 feet from the ground. Ron was able to launch the quaffle further from the Keeper's Zone than before and the Chasers had fewer balls knocked out of play, as they were able to hold onto the quaffle more tightly. Even the accuracy of his Beaters improved significantly. Smiling into the steamy stream, much to Madame Pomfrey’s besetment, I might add!

Calling it quits when the tap was pushed all the way to the right and he couldn't feel any change in temperature, Harry cut the water and reached for his towels. Wrapping one around his waist and absently rubbing his hair with the other, he scooped his running gear and headed back to the dorm room. Just in time, he mused. A sweaty Seamus came stumbling in with an equally damp Dean and a shiny, shirtless Ron (will he EVER tire of showing off his well-defined six-pack?) hot on his heels, jostling each other to get in the first heckling comment. From the way Seamus bolted for the loo, and the snippet of good-natured teasing he caught as he brushed past his mates, another round of “Let's See Who Throws Up First from Too Many Crunches” had concluded. Oh, well. So much for persuading Seamus to join the group, he thought ruefully.

Getting dressed at one's leisure was another item on the “Top 20 Things That Are Grand About Being Back at School”. If anyone asked for the list to be prioritised, long unhurried showers definitely ranked higher.

Empty shower room, empty dorm room… life is good this morning. Reaching for a cup of cold water and transfiguring it into a steaming mug of blacker-than-a-Hogwarts’ robe coffee (a decidedly handy spell Remus Lupin taught him over the summer) Harry seized the moments of peace and quiet to contemplate the plans he had set in motion. Fixing his gaze across the lake as he sipped at his Beverage-of-the-Gods, he knew it was those of which he had yet to implement that required the most finesse.

The sound of a body fetching up HARD against the closed door interrupted his introspection. Manic twisting of the knob interspersed with the sound of the locking mechanism catching and releasing broke it altogether. Squinting at the dust falling from the topmost hinge, what the hell…?

The appearance of a sopping wet Seamus clad in naught but his birthday suit was the LAST thing he expected. Seeing the dorm room door yanked open after several failed attempts effectively cleared Harry's mind of anything save the desire to summon Colin and his camera. Watching the naked Irishman turn around and shore up the door with both hands and a knee almost made Harry want to ask what was going on. That is, until he noticed several fresh looking red welts standing out on the other boy's whiter-than-the-underside-of-a-unicorn bare ass and thighs.

“Toss me my wand!” Seamus called over his shoulder. Beads of water began roll together, drip off his body and collect around him, “Quick!”

Harry couldn't help but wonder if there was a hint of mischief lurking in the other lad’s eyes.

“You didn't plan your getaway?” Considering that this was the first time Harry had actually spoken to his dorm mate all morning, he couldn’t help but feel that he chose a salutation that seemed most… appropriate. Given Seamus’s current predicament.

Harry’s priority shifted to protecting – his is coffee. Taking in the pattern on the vaulted ceiling, he had no idea how he was going to explain to anyone that there was now the distinct possibility of him needing psychological counselling.

Ron’s voice carried through the thick wooden door, ”Open this bloody, flipping -” the repeated thudding of shoulders striking castle grade wood drowned out a string of detention worthy expletives, ” - RIGHT NOW!”

“Well,” Seamus pleaded as his foot began to slide out from underneath him, “Are you just going to stand there?”

Boosting his body onto the window seat in one smooth motion, Harry assessed the naked boy’s predicament. ”Let’s see here.” Resting forearms on thighs, he cradled his coffee mug with both hands and suspended it between his legs. Adopting a look of careful, howbeit amused, consideration Harry deliberated… whether leaning back against the window or remaining where he was would add to Seamus’s anxiety level. After all, what are mates for if they can’t back each other up?

“We know where you SLEEP Finnegan!” Dean’s snarl easily reached Seamus and Harry.

The Lad Without Apparel lost a couple of inches in the back-and-forth-battle of two against one.

A slew of promises involving body part augmentation streamed into the room

“There is a volatile six-foot-three inch red head out there,” - Harry motioned to the fingers and wrists snaking through the partially opened door, “Who also happens to be one of my two best friends in the whole world.”

Seamus, with the need for survival overwhelmingany qualms he may have had about propriety, pivoted on his heel so that his back was now pressed firmly against the door.

Murmuring a warming spell over his coffee, Harry added: note to self - apply for therapy immediately.

“Mate.” Raising his eyes from the steam rising off of his mug, “Between you and me? I’ve got two things I want to share with you. First of all, a little mystery is a good thing. Don’t give it all away on the first date.”

The comment went right over the lad’s head.

“Not to mention a muscle-bound exercise fiend,” Harry continued, getting back to the very real possibility of Seamus sporting bruises well into next week, ”And fellow mate who is currently dating the sister of said best friend.” Drawing over due pulls on his coffee and silently calculating how many seconds Seamus had left, “Who are looking to beat your hairy arse.”

A truly wicked thought formed in Harry’s mind, “And second, if you get splinters, you have two choices. It’s either off to Madam Pomfrey with you – to whom you must tell the whole story sans Ron and Dean as to how the splinters got there in the first place.” Maybe there is more of a Marauder in me than I thought?

Harry didn’t make the couture deficient boy wait before he gave voice to the remaining alternative, ”Or, you have to go to Goyle and Crabbe and ask them to pull the wee bitty slivers out for you. Together. With Dean and Ron standing in attendance.” Running his tongue over his teeth, he briefly flashed to something someone had said about Hermione once: it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Unveiling his final condition, ”And Colin has to take a picture as proof.”

The ultimatum turned the boy's ruddy face the colour of ash, “You wouldn’t!”

One of Ron’s flashing blue eyes and half his mouth could be seen at the jamb, “Take your beating like a MAN, Seamus!”

“So I never got the owl on why the getaway is the secret to any good plan!” To Harry, his friend was starting to sound as desperate as Colin did the night before. However, it was the ever-so faint hint of anticipation that lilted Seamus’s hindsightthat re-assured Harry that the young man slipping and sliding in front of him would survive to re-tell his tale.

Harry actually found himself starting to speculate whether Seamus was looking forward to the eminent showdown with Ron and Dean. And I shouldn’t be surprised for what reason?

Trying his best to impersonate a Highlander’s burr, “I’m telling ye the truth. Don’t be trying to get out of this one. There'll be no denying what now lies between us wee Seamus”.

Seamus fired back emphatically, “I’m Irish – not Scottish!” Craning his neck as if he needed to visually verify that he hadn’t been splashed with a dose of SleekEasy’s HairGro, “I don’t have any hair back there!”

Muffled words drifted in to the room, “When I count to three..." The rest of Ron's instructions were lost when his voice dropped in whispering his plan to Dean.

Time and again, Harry overheard many a Hogwarts Quidditch veteran warn incoming freshman players that it was a cardinal rule of thumb NEVER to give Ronald “Surgically Lethal” Weasley a chance to regroup and reconfigure a failing strategy. Doesn’t Seams know this?

Judging by the whisper of fun interlaced with sincere panic he was currently witnessing in the other lad - that would be a yes.

Harry transferred his mug to his right hand, gestured with his left and levelled a gaze that was the non-verbal equivalent of patting a small child condescendingly on it’s head, “My friend. If you hadn’t planned a contingency based on the possibility of getting caught, you can’t expect to be rescued.” There is more of a Marauder in me than I thought.

“T H R E E !” Dean and Ron completely breached Seamus’s meagre defences as they combined forces and crashed into the door at the same time.Naked Boy (ah, yet another nickname for dear Seamus!) was sent skidding backwards and averted an arse-to-floor implant by grasping a privacy curtain hanging from the nearest bedpost.

Harry polished his lenses as he considered the best words to use when he would share this story with Hermione later. The phrases: ‘not nearly as naked’, ‘mottled with anger’ and ‘hell-bent on revenge’ would, in his opinion, most assuredly suffice. Along with confirming that Dean and Ron were wielding twisted, wet towels. Just in case I wasn't clear as to how the marks had come to grace Seamus's backside in the first place.

Mentally recounting the tale (as it unfolded before his very eyes), he decided he would embellish it by also telling her that, “It was hard to tell whether Seamus hissed the word ‘Bollocks!’ because he knew had no choice but to accept my challenge or at that specific moment in time, Dean’s thick arm brushed against his body.”

To Harry, watching from his perch with his own backside firmly planted and protected, as he witnessed two nearly grown boys chase a naked fool around the room, scramble over bedcovers, around the stove and back out into the hallway all the while wet towels were whip-snapped at said fool’s bare ass…

… amid promises of retribution for the tell-tale welts…

“I’ll get you for this!”

And the accusations of…

“ … Like you were the one who brushed your teeth with the minty goodness of shaving cream!”

That such antics secured the Number 5 slot on his list of “10 Stupid Things Guys Do to Each Other”.

*****

Ditched by Dean in favour of an al fresco breakfast with Ginny, Ron insisted that Seamus should come down for breakfast with Harry and him.

Anticipating an amiable ramble through the corridors, Seamus dominated the conversation by vacillating between re-hashing last night’s events and re-iterating his vow of revenge for the lashing he took earlier so much so that Ron’s perfunctory oh yeah’s and yep’s were only a marginal improvement over Harry’s silence.

“Wotcher Harry,” Ron warned as he had to stoop to pull the heel of his shoe free of his foot. Offering a self-deprecatinggrin, ”It’s a long way down for me!”

“Sorry. Thoughts are elsewhere.” It was the prospect of a meal – one he didn’t have to cook himself – that had him distracted. In a very good way, he silently added.

Accepting Harry’s apology with a casual, “No worries,” - Ron turned their attention to the reason why he had stopped dead in his tracks in the first place, “Ready?”

Harry couldn't help but experience dejavu as he witnessed Seamus drift his hand over the welts he had received less than an hour ago.Mate: you brought this on yourself.Despite Seamus’s plight being entirely self-inflicted, Harry winged a consoling thought to the shorter boy. They could've done worse and taken a lesson from Hagrid – be thankful you aren’t twisting your fingers around a pig’s tail.

No sooner than the words finished coming out of Ron’s mouth, Seamus knew why his friend had been so emphatic about the three of them going down the Great Hall together. It’s too late to back out now, you dolt. Lecturing himself again: when are you going to learn, Finnegan, to stop setting yourself up to be bushwhacked? Drawing a deep breath, Harry and Ron couldn’t help but share a smirk as they heard him spend it on his favourite expletive, “Bollocks!”

Reaching the Moving Staircases, the first round of ‘Don’t Break Your Arse’ of the new school year began.

To Ron, the rules were simple and very Gryffindor. Each participant (the roster was comprised of every male in the House) had to descend flights of stairs by leaping down as many steps as they could - at one time – without falling and ‘breaking one’s arse’ on the extremely unforgiving stone. Seamus had been crowned last year’s “Champion and King” – seeing as how he had earned the distinction of “busting his arse” the most out of everyone in the tournament.

Explaining to his roommates that because he was the one who made the proposition – that ‘to be fair’ he should be the one to go first - Ron bent his knees and launched himself. Fairly confident due to his reasonable standing last term, Harry quickly followed. Seamus, however, took his time in evaluating on how best not to continue his "reign".

Sharing a landing with the youngest Weasley male, Harry had to impart just how impressed he was with Ron’s skill. Which had nothing to do with the current physical endeavours, “You, my friend, are a master of evil.”

Lowering his head from where he was shamelessly watching Sir Whipped A Lot counting out loud before taking another false start, Ron felt the need to redeem himself, “I could have done worse.”

Succumbing to thetemptation to argue semantics as his best mate arched an ‘oh really’ eyebrow in his direction, Ron proudly offered slightly different terminology, “I prefer the title - Purveyor of Wickedness.”

Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, especially when it is offered on a pride-laden salver, Harry arched an eyebrow at the tall redhead,”Care for a wager?”

Remember what happened the last time you automatically snapped up one of the Boy Who Dares challenges, Weasley! Crossing his arms across his chest, Ron deliberately took his time settling his shoulders against the cool stone that rose behind him. The vivid memory of not only having to get caught taking one of Pansy Parkinson’s dresses but specifically required to ask her to help him put it on and walk all the way to Hogsmeade and back permanently instilled upon him that clarification paved the way to self-preservation. “That he makes the jump or retains his title?”

Harry’s proposition was drowned-out by Seamus issuing a victorious WHOOP! Whichreverberated off the cavernous stairwell and nearly drowned out, “Oh yeah! Nine steps in two jumps and I am STILL upright!”

The look on Harry’s face was priceless when Seamus began his ‘Dance of Joy’. Catching an eyeful of the dark-haired boy leaning against the opposite banister shaking his head - I’ll wager a bag of Chocolate Frogs that Harry’s considering whether or not he should physically restrain Seamus from whatever fit he’s suffering from - Ron knew he wasn't reading his best friend incorrectly. He’s got even less of a clue than I do. Maybe we both should solicit for an evaluation and get a group rate.

Dubiously looking down at the next set of stairs, Seamus wasn’t quite ready to overly tax his newfound agility.Looking to buy himself some breathing space, he searched for a way to sustain a certain nagging suspicion that his two friends were keeping something from him, “What are you two going on about?I got a little carried away with my jig.”

Far too experienced in talking themselves out of tricky situations with Hermione (despite the fact that they had a much higher success rate with Prof. McGonagall rather than Miss Granger), there was NO WAY Ron or Harry were going to be tripped-up by Seamus’s amateur-level ruse. Rule Number One in "Not Getting Caught Talking About Someone When Said Person Deliberately Asks What You Are Talking About": do not implicate yourself or your conspirators by looking at one another. Rule Number Two: always follow the lead of the person who speaks first. Regardless of how improbable the response might have been. Rule Number Three: when in doubt - divert. Diversionary tactics are always an acceptable means of evading culpability.

Which was exactly why Ron slid his hands into his pants and pushed his body off the wall blurting, “Girls!” at the same time Harry improvised,“Quidditch!”

Rule Number Four: speaking at the same time will imply wrongdoing and could lead to digging oneself and partner(s) in deeper.

Attempting to recover one more time, Ron waggled his eyebrows lasciviously (and prayed that any member of the fairer sex did not decide to come traipsing down the stairs), “Girls who like – “

“Guys who like Quidditch.” Putting a cap on Ron’s sentence, Harry made good on Rule Number Five: never leave a mate flapping in the breeze.

I know you two were up to something. Seamus considered trying to coax it out of them, but seeing as how two of his favourite subjects were broached at the same time, he thought better of it. Okay, I’ll bite, “Oh yeah? Like who?”

Outwardly, Seamus agreed or made arguments against the names tossed around by the three of them as they made their way to the Great Hall.Privately, he couldn't help but think that if the situation were reversed, he wouldn’t hesitate to wager as to whether or not he would be retaining ownership of an obscenely padded pair of skivvies that he was presented with at the end of last term. Which were jinxed, much to my chagrin,in such a way that he had no choice but to wear the entire train ride home AND the return trips back to school. Just to make sure you bring them back had been the justification made at his “coronation”.

********

The Breezeway of Honour served as the most direct route for all students to go between the dormitories and the Great Hall.

Thinking of the tetchiness on Ron’s face, Harry gestured to one of the suits of armour in an attempt to distract his mate and perk him up, “Go on. You know you want to.”

Seamus nodded in Ron’s direction, “We’re the only ones here. No one will know.” Thinking of a way to tip the scales that were balancing in his friend’s head, “If I spot anyone, I’ll give a holler.”

It’s not that I don’t want to or that I might get caught doing something that will feed the gossip mongers at least until dinner, but…“It’s Hermione.”

Seamus had no clue as to why Ron would bring up her name other than the fact that, hands down, she was one of the sexiest girls in school. And seeing as how all three of them were currently seventeen - and hence - hormonally driven begged the question, “Huh? Why’d you bring her up?”

“Remember last year? Binns assigned us that project about ‘Objects and Retained Magic’? And Hermione chose the Timeless Knights.” Ron recalled her presentation because it involved magic, spells, battles, honour and a beautiful girl talking about manly things like battles and honour.

Harry’s memory seemed to be on ‘perve mode’ because what stood out in his mind about that particular classwas watching Hermione stand in profile as she gave her lecture. Which gave him not nearly enough time to appreciate which curves matched what body part. And, oh yeah, there was some talk of valour and battles. Stopping in front of one of the Knights, he found a certain level of pride in standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder with the silent soldier. Assessing the armourment the Knight possessed, Harry took in the scabbard that was slung low over its hips and the matched set of spurs that were strapped to both heels, “It almost seems as if he is standing at attention, doesn’t it?”

Seamus approached one nearest to him, “It’s like they are ready to spring into action at any moment.” Taking in the sight of the other eleven that lined both sides of the corridor, “Weird.”

Ron clarified his position, “I know I have been saying it for ages about how I want to peak inside one of their visors. But, it’s like, I don’t want to at the same time. Get my meaning?”

Looking as sceptical as Ron made sense, Harry countered, “You know you’re sounding a bit mental?”

“Remember what Hermione said in her report? That the Timeless Knights were originally muggle soldiers who defied their liege to defend Hogwarts.” Ron couldn't remember what she had said about the coat of arms etched into the shields that rested against the shin of each defender. Instead, he considered the strength each warrior had to possess to wield the halberd that stretched as high as his own shoulder.

“The king commanded Rowena Ravenclaw to perform some kind of blood-of-a-kinsman-sacrifice-ceremony that would ensure him a victory over some kingdom he wanted to conquer. But, she refused. She told him that such Dark Magic came with a price. And, for him, it would cost him the lives of his children. So His Royal Daftness attacked The Founders and laid siege to the castle.” What was the rest of it? Oh, yeah, “Despite the battle that ensued, The Founders couldn't justify mortally harming any of the Knights. The cunning they demonstrated in breaching the castle gate, the loyalty they showed one another, the bravery it took to actually battle their way into the Great Hall and the wisdom to stop when they were within feet of fulfilling their orders to kidnap Rowena once they understood why she refused King Nutters in the first place. Because each of the knights demonstrated all the attributes that each of The Founders held as the cornerstones of their own Houses, Rowena gave them the ability to make one choice – a wish – with the condition that they would have to abide by it for all time.”

Separating the memory of Hermione holding the class enthralled (alright, I was enthralled) and the tale she recounted, Harry struggled for the remaining details, “They unanimously chose to eternally stand watch and guard Hogwarts. Each one, in turn, swore allegiance to the Lady Rowena and they stalwartly served her and Hogwarts from that moment forth. Even though their ability to rise to any challenge would diminish incrementally as the years passed.”

Seamus finished recounting the final aspects of the story for his two friends, “According to the legend, any female Ravenclaw could call upon the bravery of the knights if she found herself in need of their services.” A horrifying thought caused his voice to crack, “You don’t suppose they are still…in there?”

Two out of the three Gryffindors standing in the Breezeway couldn’t find the words to express the mental images running through their imaginations.

“So - what do you say mate?“ Harry couldn't resist piquing Ron’s curiosity, “Change your mind?”

******

Grandly sweeping his arms as if he were presenting royalty, Harry allowed Seamus and Ron (both of whom were immediately hailed by others) to precede him into the Great Hall.

Separating and branching off into different directions, Harry scanned the growing throng for a friendly face. Specifically one friendly face: a completely put together Hermione caught his attention. As did Hannah Abbott – who was standing in front of his friend with a not so pleased look on her face – whose agitation was further demonstrated by the way she kept locking and unlocking her knees. Reining in his protective instinct, he could tell by the way Hermione scratched periodically on a piece of parchment that she wasn’t being threatened. Even if Hannah is making it perfectly clear that the conversation isn’t going the way she planned.

Sliding out of “protector mode” Harry smoothly re-shouldered the good mood he had temporarily set aside BEFORE he gave Hermione yet ANOTHER opportunity to tap her foot in impatience and LECTURE him about his modus operandi. It did not escape him, as he watched Hermione tuck unseen hairs behind her ears and keep her focus on telling Hannah something the other girl obviously didn’t want to hear, that all the elements for A Plan were in place.

Applying his considerable skills as a Seeker to a different kind of Snitch, Harry tacked his way through hails of his own as he closed in on his quarry. “Just a few more yards," he muttered.

A bludger in the shape of an evergreen clad, lavender scented arm came out of nowhere and knocked him off his broom.

“This is for you, Mr. Potter,” was the only explanation spared by Prof. McGonagall as she bustled off to intercept another unsuspecting Gryffindor.

“Great. Thanks.” Great was for his plan dashed beyond salvage as he heard Hermione bid a quiet, hasty goodbye to Hannah as her gaze touched his. ‘Thanks’ referred to whatever (currently rolled and tied with a ribbon of House colours) was so important that it cost him the perfect opportunity to scare his friend out of her wits.

Casting a casual, “Good Morning,” to Hannah as the girl made her way over to the other Hufflepuffs, Harry tucked his long legs underneath the table and settled himself into his usual seat. This morning, it was to the left of the honey-hued brunette beside him. Usual for him was any side Ron didn’t claim first. Or vice versa. Except when it comes to the proximity of undesirables. Specifically certain Slytherins who never grew tired (or grew up for that matter!) of using the term ‘Mudblood’ or an unnecessarily difficult Potions Master. In which case, she was doubly guarded. Hence, the frequently repeated lecture he and Ron were subjected to, on a regular basis, titled: 'How Intimidation Never Truly Solves Anything'. But you would be surprised, Your Head Girlness, at just how small Ron can make a specifically chosen tight space when sharing his 'thoughts' or the affect of a deliberate wand twirling when the action is coupled with a few quietly spoken, carefully selected words, was the counter argument that each boy had rehearsed but never uttered to their mutual best friend.

“So, how’s Hannah? She enjoyed her summer?” Five points to Gryffindor for nonchalance!

Drawing together her thoughts before turning to face the green-eyed gremlin she knew was sitting just beyond the corner of her eye, Hermione carefully weighed her options. Uncrossing and re-crossing her legs as she came about she looked at him for the first time since last night. Why didn’t I start to pack up before Hannah came over to talk to me? By Orion’s eye, I had better come up with something star-worthy in order to pull this off. Reviewing the last few moments - and he just gave it to me on a silver platter. She could accomplish her objective by doing one of two things. On one hand, she could verbally flay him over his un-realized scheme to DELIBERATELY frighten her out of her seat. Or, on the other - better yet, I could pretend that there was NO devious plot and get back at him later.

Hermione made it a point to twist her napkin with more agitation than she actually felt. She was annoyed. But, in all fairness, who could blame him? Like it was his fault that she had earned herself the reputation of becoming so engrossed in whatever she was working on that the rest of the world fell away.

Who am I kidding? It is completely beyond me to let anything go without saying something. Her ire was temporarily abated with the tried and true eye-rolling, exasperated, “Oh really Harry!” Throwing her napkin down (and effectively covering her parchment) for emphasis and switching to a tone underscored with indignation, “Just how thick do you think I am? I heard the click of your heels the minute you walked in the door”.

Counting his physical being lucky get off as lightly as he did (good thing she never gets as mad at me as she does with Ron), he couldn't resist pushing her good will a little further. Is it my fault that she’s struggling to keep a straight face?

“Next time, Granger. Your luck can’t hold out forever.”

She knew exactly what he meant and her vexation returned.

“Promise?” She surprised herself at just how saucily and languid that one word rolled off her tongue.

So, she wants to play with double-entendre? Let’s see what you’ve got, Granger. “So. You and… Hannah?” Harry made sure that he said the other girl’s name in such a way that there was no mistaking the innuendo. What he didn’t say could be heard echoing off the rafters if anyone had half a mind to listen.

Reaching again for invisible hairs to secure among her plaits, Hermione carefully sealed her inkpot and evocatively blotted her quill on a much-stained piece of cloth. Pouting with a coy, downcast gaze, “If I can have your word as a,” moistening her lips ever so slightly, “gentleman.” Deliberately elevating only a portion of her eyes through a veil of thick eyelashes, “She wanted to know about my participation… in a study group.”

Nowhere NEAR ready to give in, Harry dropped his voice to a husky, post-shag timbre, “For a class completely sanctioned and thoroughly researched by the administration?”

There should be a law or at the very least regulations put into effect about certain men who have the ability to turn a woman’s mind to jelly just by the sound of their voice! Standing fast but wise enough to know that her nervousness was quietly growing, Hermione knew she had to stay on the offensive, “Oh, yes. The class is very competitive. There are so many applications… to be had in the outside world. Should any one of us fall behind, there are special provisions built into the course where extra credit can be earned.”

Minx! Ignoring the chills that prompted the hairs on his arms to stand on end, how far are you going to take this Miss Granger? – and narrowed his gaze, “Am I to understand that this is a closed class?”

By all the constellations in the heavens, does he have to look at me so intensely? Hermione had to shut her eyes. If she didn’t, she was afraid that her composure would fail at any moment!

Hah! I’ve got her now! But then, why do I feel like it’s not an honest win? A small voice brought up the fact that he had an edge that she didn’t. He had knowledge… obtained over the summer… while he and Ron visited with his older brother Bill in Turkey…that was evident she had yet to…achieve. Squeezing his knuckles white, something deeply primeval inside him roared.

Completely oblivious to the half-moon marks embedded in Harry’s palm, she let every seductive thought she had ever possessed flow into every part of her body. Putting her ‘money’ where it would ‘do the most good’ - in for a sickle in for a galleon - she slipped the knot of her tie loose and undid the top 3 buttons of her blouse. Relying on one of her favourite daydreams to guide her, Hermione arched her back and lifted a hand to her neck as a starting point for a slow, sensuous self-massage.

Stroking the underside of her chin all the way down to where her pulse could be seen undulating between her collar-bones, she turned her head so that it rubbed against the back of her hand. Turning her attention to the side of her throat she followed a path that led to the back of her neck. Twisting her head again so that she could actually feel friction-generated warmth when she dragged her palm back toward the breadth of her collarbones only to half-bury her fanned fingers underneath the placket of her fitted shirt. Confirming that she had his FULL attention by the way she heard him drag a steadying breath audibly over his teeth, she pursed her lips together one more time. Heat prickled the skin she had just caressed.

Desperate to mask the sincere sounds of pleasure she mewed as part of her act, “There were so many …prerequisites. I wasn’t sure…” Pretending to massage a particularly ‘sore’ spot with feather light strokes of her thumb, “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.” Pausing dramatically as if she were catching herself from revealing something she shouldn’t, she ‘hastily’ added, “In.”

Oh, Miss Granger - you’ve done it now. There was no reason for him to hold back. He was free to 'up the ante' in a way he knew she would NEVER see coming.

Reaching forward, he tenderly wrapped her whole cold hand (hmmm, nervous Hermione?) in his fingers and pulled it within inches of his face. Rotating her palm he raised it so that it was directly in front of his lips. Keeping his eyes locked on hers with a look of absolute…empathy - he blew a hot, moist breath directly between her love and lifelines, “The lengths we go to for academic excellence.”

That’s it. He won. I’m out.

Unless…”Especially for professors that would do anything for you. From what I have been made to understand, they go to great lengths to ensure you completely understand the material.”

Huh? Where did that come from? Deciding that silence would be the better side of valour, he kept the empathetic look on his face and his mouth shut.

Okay, this is my last shot. Making her eyes as big and as soulful as possible, she played her trump, “I could NEVER disappoint Prof. Trelawney and Caretaker Filch. They really are excellent, hands on trainers once you get them…going.”

Hermione’s latest insinuation topped the extensive, therapy-seeded list of Harry’s “Top 1000 Un-necessary Visual Images Ever”. Never had he, in his most deranged, groping-for-the-nastiest-combination-to-gross-out-his-mates or extreme I-must-verbally-annihlate-Malfoy-and-send-him-whimpering-to-the-dungeons moments, could he, would he, summon such a combination. It was so vile a concept that he released her hand and snatched his glasses off his head to prevent the mental image from being emblazoned on the inside his lenses. As well as he knew his name, notion of Trelawney, Filch, Hermione and Hannah engaged in acts (of which he had first hand knowledge) had the potential to permanently challenge his ability to produce his Patronus. He lost. Badly. Reaching into the pocket of his robe for his handkerchief, he hoped that Hermione recognized a “white flag” when she saw one. No matter what colour it is.

Giving into the temptation to squeeze a little lemon juice into Harry’s open wound, “I’ve heard Filch provides an extensive array of costumes.”

A long, drawn out groan vibrated in Harry’s throat at the sadistic wench who now inhabited the body of his formally innocent-as-the-driven-snow friend. He was so ‘withered on the vine’ that his personal attributes bordered on retraction.

“Costumes? How can you be talking ‘bout costumes at a time like this?” Looking to console himself with anything within reach that was edible, Ron began indiscriminately piling food onto his plate before sitting down. Eyeing the hard bench he muttered, “You’d think that a place like this could afford a few cushions!” Dropping something crumpled (suspiciously the same size and colour of as the long forgotten ‘gift’ Harry received from McGonagall) next to his plate before slowly lowering himself opposite Harry, Ron seemed to be talking as much to himself as to the persons sitting in front of him.

He’d been feeling completely put out to begin with; not knowing why Hermione was blushing didn’t improve his disposition. Further, seeing Harry’s face contorted like he had just choked on something rubbed against his grain, “What’s gotten into the two of you?”

Pointedly angling his chin (because his hands held his knife and fork) at his best male friend who was re-pocketing his hanky, “You - you look like you got something stuck in your throat that you can’t quite swallow.” Scrutinizing Hermione with her shirt half open, “And you. You look like you were the one who fed it to him.”

Harry knew he had just become another statistic on the Hermio-Slam-o-Meter. Hermione had all she could do to unsuccessfully stifle overly loud snickers behind the palm Harry had oh-so-chivalrously warmed for her.

Whatever happened here, I can still see the debris and smell the fall-out. Ron couldn't resist asking, despite Harry’s muttered assurance that he would fill him in later, “What have you been slipping this boy?”

“Nothing yet.” It was the instantaneous chagrin in his voice that betrayed him. If Harry hadn’t heard the words come out of his own mouth, he would have tried to plead that he was under an Imperius Curse and therefore had no choice but to verbalize the first thought that raced through his mind that formed some semblance of an answer to Ron’s query. Because, short of a time turner suddenly dropping into his lap, there would be no way he could take back the furious flush that reached the tips of Hermione’s fingers and the razzing he was going to be subjected to by everyone in the dorm.

Summoning the last dregs of self-control, Hermione made sure she was the epitome of propriety when she placed a napkin wrapped bundle (with all un-due ceremony) equidistant between the two boys. It was the need to speak that blew her reserve, “Only toast.” She barely squeaked out, “And jam.”

At that, Ron may not have known exactly why Harry’s façade crumbled, but he caught on to the fact that it was definitely worthy of stashing it away in a special “Things to Tease My Mates About When They Are Least Expecting It” file.

“She knows… it’s my…favourite…and was… saving it…just for me.” Harry was so thoroughly trumped that it took a couple of tries to verbalize the next few words, “That is my favourite…” There is NO WAY I am going to stammer out another word. Everything that is coming out of my mouth is a euphemism for something sexual! Silently correcting his choice of word, down right naughty is more appropriate.

Deciding that having the knowledge to really get Harry good sometime in the future was enough of a coup for the moment, Ron redirected the conversation as to give the poor lad a chance to recuperate. Picking up his tirade where he left off, “Well, go ahead.” Referring to the rolled piece of parchment Harry had yet to unfurl, ”Open it.” The look on Harry’s face after he tugged the ribbon ends free mirrored his own as sick disbelief rivalled for abject horror, “See what I mean?”

Hermione drew a deep breath and slowly started to count backwards from thirty.

Harry held in his hands his list of classes and his eminent downfall. Snatching Ron’s to make sure there wasn’t some horrible error committed, he made a rapid comparison and blanched.

Mondays: Advanced Potions – double session, Lunch, Charming the Charmed and History of Magic 360

Tuesdays: Diviner Level Divination, Vectors: Practical and Theoretical Flying Applications Lunch, Hypothetical and Realized Transfiguration – double session

Wednesdays: Charming the Charmed, History of Magic 360, Lunch, Defence Against the Darkest Arts – double session

Thursdays: Hypothetical and Realized Transfiguration – double session, Lunch, Advanced Potions – double session

Fridays: Defence Against the Darkest Arts – double session, Lunch, Diviner Lever Divination, Vectors: Practical and Theoretical Flying Applications

“What kind of school would allow two sessions of DOUBLE Potions – N.E.W.T level no less – in one week?!” Slathering a piece of toast with marmalade, Ron managed to cram almost all of it into his mouth.

Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen… Gross! Interrupting her own countdown, Hermione help but think: does he have to do that?

Making a less than polite face in response to Hermione’s disapproval, he chewed vigorously before continuing on with his assessment of the dubious capabilities of whomever drew up students’ time tables, “It’s savage! Inhumane! Tell me. Who in their right minds could spend practically six hours a week in the dark, dank, Slytherin infested dungeons in the company of that greasy-haired git? Have I mentioned that it’s utterly savage?”

Still hoping that the universe would take pity on him and open up a portal to another dimension where the last ten minutes never transpired, Harry mutely stared at the platter of pancakes that fell to Ron’s plundering. No sleeping until Christmas Break; don’t forget to ask Dobby if he would deliver bread and water to the Common Room every other day… hygiene is over-rated as it is…. find a suitable vessel for bodily functions.

Three, two…. Reaching her destination, Hermione chose a different tack. “Ron.” No answer. He was intently coating every inch of his breakfast with syrup, “Ron!”

Having not nearly eaten enough to flag his temper, “What!”

Harry could see it coming from the far side of the Quidditch Pitch. Oh, come off it Hermione! You keep him wound and the likelihood of me getting anything more than cold cereal for breakfast would be on the far side of remote. Couldn’t she tell by Ron’s mottled face that when he reached this stage, the best thing to do is to let him come down on his own?

Finding herself in need of a distraction so that she wouldn’t end up tossing her tepid tea all over Mr. Congeniality sitting kitty-corner from her, Hermione tried to look at Ron as if she had never seen him before. “You know - there are very few good looking red-haired men in the world.”

Ron let his ill-tempered smirk say what his currently engaged mouth couldn't: Flattery will get you nowhere, Granger.

Okay. Relax. He is just feeling a little panicked. And you know what he his like when he feels threatened, “What I was going to say is that all three of us have pretty much the same schedule this term.”

A glimmer of hope pricked at Harry’s despair. He made it a point to press his thigh against Hermione’s knee in appreciation.

Ron, though, still remained sceptical. After all, he had been exposed to his timetable a lot longer. Which meant that it had more time to fester.

Sensing that she had gained at least a foothold, she pulled out her own schedule and tiered it with the other two, “With the exceptions of Divination and Vectors, the three of us have all the same classes.”

“So what you mean to say that we,“ swinging his index finger between Harry and himself, “Won’t have to face this alone?” Ron felt like he could just see the clouds start to part. The sun wasn’t shining yet, but the potential was there.

“While you both are in Divination, I have Arithmancy and the Ages. Rune Casting is at the same time as Vectors.”

It was the second time she had mentioned Vectors, but for the first time since McGonagall pressed that bloody tube in his hands, Ron was able to suppress his misery. Granted, given half a chance, it wouldn’t take much for his temper to flare again. But it was a start.

As much as Harry was grateful for Hermione’s ever-present level headedness, the way she looked swathed in sunlight (or moonlight – they both became her), or the promise of academic survival with sleep, real meals and the return of his relished long, hot showers - it was the prospect of Vectors that re-animated him.

Madam Hooch was known to take only the very best into her signature flying class. Some years, it didn’t even take place because there weren’t enough ‘qualified’ (by her standards) students to support the class. If there was one cornerstone of the class that Mme. Hooch was most steadfast in upholding, it was her resolve that all of her students were handpicked by her based on demonstrated skill. It was truly a fete to be enrolled. Harry and Ron both knew it.

Feeding off of Harry’s excitement, Ron verbally rolled right over him in expounding what he thought the class was going to be like. The rapid-fire exchange of between the two boys was dizzying. Coming up for air, Harry felt compelled to look at his briefly forgotten friend. She had her back twisted away from them and seemed awfully intent on working out the kinks in an already straightened strap on her book bag. Not to mention that he caught her whispering, “Protego” over a piece of folded parchment before slipping between her books.

Passing the potatoes to Ron, Harry felt compelled to nudge her, “It’s only the first day of term.” Looking down at her, he gently added, “You haven’t even had to cast a Darning Spell on it yet. ”When did I hurt her feelings?

How does he do that? ”Are you?” More than once she thought the words that her tongue now gave form, “Do you have some kind of empathic ability that I don’t know about?”

Chancing a look at Ron to make sure he had the next ten seconds available without his best mate chiming in, “Only when it comes to you, Miss Granger.” Keeping his face as emotionally even as possible allowed him to be aware of her becoming… skittish? Realizing that he needed to offer some way out for her, “After ALL that we have been through, do you really need to ask something like that?” Skittish? Hmmm…number seven on the “List of Things to Ask Hermione” just appeared. Seeing her face relax, “What the blazes have you signed up for this year?”

Grateful for his teasing bringing them both back to a more familiar footing, Hermione filed Harry’s previous comment under “Things to Sort Out Later”. But her feelings were hurt. And Ron was being really disgusting in the way he kept shovelling food into his mouth. I’ll answer your question, just not in a way you’ll be expecting, “Every Friday afternoon I will have a meeting with some aspect of Hogwarts Operations.”

Another blasted bludger unseated him, “Huh?”

Unconsciously falling back on an old, bad habit, Hermione let her voice climb to that bossy, know-it all persona indicative of her younger, more insecure self, “You know. Someone who has something to do with how the school operates.” Blithely ignoring Ron’s heated glare, “Sometimes it will be with Dumbledore or the Head House Elf.“ Not quite suppressing her distaste, “Even Argus Filch has set aside some time. Hagrid is on the list as well. He is the Keeper of Keys and Grounds, you know.” Sliding her shoulder strap diagonally along the length of her body, “It all goes with being Head Girl,” and waved her hand in the air as if that were enough to explain it all.

Ron’s clenching jaw muscles had nothing to do with the food that remained on his plate. He HATED when she did that - dredging up the spectre of a ten year-old girl that he honestly associated with being a nightmare instead of the beautiful, vibrant, AMAZING individual he knew she was. The dying embers of his temper began to smoulder, ”Listen, Hermio-NINNY.” Striking back before he knew he wanted too, “Just because I’m a lowly Prefect and not bloody Head Boy…” No one could mistake the sarcasm that punctuated every word.

Interrupting him was part of her strategy to purposely invoke some semblance of Ron’s ultra-wonderful, EVEN-MORE-formidable-than-her-son-when-she-is-in-a-tizzy mother. Recalling Molly Weasley’s scathing words to Ron she had enclosed inside his first Howler way back in Second Year, ”Ronald Weasley! How dare you!”

Harry surreptitiously moved the container of syrup beyond her reach. He’s in for it now.

Hermione knew that goading Ron in public was only going to escalate their argument. The view she had of his ears turning red only served to prove her theory. But damn it, their lack of interest hurt her. The classes she had this year were just as prestigious as their precious Vectors. And Ron’s focus on stuffing his face rather than giving a passing thought to someone he called best friend made him just as guilty as Harry. Who at least made some kind effort… at something I shied away from…why did I do that?

The likelihood of shattering a plate didn’t even enter his mind as his fork clattered onto his plate. Ron tried to hide a twinge of discomfort as he shifted in his seat. Trying to gain better leverage he crossed his legs at the ankle and wove his hands around his upper arms, “How dare I? Have you taken a listen to yourself?”

Harry resigned himself to cold cereal. The flagon of juice he set down where neither one of them had easy access.

Parroting Ron, “Heard myself?” Hermione her followed ‘question’ with a ‘Ronald-Weasley-is-so-bloody-thick’, withering tone, “How can I when my ears are full of you talking about yourself? Hmmm? Answer me that!”

Snapping back with the first thing that came to mind, Ron pressed the tips of his fingers flat against the tabletop, “You’re just jealous!”

“I’m jealous of you?” Her tone indicated that she was anything but.

Appreciating the way the milk in his cereal bowl changed colour didn’t alter the fact that lunch couldn’t come soon enough for Harry.

Guilt was starting to eat away at the edges of Ron’s indignation. This is one of my two best friends!

Hermione felt her rigid posture unlock by degrees. This is not how I wanted to spend the first day of our last year of school with my best friends. Like I don’t have enough to do without doing this with Ron. Chewing on the inside of her lip, even if I did draw first blood.

Raising his wrists, Ron smacked his palms against the table, “Yeah!”

I don’t want to do this. Scrambling for a way where they both could save face, Ron baited Hermione one last time, “You only WISH you had my good looks!”

Not missing the “out” he had opened for her, Hermione began to brush invisible lint from her robes, “You caught me. My secret is out in the open.” Resettling her book bag and leaning her chin on her palm while propping her elbow just right of her plate, Hermione let her voice take on a tone of whimsy, “I wish I were the Casanova that all the girls talk about.”

”I may have kissed a few girls,” Ron ran out of face for the huge grin he was now sporting. Skewering Harry with a glance that just dared him to allude to their…escapades abroad, “But am I really compared to Casanova?”

Something sexy and dangerous glinted in the back of Hermione’s eyes.

Wotcher Ron! It was times like these Harry wished he had been born with the gift of telepathy. She’s setting you up!

“What I said, Mr. Weasley – if you were paying attention – was that if I had your looks than I would be the class Casanova and all the girls would want to be with me.” Putting a far-off, dreamy look on her face, “Hmmm.” Opting to give the boys a ‘clue’ as to which student she was thinking about, Hermione imitated her cat’s purr before sighing, “Snogging Lavender Brown.”

Never under estimate the recovery power of an adolescent male, especially when there is an allusion to girl-on-girl contact. Conjuring a mental image of a dishevelled Hermione sneaking out of a near-empty broom cupboard wearing the same shade lip-gloss as Lavender only improved Harry’s…. Patronus. The turtle is out of his shell. Thinking back over the past six years he’s been at Hogwarts, it had been five years since Harry last begrudged the mandate that robes must be worn at all times while classes were in session.

Ron’s elation superseded any “protection” his robes had the potential to provide. Just as Slytherins knew that the best lies were framed with truths, he knew that the best barbs were equally as well equipped. Raising a hand to his temple, he gave Hermione his best-seated salaam before making his way to the lovely – and apparently enamoured - Miss Brown.

Having been Hermio-Road Kill not less than twenty minutes earlier, he knew she wasn’t done with Ron yet. Compelled to say something for his unsuspecting mate, he locked his green eyes with those of a cinnamon hue, “Is it true?

Hermione merely shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head in affirmation.

“Will he be damaged?” What isn’t she saying?

As she looked at Harry in the eyes, a truly wicked grin promised, “Not permanently.”

Harry had two thoughts competing for attention as a triumphant Ron returned to the table. The piece of paper she tried to hide from him was one.

“Guess who has a date for Hogsmeade this weekend!?” Returning to his friends, an overjoyed Ron reached for the hand of the person who had rejuvenated his social life, “Hermione?” Seeing her disentangle herself from the table his voice rose a bit with uncertainty and disappointment, “Leaving already?”

“Oh, I’ve been here a while”, she replied airily, a bit of lilt in her voice.

Why do I have a funny feeling that she is NOT referring to this morning? He watched her intently as she circled the end of the table only to sit down again. This time, it was next to Ron and straddling the bench.

“Hermione?” He knew that he sounded confused. In fact, he was actually baffled. She may be one of my two best friends, but what will I say to Lavender if she gets any closer?

Harry had no idea what she began to whisper in Ron’s ear. Clever girl; she eliminated the possibility of lip reading by cupping her fingers around both her mouth and his ear. All he had to go on was what crossed Ron’s face. And the sidelong look she gave him before rising from the breakfast table.

Knowing that her morning’s work was done, Hermione gave Ron her sauciest wink before sashaying toward the door. Gambling on both boys gaping in her wake than at each other, she grabbed an unsuspecting Seamus by the arms and swung them both so that her mates would have an unobstructed view.

“What ever I did, let me know so I can do it again!” Seamus called to one of the hottest girls in school who had just kissed him unexpectedly on the cheek.

Watching Hermione flounce her way out of the Great Hall, stopping only once to blow a kiss in Ron’s direction, was only slightly upstaged by Ron collapsing his neck and shoulder muscles and dropping his head in a full-on Table Implant.

“Ron.” What he desperately wanted to shake out of his best friend was: What did she say to you? He had to settle for, “Are you okay?”

First the shaving cream, and then… and now…this day is going from bad to worse. He could barely form words. Let alone bob his head in acknowledgement to Harry’s hail.

For his part, Harry had a hard time understanding what Ron was trying to say in the moments following what appeared to be abject humiliation. The red head had yet to pull his nose free from the tabletop. His forearms pillowed his forehead. Harry had to work to put together the two syllables that translated to, “I’m doomed”. Somehow Harry thought he heard something that resembled, ”Girl is a menace,” and a barely discernable, “Needs to come with a warning label”.

Walking the fine line between wanting to be supportive and needing to slake his curiosity, “Buck up mate. Can’t be all bad?’

Ron lifted his head only enough to bring his eyebrows and eyes above his wrists. The last time he felt like this was when he discovered he had played almost an entire Quidditch match with a strategically placed rip - which occurred when he was trying to get out of the path of an on-coming rogue bludger - in his Quidditch trousers. Correction; I have been side swiped by a rogue Hermione.

Harry groped for something upbeat to talk about – as a diversionary tactic so that he could ask his best mate what Hermione had said before a Second Ice age set in, “At least you have a date this weekend.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Harry heard his mate groan loud and piteously. I think even his eyebrows paled.

”Hermione said …” This is going to hurt…

Harry couldn't remember the last time that girl failed to make good on a promise.

“Hermione said,” drawing a much-needed fortifying breath, Ron was slow in letting it go. Once this gets around, I’m a goner.

Harry’s eagerness tripped over his impatience to hear his friend’s tale, “You said that already.”

“Hold on. This isn’t easy you know.” Ron knew his tone was more like his pernickety older brother but he didn’t feel the need to apologize to his friend for being Percy-ish. After all - I’m not going to live this down for a long time.

Swallowing his pride, Ron dropped his voice in a vain effort to prevent the inevitable, “That on the train ride back to school, all the girls participated in a school-wide poll. When all the votes were tallied, that my arse rated within the Top 5 and she wanted to warned me that I could compromise my standing – if I ‘broke my arse’ – AGAIN between now and Saturday.” How could she know I lost to Seamus? Trying to think of a way to patch his ego, his mind turned in a different direction. Even if I did know, what good would it do? For that matter, how does Hermione do anything that Hermione does?

Prideful disbelief would be good words to describe Harry’s reaction to what just came out of Ron’s mouth. And relief over the fact that Seamus would not be engaged in a conversation later on in the day that neither he nor the Irishman would enjoy pertaining to Hermione kiss. ”She said that?”

Number Six on “The List of Things to Ask Hermione” has just been bumped in favour of ascertaining my standing.

Unfolding his arms only to press the heels of his hands against his cheekbones, there was no way Ron could meet the gaze he knew Harry was levelling at him. Sulkily directing his voice to the tabletop, “Well, I did clean it up a bit before repeating.”

The laugh that had been tickling the back of Harry’s throat could not be caged any longer. Outright knee slapping, all-encompassing cachinnations was avoided. Barely. Calming down enough to offer a now-smirking Ron consolation. Which he delivered man style, “Ronald, my friend - you have just been s p a n k e d.”

“With my skivvies down around my knees and my fingers wrapped around my ankles.” The truth hurts.

Dismissing his soggy cereal with a grunt, Harry tossed a casual, “Ready when you are,” to his Hermio-Nilated friend.

Pushing his plate away, Ron knew he must be on the road to recovery if he was contemplating the status of his breakfast. Eggs never do taste the same after they get cold.

Matching his gait to Ron’s, both boys tramped their way out of the Hall. Gaining the corridor, the best indication Harry had that Ron was coming back to himself was being on the receiving end of a particularly bruising blow to the soft spot just below his triceps after he draped his arm across the taller boy’s shoulders and asked, “Was it as good for you as it was for her?”

Sliding into an easy going smile that kicked up the corners his eyes, Ron mockingly pleaded with Harry, “Promise not to tell Hermione I needed a fag?”

Harry eyed the corridor for a path of least resistance before stopping Ron with a hand on his shoulder. With a look of wry sincerity, Harry offered the only assurance Ron would believe, “Just as long as you don’t tell her that I met you down at the Quidditch Pitch to have one of my own.”

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.

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.

Caught Off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts Chapter 5

The Grasshopper and the Ant

Author's Note: This chapter was beta-ed wonderfully by John – Thank YOU!!! And to my very dear friend Km and the Wizard Alorkin – You are so, so fabulous. And to PuppyKisses – your encouragement is so, so appreciated – I love hearing from you! To a very sweet person – Lorel – I tried to e-mail you a thank you for sharing this story with your husband – and following/enjoying the story yourself, please know that your encouragement was the primary reason WHY I re-published the re-worked/beta-ed chapters…. Please don’t give up on me – I PROMISE that I am working on the next chapters.

Let me know what you all think! I am a HUGE APPROVAL JUNKIE!

* * * * * * *

Well before dawn, Monday October 20^th

Now how can that be?

Harry was stumped.

Thinking of other possibilities only ended in more questions. Rubbing eyes that had been focused on a monstrous Potions essay for far too long, there was no ready answer. What the bloody hell is going on? Don't tell me that this has developed some sort of wonky-short-circuit!

Deciding to try again, he reached for his wand, said the incantation, “Mischief Managed.” and gave the antique parchment a tap. All identifying markings and moving labels vanished – as if they had never been drawn – when the paper folded itself along well-scored creases.

Maybe I didn't see what I thought I just saw because I am so bloody tired? Grasping for a reasonable explanation, he didn’t realize he actually asked himself the question aloud until he heard his own words sound in his ears.

Inhaling a steadying breath – more to shelve his frustration rather than to pump more oxygen into his system – Harry made sure he spoke his next words as clearly as his most perfect diction would allow, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Jabbing the tip of his wand at the folded parchment, the familiar salutation materialized: Messrs Wormtail, Moony, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present...

For the past year, the Marauder's Map had called the inside of the roof of Harry's four-poster bed ‘home’. Thinking back to what Moody and Tonks had said about ‘hiding things in plain sight’ as one of the ‘best defensive moves ANYONE could make’ as one maintained ‘constant vigilance’, it seemed like the most natural place to 'hide' one of his grandest assets.

Anyone could rifle through his trunk (Ginny – Second Year), pick apart his clothes (Ron – looking for a jumper that HADN’T been knit by his mum), or scatter his books and other personal belongings from one end of Hogwarts to the other (again – Second Year – Ginny). It had been a moment of wiliness which led to camouflaging the map as list of made up fictitious names of person’s who had slept in his bed over the past century. Not to mention who in their right mind would think to look up in his bed for the map? OR – for that matter – who would know the spell that would reveal the map in the first place? Let alone (beyond Hermione and Ron) know the words to trigger the map into revealing all that was Hogwarts and everyone that was in and around the immediate castle grounds.

It was a perfect hiding spot. He could lie in bed and just look at the comings and goings with Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville playing Exploding Snap, Wizard’s Chess or rating each other’s expelling of bodily gasses (so far, Neville had scored the loudest, longest burp to date which earned him an 8.5 score on the Bodily Sounds-o-Metre) without anyone being none the wiser. Or, if he wanted to 'work on his project' and needed to use the map, he could pull his drapes, cast a Silencing Charm and not be interrupted. Or… or… he could just drift…off...for just a few... hours. After all… Must get up extra early to meet...

“Hey Har-ree! Time to rise and shi-ney!”

“What?”

“It's time to go.” Hearing nothing but muted rustling, Ron couldn’t resist plaguing his best mate. “Whatcha doing in there?”

A muffled answer came from behind the privacy drapes, “What do you think I'm doing?” Damn! – Forgot the Silencing Charm.

An innuendo heavy snicker punctuated Ron's reply. “Makin' like MacMillian?”

“Ron – you’re a prat!” It’s too blasted early for another round of ‘Arse-inine Assonations’, Harry sleepily grumbled to himself.

The drapes had yet to part, but the sound of Harry shifting his weight around on his bed was all that Ron could hear beyond the lame insult winged in his direction. “Is that all you've got? Talk about not having a 'comeback at the ready'.”

“I'll be there in a minute, you big, red git.”

“Mate – perhaps you didn't apply yourself as completely as you should have this summer if you're only going to be a minute,” Ron insinuated.

The sound of a zipper being pulled into place did not bolster Harry’s defence. Nor did the derisive look that was cast at the Gryffindor Keeper when his Captain finally emerged wearing only his Quidditch cords and reaching for his jersey and uniform jumper.

“Blimey Harry – you keep that up and your arm will be too tired to reach for the Snitch,” murmured a sleepy Neville before he rolled over and pulled his blankets up and over his head, completely cocooning himself in woolly warmth.

“Damn Harry – Neville's right. I never thought 'bout that. Should I collect you a sling or something?” Ron knew that a sleepy Harry was nothing short of a sitting target. One could say almost anything to the lad before he woke up properly – a.k.a his morning workout. The trick was knowing how far one COULD go before Sleepy Harry became Retribution Boy when his morning workout entailed trouncing whomever had been razzing him. “Perhaps a trip to Madame Pomfrey's for a Forever Cold Pak?” Feigning motherly concern, Ron attempted to ‘examine’ the arm in question. “You haven't sprained anything, have you?” The face and accompanying hand gesture his best mate sent his way answered the Keeper’s question.

Normally, Ron mused, the boy got up without a hitch. But it had been a heck of a weekend. An essay for Snape, an oral presentation for History of Magic, and a Quidditch practice that ran over – fit in among all the other things seventeen year old males do to keep themselves occupied. Last night, Ron heard Harry crawl into his four-poster sometime after midnight but well before the larks ever dreamed of rousing themselves. And now, his best mate was reaping the benefits of staying up so late. It wasn't my idea to get up BEFORE the bloomin' birds in order to take a couple of turns 'round the Quidditch Pitch before our run.

Looking down and contemplating whether he was capable of donning his trainers, Harry felt sleep threaten to overtake him. But, it had been his idea. It was because of him that Ron and Dean were up, dressed and ready to go while he was still turning over the events of a previous night – when he was in an empty Common Room with a sleeping Hermione, reading Shakespeare aloud – with his eyes closed. With his shoulders and head resting on his pillow. With his blanket pulled snugly around him... Very much like...

Yanking his jersey into place with a bit more ferocity than necessary, Harry felt his good humour return.

Ron saw Harry disappear as a Gryffindor-coloured Quidditch jumper was pulled over his head. Retribution Boy shook black ‘bed-head’ hair free of the red and gold wool as round spectacles were reached for and anchored around a pair of ears. And it was Retribution Boy who surged to his feet, laced up a pair of trainers and directed a truly mischief laden, eyebrow-arched, Sirius-channelled look his way.

Watching Harry look more like his father than the person he had been bunking with for the past six years, Ron knew that this morning was going to be outstanding. Seeing a sidelong glance aimed at Dean, Ron nodded in acknowledgement. All he had to do was keep the game 'in play'. After all – I haven't earned the title of Keeper based on my good looks alone!

Answering his friend’s call-to-arms with a challenge of his own, Ron egged Harry's Marauder-esque instincts. “I've got a ‘Snitch’ for you to catch!”

With that one sentence, three different events, in three different places – performed by three different individuals – all came together in one fluid, unspoken strategy.

Within three long strides, Ron reached for the dorm-room door and swung it wide. Harry and Dean rushed at Neville's sleeping form. Dean grabbed at Neville's knees and helped Harry turn the tall boy over and hoist Longbottom onto his shoulder. Once Harry was stabilized with a six-foot, seventeen year old ‘snitch” – who had his arse in the air and wrapped in his own blanket - draped over his shoulder, Dean waited for Harry to clear the threshold before descending the staircase after Weasley and Potter.

Bouncing down the stairs Harry made sure that Neville – while sufficiently padded by his blanket to not be harmed – was far from comfortable.

Muffled pleas for amnesty amid sleepily projected, “What did I do?” marked every time Harry's foot landed heavily on a stair.

Gaining the Common Room and approaching the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry didn't break his stride when he questioned Neville, “So – what was that you were saying about my arm, Nevvey-pooh?”

A healthy boost from his shoulder, chest and arm muscles easily resettled the ‘Snitch’ he carried. Giving Longbottom a hearty clap on the rump, “What's that Neville? Can't understand you, mate – must be that blanket you’ve got wrapped ‘round yourself. Perhaps we should do something about that, hmmm?” Heading down towards the Moving Staircases, Harry offered one more hint to his friend as to a possible destination, “Let's see if we can make sure that you are truly appreciated by one and all. After all, I think it is HIGH time EVERYONE had a chance to see you as Dean, Ron, Seamus and I have over the years.”

With Ron trotting ahead as a look out and Dean bringing up the rear, the three man-boys and one ‘Gryffindor Burrito’ easily evaded any chance encounters from Mrs. Norris, Filch or any other professors who were about the castle. Especially since Harry and Dean both watched as Ron pulled out his wand, tapped the area he perceived Neville's head to be and whispered, “Soporifica.”

Harry snapped a surprised, but approving, look at the tall red head as he felt Neville suddenly become dead weight. That’ll keep Longbottom 'in play' but free from attracting any unwanted detentions – that’s my Keeper!

“Merlin, Ron – what did you do to him?” Dean was up for supporting a mate – but wanted to make sure Neville would be okay.

“It's just a spell – my brothers cast it on me loads of times. Mum nearly had kittens the first time. Blamed the twins when it was Bill’s doin’ all along. Anyway, it makes the person appear dead asleep. As if he had taken a sleeping draught,” Ron explained. Cavalierly.

The lack of guilt in Ron's voice was enough to convince Harry. “Gentlemen. In your esteemed opinion, where do you think I should release my Snitch?”

Number 14 on the list of ‘Things That Are Grand About Being Back In School' – having the capability to pick up on your mates’ “Brilliant Ideas” because they oh-so-closely mirror ones own.

* * * * * * *

The din of student chatter as the Houses assembled for breakfast faded to a dull roar as Prof. McGonagall concentrated. Swishing and flicking her wand, she whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa”. Several goblets floated into the air and hovered. Not taking her eyes off the suspended vessels, she sensed – rather than saw – her fellow teachers beginning to fall in around her.

“Well – any opinions?” Minerva regretted her choice of words as soon as they left her mouth. Now she could be standing in the Great Hall all day. And she had no one to blame but herself.

The clinking of a multitude of bangle-styled bracelets preceded a vague, singsong voice. “My senses are calling to me – from the beyond – telling me that...”

Minerva McGonagall had all she could do NOT to bring the goblets crashing down on the Divination professor's head. Instead, she satisfied her impatience with the scarf-bedecked, jewellery laden, patchouli drenched teacher by saying, “Sybill – I thought Madame Pomfrey warned you about being around too many people at one time?” Seeing Trelawney struggle to take in her meaning, Minerva levelled her gaze and attempted to clarify her meaning, “How it 'clouds your mind' and has the potential to impede your overall…health.”

Calling out to Hagrid – someone I know I can count on to have a viable point of view – Prof. McGonagall was slightly taken back when she didn't hear any answer to her hail.

“I saw him earlier this morning, rummaging around my wheelbarrows.” It was Prof. Sprout who supplied information on the gentle half-giant’s whereabouts. “Said he had a special treat in store for his first year students and wanted whatever plants and weeds I was going to compost – as long as there wasn’t anything poisonous in the mix was his caveat. I, of course, said yes. How could I not? Whatever he has…” Knowing Hagrid's propensity for the unusual and dangerous, Prof. Sprout offered her rationale for letting the Magical Creatures teacher dig through her throw-aways, “They're herbivores.”

“Be that as it may - ” What she wanted to say was that when it came to Hagrid and his lesson plans, anything could happen. And it usually does – was the Transfiguration teacher’s snarky postscript. Drawing a deep breath and only smelling perfumed dirt, Minerva fought against casting a cleansing charm on Trelawney. Counting to ten in Gaelic barely put a dent in her impatience – I need a distraction.

Scanning the room as best she could, Prof. McGonagall thought that she noticed a substantial lack of yellow-lined robes among the students. “Where are your Hufflepuffs, Sprout?

“Those dears.” Giving a hearty laugh, Prof. Sprout put a steadying hand on her friend's evergreen robes. “You see – they had a special House meeting last night.”

It was Mistress Sinistra, currently not assigned to oversee any House, who asked, “That's rather odd – isn't it?”

“Well, apparently someone said something to someone else, who ended up talking to so-and-so – you know how kids are. Anyway. The end result was that Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillian-”

“I have always seen great things in their future.” Prof. Trelawney's interjection, complete with her hands waving weirdly in the air, rang with the sound of true plausible deniability.

Silencing the flaky teacher with a look she generally reserved for errant students, Minerva gave her attention – and hence everyone else’s – back to Prof. Sprout. “Please. Continue.”

“I apologize for interrupting your conversation, Prof. McGonagall.” Headmaster Dumbledore smoothly cut his way through the group of teachers to stand by her side. “I believe that hanging the vessels just underneath the display of the House Standings would be most aesthetic. After all – if I am not mistaken – that is where the ‘Ratings of the Hooligans’ have always hung.”

Concurring with Albus, Minerva focused her concentration one more time. Affixing themselves to the stone wall, an effortless combination of wand angles and words on behalf of the Transfiguration professor and the goblets engorged, elongated, became transparent and were ‘at the ready’ for the first prank of the competition.

Mistress Sinistra, perusing the Great Hall with her own eyes, seemed impressed. “I think every student is at breakfast this morning.”

Stowing her wand, Prof McGonagall agreed with her assessment. “As well they should. This only happens once a year.” Turning to face her fellow teacher, “The students who will be graduating this year are of course curious and eager participants. The other classes are keen to see what the Hooligans facilitate so that they have some sort of gauge for the next year. As I have had more than one student explain over the years, ‘it would be a faux pas to be redundant’.”

Looking around them – it was obvious that some of the oldest tricks lived long lives. Saltcellars were being shaken into coffee mugs and teacups. Sugar bowls were being dipped into and sprinkled onto eggs and fried potatoes.

“You see my dear Sinistra? Don't you remember when YOU switched the sugar and salt labels down in the kitchens all those years ago? Now – it is a staple.” Chuckling to himself for his obvious pun, Dumbledore touched each of his staff members with his eyes before continuing, “That is performed every year courtesy of the House Elves.”

A delicate blush touched the Astronomy professor's cheek before she smoothly questioned, “And that is the same reason why said House Elves will be serving tartan-coloured eggs for the next two weeks, Head Girl McGonagall?”

“Well – that was some time ago.” Her Scottish burr became a bit more pronounced as she lilted her sentence with a very well pleased grin and a wryly-arched brow. “As if I could have foreseen anyone deciphering my clan's particular colours.”

Turning his twinkling blue eyes towards his Deputy Head Mistress, Dumbledore quickly thought back to the time when Prof. McGonagall, Transfiguration professor, Gryffindor matriarch and Deputy Headmistress was simply Miss McGonagall. I had forgotten how you were caught, my dear Minerva. Reluctantly switching to another subject – that was of a similar vein, “Professor McGonagall.”

I know that look. Oh Merlin, what has happened now? “Yes, Headmaster?”

“I know that it is difficult to see through this throng.” Nodding his head in the direction where a sea of heads was now settling at their respective House Tables, “But, if I am not mistaken, it appears that you are missing a student.” Turning his head and looking over his half-moon glasses, Prof. Dumbledore directed his consideration at the Herbology professor. “And it appears that you are missing your entire House.”

Good-naturedly waving her hands before McGonagall, Sinistra and Trelawney, Prof. Sprout picked up her tale where she had left off. “All I was going to say was that the students devised some sort of 'Hooligan Survival Strategy'. When they told me about it... well, I was dealing with a very colicky Fanged Geranium at the time and I did not give them my complete attention. But I do recall it having something to do with 'safety in numbers'.”

With her fellow teachers either caught up in Sprout’s tale or scavenging for pulled plants behind the Herbology greenhouses, Prof. McGonagall collected her briefcase and made her excuses. Thankfully, no one tried to engage her in a last minute comment – except Dumbledore. Who hadn’t said a word, but still had that gleam in his eye that read: I am looking forward to hearing about this later. Knowing Albus for as long as she had, the difficulty didn’t lie in understanding his meaning. What was worth pondering was what he knew and what she was going to discover.

Approaching the end of the Hall, Minerva was surprised to see the massive doors open of their own accord. That is – until she was respectfully greeted by a trio of Gryffindors. One of which was responsible for opening the doors and holding them ajar.

“Morning, Professor.”

“Lovely day – isn’t Professor?”

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley – good day to you. Mr. Thomas, thank you for the door service.” Pausing for just a moment, Minerva McGonagall hadn’t been assigned to Gryffindor House for nothing. Eying each one of the boys with an expectant gaze, she asked, “Is there any-thing you three wish to tell me?”

In true Gryffindor fashion, three heads looked anywhere but at each other. She had to give Mr. Potter credit – he had the presence of mind to look introspective. As if she had asked what the meaning of life was and he wanted to make sure he chose the right words to form his answer. As for Mr. Thomas, returning her fixed stare unflappably, he simply shook his head. Mr. Weasley – I wonder if you know that you have outmatched your brothers on the ‘I’m Too Charming to Be Punished’ scale. The Keeper had screwed up his eyebrows in mock-concentration and began ticking off a silent, extensive list on his fingers.

“Nope – I think that you pretty much have a current inventory.” Ron, having run out of fingers, ‘reassured’ his House matriarch.

“Can’t think of one thing, Professor,” Dean could help but wing a ‘thank you’ to whomever ‘discovered’ semantics.

Pretending to come out of his reverie, Harry flashed his Head of House a “I-know-that-you-suspect-us-but-I’m-not-going-to-tell-you-and-you-are-going-to-have-to-find-out-on-your-own’ grin. You asked about something, Prof. McGonagall. You did not ask about someone.

The nursery rhyme, ‘Thee Blind Mice’ popped into her head so suddenly that she had to strive to keep a straight face. Giving the dark haired boy and his two companions a once-over – implying that she knew that they HAD to have been up to something – she waited for a moment before offering the lads something constructive to do with their substantial talents. “Have any of you seen to Ms. Granger?”

“No – not yet. We came down earlier and she wasn’t here. Doubled-backed to the Tower, but apparently we had just missed her there as well. Why?” Ron knew that Prof McGonagall rarely said anything without having some sort of secondary meaning. Whether she was in a classroom, presiding over an Order meeting or standing in a doorway evaluating three of her charges.

“Professor.” Harry’s face lost a bit of it’s teasing quality. The fact that McGonagall had said ‘seen to’ rather than ‘have you seen’ proved that he and his mates weren’t the only ones proficient in word games.

“I believe I last saw our Head Girl – in a less than quiet verbal exchange – with our Head Boy.” Re-directing the attention of her seventh years, Prof. McGonagall shrewdly nodded in the direction where a knot students comprised of several Slytherins and one Gryffindor stood. As well as a few token Ravenclaws, who were hanging onto the outermost edge of the fray trying to get a listen. Inferring her meaning using only six words, “I’ll leave you to it then,” more question than departing address, Minerva McGonagall headed down the corridor and towards her classroom.

Sparing her a farewell glance, Dean turned towards Harry and Ron. Who were already on the move and walking shoulder to shoulder.

Between the three of them, the boys made quick work of the gathering crowd. Taps on shoulders, a quietly spoken word – or in some cases – a deliberately placed glare – effectively dealt with the Ravenclaws and the ‘more curious-than-militant’ Slytherins. What gave Harry, Ron and Dean pause, as they neared Malfoy and Hermione, was hearing Malfoy telling his fellow House-mates to ‘sod-off’. Literally.

“I mean it McNair. Sod. Off.” Draco had yet to get it through the thick-skulled boy, who stood just behind his left shoulder, that his presence wasn’t necessary.

“Malfoy – I told you I would take care of it.” Hermione’s voice took on the low-pitched calm voice that was, as any Hogwarts student knew all too well (either by experience or by legend), the calm before Hurricane Hermione. “I will speak to-”

“Speak to whom? Just trying to understand those - ,” the pug-nosed girl shuddered with contempt. “All they are fit to say is ‘Yes sir’ and ‘No sir’. That’s it.” Pansy Parkinson’s snobby nasal voice sounded like fingernails scratching a blackboard to Draco’s ears. “Perhaps the reason why YOU identify with the House Elves on such a personal level-“

“Pansy – go sit down. NOW!” All I need is for this to turn into some sort of demeaning, name-calling mud-slinging session. Tall enough to see over the majority of the dwindling number of heads surrounding he and his female counterpart, Draco couldn’t miss Potty, Weasel and their friend quietly dispersing the crowd. Just great. Putting his most bored aire to the test, Draco made it a point to glance around the Hall. A handy ruse when one needs to make eye contact in a clandestine fashion, Draco mused.

Hermione saw the three boys come up and thin out the majority. While she was glad to see her friends – it was too early in the morning to have to deal with Knights in Hogwarts Robes, waving a bloody standard and rallying around an over-blown bloody sense of bloody chivalry. Especially when it was wielded by friends who bloody felt the need to ‘ride to the bloody rescue’ of a ‘damsel’ NOT in bloody ‘distress’.

Knowing that it was important (on many levels) to maintain co-ownership of the scene, she ignored Ron’s deceptively casual, evaluating posture. Which included taking up a defensive flanking position. Or Dean’s physically overbearing presence bringing up her other side. Harry’s pervasive self-possession was more difficult for her to set aside. A certain dark-haired man/boy who truthfully matched – fibre for fibre - Draco’s cool sense of self-confidence with his own sang-froid. Just great. Stuck between a rock and a hard place – was the catch phrase that sprang into her mind.

“Mal-F-O-Y.” Drawing out the last syllable of his name was a subterfuge. What she really asked her counterpart was: Do we have to have an audience? Switching to a more personal note, Hermione could help but realize: now I truly know what it means to keep friends close and ‘enemies’ closer.

Two can play this game, my little Gryffindor-ette.

“G-R-A-N-G-E-err.” Draco could all but see her mind moving. With McNair and Parkinson standing so close, there was not a lot he could do. I have already instigated damage control. That was his silent response to her question. On the surface, it was obvious what was going on and why it was important to her to do what she was doing. He couldn’t help but wonder… Is there a subtext at work here? Perhaps some dynamic he might have over-looked between the Gruesome Threesome? Or was there something else? And just because he was more than a little intrigued didn’t mean that he was going to pave her way with lollipops and roses. Giving her a smirk that really had no meaning, he let her make what she wanted too out of it. At least she is never boring.

Hermione saw Draco’s lips curl. He’s going to make me work for what I want. Now she had four people to manage. As for Pansy, McNair and… Zabini? Watching the handsome Italian saunter up, she put those three Slytherins out of her mind. After all, those are Draco’s people and his responsibility. She had enough to deal with already. Especially, since they can’t know that they are being handled.

“Pansy – didn’t you say just last night – that you were going to have breakfast with me?”

Draco silently congratulated Blaise. His fellow House mate played his hand perfectly by letting his voice drop to assume a slightly wounded timbre. Which had the effect Draco was counting on – hence the purpose of the ‘summoning’ look he launched only a moment ago.

“Why Blaise – I thought you had forgotten all about me.” Pansy – all thoughts of Hermione, school robes and House Elves banished for the moment by the arrival of the gorgeous Slytherin – turned and looked prettily up at the tall boy. Re-directing her gaze, “I was just saying,” her pug nose sneering at the brunette standing a few feet away, “That some people…”

“And here I thought you would do anything to spend some time with me.” Blaise shot Draco a ‘you-are-seriously-going-to-owe-me’ look before giving the snobby Parkinson a regal nod, “Then I should leave you to enjoy breakfast by myself.”

Plastering – what by all accounts resembled anything BUT – a ‘come-hither’ look on her face, Pansy reached for the sleeve of Zabini’s robe before she said, “If you must insist on the p-l-e-a-s-u-r-e of my company, my dear Blaise then the l-e-a-s-t I can do...”

Letting the by-play work it’s self out, Hermione set her own pieces in motion.

With that done, she cast a specific look at Dean – the more easily swayed of the three – and sent him a message: I need to do this my way.

Not liking what he was seeing but deciding that Hermione knew best when it came to these things, Dean gave his fellow Gryffindor a nod of understanding. Addressing Mr. Immovable, Dean good-humouredly said, “Hey Ron – let’s get some breakfast.” Dean touched his gaze to Ron’s glower. Come on mate – trust her. She knows what she’s doing.

Not looking at either Harry or Dean, but eying the Slytherin males with equal repugnance Ron spoke low and smoothly. “If I eat now – I will only be hungry later.” In other words: there is now way I am going anywhere – not without her in tow and these guys sent to their tables.

Shifting his position so that Ron would unconsciously turn in his direction, Dean countered. “If need be – we can always get you a snack later.” And made sure his red-headed friend saw his deliberate exchange with Malfoy, Zabini and McNair. Which translated to: If need be – we can always pick this up later. But here is not the place, and now is not the time.

Watching McNair shift uncomfortably as Zabini led Parkinson away, Harry could feel all the different undercurrents flowing around him – even if he couldn’t identify them all. He was wise enough to notice Hermione’s growing temper and the fact that Dean was looking to balance out the two sides as the two Slytherins made their excuses to Malfoy. Before he could start to pull apart different threads, Ginny and – Luna Lovegood? – had closed in on them. Where did they come from?

“Morning Dean.” Ginny, by planting her hand on Dean’s arm, accomplished what all the undertones could not. It broke the tension between the boys. Well – all but the Head Boy’s and Head Girl’s.

A sincere smile broke across the Londoner’s face at the sight of his girlfriend. Placing a chaste peck on her cheek, “Morning.”

“I knocked on your door this morning,” the pretty red-head explained. Deliberately ignoring everyone but Dean, she put a knowing smile on her face. “To see if you were interested in having breakfast together.” Pointing to the blonde-haired person standing just to her right, “I didn’t find you so I made other plans.”

Draco could see McNair squirming in his robes. It was common knowledge that McNair had more than a crush on the nasally voiced Slytherin. And, between the cutesy display going on between the Gryffindor and the Weaslette, and way Zabini is pouring more than ‘tea’ into Pansy’s ‘cups’, his jealousy must be reaching it’s breaking point. I really must remember to compensate Zabini for doing such an ugly job so well.

Still only having eyes for her boyfriend, Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder with a well practiced lift of her chin. “Dean – do you think that you can handle the company of two beautiful ladies or do you think you might need a hand?”

Feeling a pair of brown eyes suddenly turn on him, it was a rather pointed look fired from Ginny that snapped Ron’s attention from where he was keeping an eye on McNair and re-directed his gaze to his almost as sneaky sister. Who just happened to have the girl he ploughed into the previous Friday standing in the wings.

Trapped between his good manners, hormones (after all, Luna is a right pretty bird) and the desire to protect his ‘other sister’, Ron had to compromise. Clapping a capable hand lightly on Hermione’s shoulder, he spoke over her head and addressed Harry and Malfoy at the same time, “It would be a shame if I found myself needing a mid-morning pick me up.” To Malfoy – the threat was all but spelled out. To Harry – it meant that if he was needed – he wouldn’t be far away. And, with that being said, he completely changed his tone of voice as he turned to face his sister. “Ginny – as if that knuckle dragger you call a boyfriend could manage keeping two such lovelies entertained at the same time.” Letting her lead him by the elbow while Dean escorted Luna to the Gryffindor House table, the more he thought about it, the more Ron was convinced that the “Top Ten Most Embarrassing Ginny Moments’ should settle the score nicely.

Tossing a caustic, “Ever the gentleman – my brother,” to the masses, Ginny sighed deeply. Expelling the tension that had seeped into her just by standing near the two camps, she turned and appreciated her brother on many different levels. One of which included accepting that Ron would – at the very least – dredge up ‘Embarrassing Ginny Stories’ as payback for drawing him away from his two best friends. Thinking about her ‘seventh’ brother and ‘second’ sister, she was thankful that she entered the Hall when she did. Looking to put off the ‘Did I ever tell you about the time when Ginny…’ for at least a few moments, the youngest Weasley went on the offensive. “Ron – tell me why no one but a dishevelled Seamus answered your door? I think I would like to hear about your morning.” Looking at her friend as Luna absently smoothed a length of moon pale hair, Ginny straightened her back and conversationally challenged, “I would bet a trip to Honeydukes that our morning-“

“I wouldn’t wager anything more than a bag of Chocolate Frogs, love.” Dean said, interrupting Ginny as he waited for the girls to take their seats before he and Ron settled.

Letting Dean and Ron punctuate the retelling of “What Do You Do With a Six Foot Snitch?” with sound effects and voice impersonations; Ginny and Luna shared a smile. Of which Ginny took a chance and tried to share with Hermione. Who at that split second was looking at her watch. Despite still being caught up in some sort of drama-of-the-moment.

I bet she doesn’t even realize how many times a day she looks at her watch. Even though she had done all that she could for her ‘sister’, again Ginny was grateful for her timing. If she hadn’t run into Luna in the Breezeway when she did - I would have missed Hermione’s signal altogether.

Lowering her wrist, Hermione knew that she had had enough. Enough subtexts, enough by-plays – enough of enough. With McNair, Dean, Ron, Pansy and Zabini effectively dealt with… I have more to do this morning than dwell on the wash cycle of bloomin’ robes. And, more to the point, this particular interaction with Draco has ended in a draw. He managed his camp and she handled hers. The morning was winging and there was a whole day yet to go.

“Draco – I will solve YOUR problem.”

Turning to Harry, she quickly thought of something that would save him face and not compromise the tenuous hold she had on her temper. “And I will SOLVE your problem – later.”

Silencing the retorts that were about to be fired from each boy’s mouths, she ‘channelled’ Prof. McGonagall. “You.” Addressing Draco, “I will speak to you as soon as I have figured this mess out. Preferably in my office. I do not want another public spectacle. And as for you,” giving Harry a three-quarters, sidelong look, “I will see you in Potions.” Preventing Draco from getting the last word, “The BOTH of you in Potions.”

Watching her effectively clear anyone out her path with nothing but a commanding stare as she strode out of the Great Hall, Harry had to ask Draco to repeat his question if Malfoy expected him to answer properly.

“I wasn’t talking to you – I was asking a rhetorical question. But, seeing as how you heard me… Does Granger always have to have the last word?” Noting that no one noticed that Draco neither lost nor won this latest round with the Head Girl, his fascination was some what dispersed. Only to be replaced by… Severely ending that train of thought, Draco re-visited their exchange. So much for winning this round. We both took hits and neither Granger nor I came out on top.

Deciding that the threads of what had just happened was better deciphered when there were eggs and sausages on one’s plate, Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Generally speaking – yes. She usually has the best things to say.” About to turn away, Harry chanced a civilized question to Malfoy. “What started this?

Choosing to tell Potter was no big concession on Draco’s part. He would find out anyway from the Hogwarts Gossip Mill. “There is some complication with the laundry schedule. Particularly as it pertains to Slytherin House.”

“And why are you not dealing with this personally, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Professor Snape – I didn’t see you there.” It wasn’t that Draco wasn’t glad to see his Head of House – it was just too damn early.

“Evidently.” Turning to the student who failed to acknowledge the presence of a teacher, he took special gratification in stating, “Mr. Potter. I trust your essay will be satisfactory.” Reaching into his cashmere and silk robes and withdrawing a rolled length of parchment tied with Gryffindor colours, Prof. Snape offered it to the dark-haired seventh year. “Interesting, isn’t it? Prof. McGonagall stopped me in the corridor just outside her classroom and insisted that I give this to you – personally. I, of course, having just come from the Class Superlatives Case where I attempted,” deliberately drawing out each syllable of the word, “To post the Slytherin House nominations, was glad to be of service to our Head Disciplinarian.”

Does everyone play word games around here? Instead of asking that question, Harry merely accepted the parchment and hoped he could get away before pride in pulling off his stunt gave him away. “My essay will be waiting for you on your desk.”

Done what was asked of him, Severus turned his attention to his Head Boy. “Mr. Malfoy – perhaps we should discuss…”

Being done with Potter – for the moment – Draco had no choice but to fall in step with Prof. Snape as they separated from the Gryffindor. Sliding into explanation-mode, Draco began, “You see, sir…”

Whatever Snape and Malfoy were discussing fell from Harry’s ears as the Gryffindor and the two Slytherins went in different directions.

Sitting down between Ginny and Luna, who had claimed seats across the table from Dean and Ron, Harry pulled the apart the knot that tied the parchment and unfurled it. And turned the colour of pride.

Stretching his long legs their full length underneath the table, Ron inquired, “What did ‘Slime-erus’ want with you?”

“Yeah mate – what gives?” Dean parroted.

Ron pre-empted Harry’s hesitant look. “We’re one step ahead, mate. We’ve already told the girls.”

“I thought someone wasn’t here,” Ginny giggled as she looked up from spreading her napkin across her lap.

Eager to see what would put a smile on his best friend’s face – especially after a near-confrontation with Draco Malfoy – Ron wanted to know what the parchment read.

Clearing his throat dramatically, Harry began to read the precisely formed, flowing script.

Misters Potter, Weasley and Thomas,

As we have already exchanged morning pleasantries,

I would like to express my gratitude to three such up-standing Gryffindors.

Mr. Filch has expressed, on numerous occasions, his continuing success in

enforcing the ‘No Magic In the Corridors’ rule. It has been brought to my attention

that so much of his time is spent devoted to upholding the school’s edicts that

he has encountered some time-management difficulties.

Fulfilling my duties as Deputy Headmistress, I of course offered my – by extension,

YOUR – services. The least of which entails assisting our devoted Caretaker in

performing the many duties that his lack of time and man-power impedes.

Of which he will relay – what I have assured him would be – your collective

enthusiastic work ethics directly to myself.

Mr. Longbottom, while grateful for earning the Class Superlative for

‘Student Most Likely to Be Suspended In The Air & Behind Glass’ ,

has been excused from accompanying yourselves as Mr. Filch’s private quarters

are tended to over the next two weeks. From what I have been made to understand,

by way of Mr. Longbottom, Mrs. Norris is over-due for a serious grooming session.

Yours in Gryffindor Pride,

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress and Disciplinarian

“So it is true – you all really DID put Neville behind glass.” Luna was incredulous.

“Yep – under the heading of-“ Prideful delight spread through every one of Ron’s freckles.

Eager to fill in any gaps that may have been left out of the re-telling, Harry organized his breakfast to the rhythm of interrupting his mate, “Most Likely to Be Suspended Behind Glass. The original concept was supposed to read: Most Likely to Be Suspended At Least Fifteen Feet in the Air at Least Once a Year.”

“But we ran out of room. SO – we ‘made do’ with what we had and kept the important parts.” Dean’s teeth gleamed within his wide grin.

Ginny kept stirring her tea as she reviewed the contents of Prof. McGonagall’s note. Oh Merlin!

Picking up on the mood change in his ‘sister’, Harry offered some reassurance. “Gin – we got off easy. So we gotta spend the next two weeks doing whatever lousy job Filch tosses our way.”

“He’s right, Gin. It could have been a lot worse.” Ron was more enthusiastic than apologetic, “Not only was she the one who FOUND Neville, despite asking us direct questions just prior to discovery, but I know that it wasn’t easy to get Neville out from behind that glass.”

“Especially after we cast Hermione’s ‘Impervious Charm’ on the display case.” Dean clunked his goblet with Harry’s.

Going on as if Dean hadn’t interjected, “And, we cannot shirk our duties because,” Reaching for the parchment, Ron turned it so that Ginny could read it with ease, “Not only has she made it a point to have Filch report directly to her – but more over-“

Apparently suffering from a bout of Interrupt-itis, Dean cut in one more time, “She called on our honour. That is why she signed off the way she did: Yours in Gryffindor Pride. And that is also why she-“

“DELIBERATELY had Snape place that parchment directly in my hands. Let alone that he knew what we did before McGonagall wrote that note.” Seeing the stunned looks on his friend’s faces, Harry replayed his encounter with Prof. Snape. When done, Harry offered one more insight into being out-Maraurdered by Prof. McGonagall. “That way, she was guaranteed that we wouldn’t try to find a way to wiggle out of this.”

Ever the strategist, Ron added, “We must be rubbing off on Neville. “ Nodding his head in approval, “Good show, Neville. I would have done the same.”

Luna glanced at Ginny before saying, “You mean to say – that it is because of Neville you all have to de-tangle, de-flea and de-tick that monster Filch calls a cat? And, because of that, you all are p-r-o-u-d of Neville?”

Ginny, Ron, Harry and Dean all raised their goblets. To Ron’s pleasant surprise, a fifth goblet – Luna’s – was added to the collection as they all toasted to the successful extraction of their absent friend. “To Nevvy-pooh!”

Giving credit where credit was due, Dean shook his head. “The lady is good, my friends. She’s got us all tied up. She even splurged and put a festive bow on top of the package.”

Referring to Harry’s concerned comment, “For your information, gentlemen,” Ginny released the slight furrows in her brow. “The terms of your collective paroles were NOT what I was thinking about. Well, not mostly.” Ginny pulled her spoon from her tea and listened to the tinkle of metal settling on ceramic. “You guys got what you deserve.” Ignoring three ‘mortally offended’ looks mirrored by Harry, Ron and Dean, she continued, “No – I was thinking back on a conversation I overheard between Remus Lupin and the twins.” Looking at everyone one at a time, “I missed the majority of their talk, but I specifically remember that it was shortly after Fred and George escaped from Umbridge. Lupin was trading stories with the twins as to the various stunts pulled over the years here at Hogwarts. And he was saying – whether one is a ‘Marauder’ or a ‘Wheezee’ – everyone has a mentor. Whether that person KNOWS that they were an influence is neither here or there. In fact, from what they said, I got the impression-“

Ron didn’t have time to rebuke his mate for interrupting his sister – again. This time Dean wasn’t interrupting anyone.

It was the sound of creaking metal.

Ron scrambled his brain to find some sort of match for the sound that leeched into the Hall. It’s like the metal was rubbing against itself. Which was immediately followed by the clank of metal striking – stone? A flash of bright, sparkly, purplish light illuminated the stretch of corridor in front of the massive doors of the Great Hall and made spots dance in front of his eyes.

Ron saw teachers and staff members begin to rise. To rally. All conversations stopped and immediately new ones began as students craned their necks to try to get a better look at what was happening. Prof. Dumbledore, by his carriage alone, seemed to stand taller and with more authority than all the others. Prof. Snape, his black silk over-cape flowing around him, began to stride towards the secret door behind the Slytherin table. Profs. Sinistra and Sprout also stood – but waited for directions from the Headmaster. Ron couldn’t help but notice that everyone was waiting on a cue from Dumbledore.

And, as another creak of metal grating on metal echoed, suddenly everything was calm. Eerily calm.

For about ten seconds.

Long enough for Harry to witness Dumbledore turn to Malfoy and softly issue a command. “Fetch the Head Girl and Prof. McGonagall. I believe that this might be of some interest.” Calling to the blonde haired boy one more time, “And Mr. Malfoy, could you also collect Mr. Creevey? I have a feeling we will be needing his services as well.”

Barely were the words out of Dumbledore’s mouth when a sound like rushing water bounced off and around the walls of the Great Hall. Everyone – students, staff members and teachers locked their gazes on a spot on the wall, underneath the House Standings. One of Prof. McGonagall’s transfigured goblets – those reserved for Hooligans – began to accumulate points.

The points had hardly had a chance to settle when the ENTIRE HALL saw Ernie MacMillian, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott – followed by the rest of the Hufflepuff House – come H-O-P-P-I-N-G into breakfast. Well – hopping and falling. They were hopping because none of them could walk. Those who fell obviously hadn’t brushed up on their hopping skills in some time.

Harry’s mouth dropped. He wished he could salute whoever pulled this prank off. It was spectacular.

Ron was right there with him as he locked his eyes with his mate’s. In his opinion – it was one for the annuals.

Dean’s words died in his mouth – he would have conjured and laid down a length of red carpet for the perpetrator if given half a chance.

“It is impossible to walk when your legs are fused together by the Leg Lock Jinx!” Leaning backwards behind Harry’s back, Ginny hurriedly explained to Luna – herself stretched behind the Captain – when the Ravenclaw asked what was wrong with the Hufflepuff House.

Anything else the pretty red head would have said was lost as the entire Hall burst out into laughter and overwhelmingly applauded. Whether the applause was for the Hooligan who managed to strike every single Hufflepuff – at once – or the applause was for the Hufflepuffs having a grand time (between trying to stay upright or talk amongst themselves or communicate with friends in other Houses) with their current state, didn’t matter.

And just the other night I was assuring some of my more junior staff that I have pretty much seen it all. Dumbledore was thrilled. ‘There is a first time for everything’ was the adage that popped into his mind. Keeping the laughter out of his voice but finding it impossible to keep the mirth from his face, he issued a summons, “Prefects?”

Ernie MacMillian and Susan Bones – trying to hold each other up but only succeeding in tipping the other precariously in one crazy direction after another – answered, “We are here, Headmaster.”

Watching the two students make grabs for each other in order to stay up-right, Dumbledore called out to their House Matriarch, “Professor Sprout?”

Laughing so hard that Prof Sprout had taken to waving a hand in front of her terribly flushed face, she sputtered, “Yes, Headmaster?”

Raising his hands to quiet the rest of the students enough so that he would be able to hear what responses would come from the Head of Hufflepuff House and it’s Prefects, he had to ask, “There seems to be something – amiss? – with the members of your House.”

Stabilized for the moment, Ernie and Susan looked to Prof. Sprout. Who – realizing that speech was beyond her – nodded to the two Seventh Years in a way that allowed them to respond on her behalf. “We’ve been pranked, Headmaster.”

Exercising his lips – more to keep them from curling up in laughter than anything else – it was a moment before Dumbledore could ask the question guaranteed to challenge his sense of control. “And this was accomplished, how?”

A voice from the back of the crowd answered, “It was BLOODY BRILLIANT!”

Again, everyone in the Hall broke out into delight.

“Headmaster,” began Susan. “We, as a House, concluded that there was nothing we could do to prevent members of our House from falling victim.” A crashing noise signified the toppling of several Hufflepuffs somewhere near the Ravenclaw table. Stifling a chuckle, Susan continued, “So we decided that if we stuck together – as a House – that a Hooligan would not be able single out a specific student. That there would be ‘safety in numbers’.”

Nodding his head – as if he were agreeing with her sound strategy rather than admit that he was keeping in time with Hannah Abbott’s listing – Dumbledore encouraged the girl to continue.

The unexpected movement of a door opening behind the Slytherin Table took Ron’s attention away from Susan. Malfoy, Snape, McGonagall and Hermione were emerging. Tapping Harry’s foot did not do any good; he was already looking in their direction. The boy’s got Hermione-Radar alright. The individual expressions on the four newcomers were priceless. McGonagall immediately looked to Dumbledore before turning to her Head Girl. Malfoy looked like he had never cast the jinx before in his life (which was a blatant untruth, Dungeon Dweller!) and was witnessing its effect for the first time. Snape looked like he might actually crack the perma-scowl that had dominated his face since before creation. Hermione? She reached for McGonagall’s sleeve, locked her gaze with his and let her mouth fall slack.

“The lot of us had just entered the Breezeway – on our way to breakfast – when all of a sudden… Just as the last person crossed into the section of the hallway where the suits of armour are arranged, every Timeless Knight turned its head.”

Dumbledore was knocked for six. “The Knights did this?”

Finding his tongue, Ernie substantiated Susan’s narrative. “Their heads turned, Headmaster. It was as if they had us fixed in their sights. Then they all – at once – dropped to one knee, sheathed their gauntlets with shields and levelled their halberds at us.”

Hermione looked at Harry and clapped a hand over her already opened mouth. Harry looked at Dean. Dean looked at Ron. Ron turned to Harry at the sight of Ernie’s gloved hands waving in the air as he told his tale. “Pay up, you three. Five galleons each. Harry won the bet – Ernie MacMillian has on opera-length gloves.”

Becoming more animated the more he spoke, Ernie continued. “Heck, Headmaster, who would have thought that the Knights were capable of coming to life? Here we were – no where to go – stunned from the sight of battle ready armed soldiers who haven’t moved in a millennia…When all of a sudden there is a flash of purple light and – BAM! All of our legs were locked together! By the time any of us could see properly, half of us were on the ground and the Knights were standing at attention – makin’ like they had never moved in the first place!”

Glancing at Prof. Flitwick to make sure he was ‘at the ready’ to remedy the situation, Dumbledore called out to the Hufflepuffs, “Would you say that the Hooligan who pranked you was clever? That this prank was a worthy prank?”

Not one to be left out, it was Hannah Abbott who answered the Headmaster. “Most definitely.”

A few more points were added to the Hooligan’s receptacle.

“How would you – all of you – rate the execution of this prank?”

Ernie glared at his girlfriend for speaking out of turn before addressing the Teacher’s Table. “It was flawless, sir. We never saw it coming. How could we? All of us together? Every single member of my House was in the one place where we thought there was NOTHING for a Hooligan to use as a resource.”

Another layer of points accumulated.

Dumbledore was eager to move on – not because he was tired of talking about the prank – but because he wanted to investigate such a magnificently devised act. “One last question. And this is put to the entire House. Would you say that you admire what has been done to you?”

Professor Sprout, Ernie, Hannah and Susan looked at each other before quickly surveying the rest of their House. It was a resounding, “ABSOLUTELY!” that put the final few points in the Hooligan’s bin.

With that being said, the entire Hall collectively laughed and applauded one last time. The Headmaster and a few select teachers – McGonagall included – began to make their way out of the Hall. Along with the ‘Special Correspondents’ for the Hogwarts Gossip Mill. Unfortunately, as they passed the Hufflepuffs – a few ‘badgers’ forgot they had their legs fused together and when they tried to make way for the students and professors trying to exit the Hall – a few more toppled over.

“You know that who ever planned this prank had this in mind as well.” Ron’s admiration was evident.

Shaking his head as he watched more Hufflepuffs fall over, Harry was more than impressed. “Mate – whoever is responsible for this was COUNTING on this as being their exclamation mark.“ Pointing to the tangle of teachers and students in various stages of getting up and falling down, he added redundantly, “This is definitely part of the show.” Giving a cursory glance in the direction of Snape and Malfoy, Harry didn’t bother to watch as they went their separate ways. He was more focused on Hermione as she began slowly tacking her way to the Gryffindor-populated table.

Meanwhile Professor Flitwick, who was closely followed by a slightly spent Professor Sprout, seemed to be at a loss as to where to start to help the afflicted House. Between them, they started to sort out the best way to de-jinx the Hufflepuffs. But not before Hannah Abbott lost her balance. She not only brought down housemates that were in her immediate vicinity, but – to Ron’s amusement – as Prof. Sprout was nearby, her Head of House had the floor come up and hit her as well! Which sent a fresh ripple of laughter through the student body. Hufflepuffs, Flitwick and Sprout included.

“Morning Ginny. Luna – it is so good to see you!” Sitting down heavily, Hermione had a bright smile on her face and turned to everyone one at a time, “Did you see that?” Referring to Prof. Sprout needing the assistance of several to gain her footing, she burst into light chuckles.

“Herms – how could we miss it?” Ron playfully goaded his friend.

Passing her the pumpkin juice, the Quidditch Captain waited for a sharp come-back. That never happened. Apparently she is too good a mood to take exception to Herms, Harry mused.

In mid-pour, Harry saw Hermione fix her sights on two people fighting their way through the crowd. It was Colin and Lavender.

Eagerness seeped from every part of Lavender’s body as she approached Ron’s side of the table. “Have you heard?”

Dean was the first to ask, “Heard what, Lav?”

“They found it!”

Hermione took a sip of her drink before admonishing her house-mate, “Slow down, Lavender. Who has found what?”

“Dumbledore and Malfoy.” Reaching into her robe, Lavender pulled out a rather plain looking wand. “This was found attached to the inside of the Knights’ halberds! This is how the Hooligan did it!”

Luna, looking a little dubious, “How did you get it?”

A slight blush touched Lavender’s cheeks, “Well. If truth be told – I was asked to give this to Hermione.” Turning to her House-mate, a bit deflated now that the ‘thunder of her news’ had passed, she said, “With instructions to see if you could find out what it was, because no one in the Breezeway could identify it.”

Stretching out her hand, Hermione felt the smooth wood being placed in her palm. Looking at it closely but not saying anything, she quickly passed it over to Harry and Ron for additional examination.

“I dunno know what this is.” Harry said.

Ron, on the other hand, made a grab for the polished length of wood. And inhaled sharply. “I know what this is!”

Six voices, at various pitches and levels of excitement sounded as one. “WHAT?”

Holding the wand on it’s end and balanced on the end of one of his fingers, Ron toppled it over before continuing, “A Won Shot Wand.”

Dean was quick to ask, “A one-shot wand?”

“You dolt.” Apologizing for calling his friend a nickname usually reserved for Harry, Ron made amends by passing the wand over to Dean and explaining, “A W-O-N Shot Wand.”

“It is something Fred and George have been working on,” Ginny blurted. Looking at Luna before ‘checking in’ with Ron, “But I thought they hadn’t fully developed them yet?”

Centring his attention around Ron, Harry needed more information. After all, he was the original investor in Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. “Whoa mate – catch the rest of us, will ya?”

“You see – the twins came up with this amazing concept.” Holding his hand out to Dean, Ron waited until he had the wand back in his possession before he filled in everyone’s blanks. “What could be more fantastic than a wand – pre-loaded with one hex, curse or jinx – guaranteed to win anyone who wielded such a wand, a duel?” Seeing Hermione’s look of disapproval, Ron was quick to fire back, “Obviously not one of the Unforgivables. Do you think that they are that thick?” Pre-empting Ginny, who he knew had a few stories of her own about products that the twins dreamed up which failed when tested, “You can’t answer that.”

Wrapping his mind around the amazing possibilities that such a product could possess, Dean said, “You mean to say that this wand was constructed with the intention of having it LOADED with the Leg-Lock Jinx? That the Hooligan fired off twelve wands – simultaneously – and that is what happened to the Hufflepuffs?”

“Not just the Leg-Lock Jinx. Think about it – what is one of the number one reasons why duels are lost?” Ron asked as if the answer was as clear as a summer day.

“Because you loose time deciding which spell to fire.” Luna came back with the correct answer before anyone else.

Ron’s mouth moved as everyone else’s eyes widened, “And you would know this because?”

Effectively ending any fact-finding mission the two Weasley’s might embark on with a very cryptic, “I would?”

Filing her response under the heading of “Questions to Ask Another Time”, Ron quirked an eyebrow and continued. “Numerous models – all of which are equipped with one specific curse, hex or jinx. There are supposed to be ones that cast Bat-Bogeys. In theory – any thing really.” Ron was really excited. And a bit perplexed. If the wands had been perfected, why didn’t his brothers send him any? Who could get their hands on such a product before me? “

“Hang on – then the Hooligan must have done something else to the Hufflepuffs.” Harry stated.

Luna didn’t see where Harry’s mind was going. As the theory stood – it seemed perfectly reasonable.

“Fred and George created something that could only be fired with the wand being held by its owner. There is no way one person could fire all twelve wands, that were in twelve different locations, all at the same time.” Harry that felt his logic was sound. “Let’s not forget that it was the Knights who had fired the wands at the Hufflepuffs. How could one person get the Knights to act in unison?”

Resting her butter knife on the side of her plate, Hermione looked up from her toast to ask what she knew the others had to be thinking, “Do you think that there were accomplices?”

Ginny immediately fired a, “No way!” at Hermione’s question.

And to clarify things further, Ron’s emphatic, “NO HOW!” stamped out that theory.

Looking to understand why, Harry looked at his best mate, “Why not?”

Scoffing at the seven other persons around him, Ron’s face was the epitome of scepticism. “Twelve accomplices – one for every Knight? Without anyone saying anything to anybody? AS IF! Not at this school, my friends.” Switching to a more normal tone of voice, “The twins are as thick as thieves. No one can come between them when there is a plan afoot.” Ron gestured in the air to drive his point home.

“But in a competition – to see who is the best – I can GUARENTEE you that they would be the first to separate and let the chips fall where they may,” Ginny surmised. “They would shake the foundations of this castle – individually – to claim the title.”

“So what you are saying, “ Luna said, “As far as I understand – it would be every man-“

Lavender, Hermione and Ginny all cleared their throats at the same time.

Recovering quickly, Luna amended her sentence, “Or woman – for themselves?”

Impressed with how quickly Luna caught on, Ron looked at her before replying, “Precisely.”

Seeing a hint of something cross her brother’s face, Ginny had the beginnings of a “Brilliant Idea’ of her own take shape. Waiting until Ron had taken to adding more food to his breakfast plate, she prompted, “Those two would not let ANYTHING stop them, would they Ron.”

Hermione and Harry shared the same thought: What are you up to Miss Ginny?

“Absolutely not,” Ron said around a mouth full of potatoes.

Lavender was piqued: Something is afoot.

“In fact, NOBODY can stop a Weasley from doing ANYTHING, can they Ron?” Ginny raised the level of excitement in her voice.

”Just try to stop one of us!” Ron reached for the sugar bowl and passed it to Dean. After all, the boy did ask for salt.

“And if I said that only YOU could take Luna to the Fall Ball because you were the ONLY ONE who could show her a proper time…” Ginny deliberately didn’t finish her sentence.

Colin’s flash finger was itching. A sure sign that something picture worthy was about to happen.

“Then I would say – Luna, you are going to the Ball with me!” Ron was emphatic. So much so that he clapped the tabletop with his palms.

“Really? Oh Ronald! Thank You!” The joy in Luna’s voice was unmistakeable; except to those who really listened to it. She obviously did not take his invitation seriously – but camped it up as to keep pace with everyone’s – including her own – sense of humour.

The spots in front of everyone’s eyes were quite real when Colin snapped the picture of Ron – smacking the table with a look of absolution on his face. Just before he realized that he had been tricked into saying, out loud, what he had been thinking about all weekend. I knew I wanted to take the girl I crashed into to the dance, and I PROMISED her that I would make it up to her for crashing in to her – I just didn’t know the girl I was looking forward to was Luna.

Shattering the moment with an excited, “Ooooh! Just wait until Parvati hears about this! A Hogwarts Hottie who has a date!” Lavender gave Ron a quick shoulders-only hug, touched fingers with Luna before hustling away with her ‘exclusive scoop’.

Harry leaned toward Hermione and asked, “Do you think you can find a glass jar big enough?” He could help but bring up one of the moments when Hermione truly caught him off guard. His best friend not only captured – but bottled – the infamous Rita Skeeter, the former Viscountess of Yellow Journalism.

“Only if she goes secular,” she returned with a smile. Hermione knew exactly what Harry was referring too – indeed that was one of the few times she couldn’t resist showing the boys that she had a bit of a Marauder in her as well. But , as the conversation suddenly died, such thoughts vanished. She was now a bit worried about Ginny.

Thinking that things could either go really well for his girlfriend or plummet to Hades in the next few seconds, Dean reached for her fingers and gave her a re-assuring squeeze.

Ron looked at Ginny. She is DEFINITELY sneakier than McNair. But, he had spoken the truth. Talking about himself – too himself – in the third person, happened fairly regularly. No one could make Ronald Weasley do something that he didn’t want to do. Hell – I have even fought off an Imperious Curse. Granted Knott – a virtual Squib, cast it but I succeeded. And, the Luna who sat across from him and shared in their morning revelry was a slightly different Luna from the girl who created a roaring lion’s head hat two years ago.

Feeling his knotted tie press a little to close for comfort around his collar, Ron looked at the pretty blonde haired girl. Who was looking more embarrassed than part of the fun by the minute. His sense of honour and genuine desire to do the right thing took over. “Luna?”

Ginny was nervous for her friend. Ron had spoken the truth – not even his little sister could truly manipulate Ron into doing something he didn’t want to do. She answered Dean’s squeeze with one if her own and looked expectantly at Hermione. Who nodded her own head as if to say: It will be okay. Trust him.

Harry was, in all honesty, a little peeved at Ginny. She put the lad in a terrible predicament. If Ron decides to retract his declaration and say that he was caught up in the moment and only reacting to his sister’s prods, then not only does Ron look the fool, but he has hurt the poor girl’s feelings. If he were to go through with it and confirm his invitation, then it looked like a pity date, and that would be just as bad. There is no easy answer.

Knowing precisely what was needed, it was Hermione, who cleared the air by asking Colin if he was able to take any pictures of the prank. And purposely involving Dean, Ginny and Harry in a re-telling of the moments she missed.

Ron knew what his friend had done for him. And he thanked the stars that she was one of two best friends a person like he could have. She’s created an opportunity for me to speak to Luna without everyone’s ears trained on every word and nuance. “What is your first class?”

Watching the Ravenclaw expel a long held breath, Ron was relieved when she said, “Dead Languages – why?”

Standing up, he collected his things and tucked her books underneath an arm. “Care to take the scenic route?” Watching her extract herself from the table, Ron fell in step next to her. And mentally sighed when she didn’t tell him to ‘bugger off’. What he did hear was her saying that she would be glad for the escort.

“Who knows – I just might be glad for it.” Luna said mischievously.

Walking together, Ron turned to touch his gaze to Hermione’s, who had been watching them leave with a very relieved look on her face. Ron mouthed the words, ‘Thank You’, to his friend before saying to Luna, “You can’t be too careful now – can you? Have you heard that there is a Hooligan on the loose? Apparently, not even Timeless Knights are safe any more…”

The rest of their conversion fell away as they left the Hall. And as it should be, Harry though. It is no one’s business but their own.

Breathing easier now that Ron and Luna had left the breakfast table, Ginny looked at Dean. “Does everything around here happen before the first classes of the day?”

Laughing quietly, Harry was quick to say, “Only the important stuff, Gin. Only the important stuff.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to play Devil’s Advocate by saying, “I wouldn’t go that far, Harry.”

Enjoying his tartan-themed eggs, Harry had to ask, “Why do you say that?”

Hermione, answering so shrewdly that it was a moment before anyone could respond, “Because one never knows what tomorrow might bring.”

* * * * * * *

Author’s Note:

This is an EXTREMELY LONG CHAPTER. Please, feel free to get up, stretch a bit – pour yourselves a goblet of pumpkin juice. I am personally partial to Diet Coke with either a slice of fresh lemon or lime. Or dash to the refrigerator for a snack.

Perhaps a generous slice of pumpkin pie or Mrs. Weasley’s famous treacle tart?

If there are any brownies – can you save me one?

I truly intend to get through another prank in this sitting. There will only be six left to go.

Can you guess who will be the Hooligan? And where was Seamus during all this? And what about…

* * * * * * *

Harry was intrigued. Not that Hermione seemed to know something that he didn’t – but that she was all-u-ding to knowing something that apparently no one else knew. Giving her a side-long glance – just in time to see her look at her blasted watch again – he couldn’t resist trying to get more information, “Care to share, Miss Granger?”

Blithely ignoring his innuendo, Hermione slipped her book bag’s strap across her body and made ready to leave. Giving Harry a Draco-inspired half-smirk, Hermione said, “I have NO IDEA what you are referring to, Mr. Potter.” She gave every impression that she knew PRECISELY what he was referring too but was refusing to give any more than what she had already offered.

Giving the striking brunette a jaunty salute, Dean said his good-byes and finished making plans with Ginny as to what kind of ‘post-dinner activities’ they might pursue.

That’s not right. Watching her struggle to get up, Harry was a little worried. For all her cavalier attitude, she looks a little peeked. Granted she had a bit of colour on her cheeks – but that was more from laughing than anything else. No – she definitely isn’t her usual mile-a-minute-whirlwind-of-a-Granger this morning. I was so caught up in school work and Quidditch over the weekend, that I barely saw her in the past two days. Following his train of thought, Harry concluded that if he had a busy weekend, then she must have had a…

Harry never had time to finish his thought. Without being conscious of it – his Seeker instincts kicked into high gear and caught a woozy Hermione as she started to fall. Performing a mental rewind as he slowly lowered her back onto the bench, Harry remembered watching her stand, and then begins to wobble – as she became VERY PALE – and started to actually fall backwards. She is more than overworked, was the third thought that flashed through his mind. The first two involved being relieved that he caught her and just being there in the first place.

Whipping out his handkerchief (embroidered and provided by Mrs. Weasley last Christmas in lieu of a hand-knitted jumper) and handing it to Dean – who immediately dipped it in cold water before passing it back to Harry – who in turn placed it on Hermione’s forehead. Watching her raise her hands – as if to push him away – Harry ignored her protests and slipped the cool cloth to the back of her neck. Shushing her with confident authority, “If you can do this for me – then I can to this for you,” Harry wasn’t going to suffer any of her stubbornness. For the first time, he wasn’t trying to laugh off or displace his very real feelings for her. That’s not to say that he wasn’t going to clamp them down almost as soon as he let them loose.

Looking up at a concerned face, Hermione’s guard dropped for just a moment. And for a split second, the façade she showed to Harry, the ‘I’m-your-fellow-Housemate-and-best-friend’ front she put on, slipped off its peg. Because, as she would later acknowledge, she wanted it too – and had for quite some time.

Embarrassed because people had started to turn and stare at her, “Harry – I’m fine,” Hermione accepted his stabilizing hand but pushed away the cloth. Despite how good it felt against her overly-warm skin.

Determined not to be brushed aside, Harry looked at her with nothing but concern. “Dean – can you take our books to the dungeons? I’m going to take Hermione to the hospital wing.”

Feeling her strength return – slowly – Hermione fuelled her re-charging energy with a hint of indignation. “Harry – I am NOT going to hospital. You can get that notion out of your head.” Turning a blind eye to the scowl her best friend winged at her, she soldiered on, “I just stood up too fast.” Resorting to her ‘know-it-all’ persona, Hermione altered her tone of voice. “ Come down off it, Harry. I’ve seen it happen you loads of times. You – anyone really – stands up too quickly and all your blood goes rushing to your feet and before you know it, you are flat on your arse with everyone staring at you.”

Sure, Harry heard what she said. If it weren’t for the way she said the last five words of her little diatribe – I would cast an Impediment jinx on her and take her to see Madame Pomfrey and deal with the consequences later. But, as she succinctly reminded him, Hermione HATED to be the centre of attention. Her specialty was performing ‘behind-the-scenes’ and being ‘front-and-centre’ only when it made the most sense. That was one of the many things that he admired about her – and at one point had driven a wedge between he and Ron. She never played second fiddle. She knew her importance in his life and the impact that her life made to those around her. Unlike Ron – whose issues with jealousy – now long gone and put to bed – had caused the two mates to spend months not even talking to one another.

She was no coward. And she was a highly capable leader. But, following the public arguments she had with Malfoy – she did not want to be the focus of any further attention. And so – he had acquiesced.

“Fine. I don’t believe you, but fine.” Looking to assuage his conscience, Harry tried a different tack, “At least drink something that DOESN’T have sugar or caffeine in it – for me?”

Grateful for him respecting her wishes and not slinging her over his back like some bloody Neanderthal, Hermione knew that refusing his common sense and those gorgeous green eyes was futile. “Done.” And made a mental note to talk to Harry later about his slightly patronizing comment later. Reaching for a glass of water Ginny thoughtfully poured, Hermione sat still long enough to finish the refreshing beverage.

It is now later. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Potter.” Standing up one more time – this time in stages – Hermione reached for her book bag and said good-bye to Ginny. Dean and Sir Condescending, she would see in Potions.

”I’ll see you guys in class,” she tossed over her shoulder as she swept from the Hall.

* * * * * * *

The next morning, in Divination, Harry and Ron laid claim to seats positioned near one of the few coveted windows in the top-most classroom of the North Tower. Or, as the Tower had been come to be known – Trelawney’s Tower of Terror. The reason behind the re-naming was fairly straight forward to any Hogwarts resident. If a student’s homework or ‘in class predictions’ did not include the burning of horrible smelling herbs and ‘foreboding visions’ of sadness, despair, tribulation or someone’s impending doom, then the teacher would call that student in for some remedial lessons on how to ‘connect with their Inner Eye’. Which – in itself – was nothing short of torture. While Trelawney’s Tower of Terror had a wonderful ring to it, students who had taken the class also adopted a short hand version: The Three Tee’s.

Normally, Firenze taught the N.E.W.T level class down on the first floor of the castle. But today, he had been called away by Hagrid to help the half giant with – no one could understand WHAT Hagrid had said – but whatever it was, it had the Magical Creatures professor in a tizzy.

The sound of Fang barking was loud enough to draw the attention of two bored lads looking for any possible distraction.

Surreptitiously looking at Trelawney’s direction to make sure she was intent on telling Lavender what it really meant when the girl said she saw her grandmother’s face dissipate in the smoke of a snuffed candle, Ron was watching intently at the ‘goings on’ at Hagrid’s cottage.

Harry, with his nose tuned into the much welcomed fresh air (That is a wonderful change from whatever foul smelling powder Trelawney tossed into the fire at the start of class, he snorted) had his eyes closed. Giving every appearance of trying to channel ‘The Beyond’ when in fact, he was giving his imagination a free rein.

“Is it possible to actually see a giant in distress?” Ron asked, his forehead all but resting on the small window pane.

“I suppose so – why do you ask?” Harry still hadn’t cracked his eyes. With any luck he would be able to make it through the class without being told that he was this term’s Harbinger of Doom.

“Well – I can’t quite make it out. One minute Hagrid is walking with Firenze, the next he is whistling to Fang and setting off for the Forest.” Ron voice carried an edge of concern. Neither Firenze nor Hagrid were welcomed with open arms, hooves or other various appendages by all the creatures which called the Dark Forest ‘home’.

“What do you think?” It wasn’t a cop-out. In Harry’s book, no one could figure out a situation – no one other than Hermione – with as much clarity when there was a shortage of initial information. Also – there was only about twenty minutes left of class. It was a sincere hope that between Lavender and Parvati, Trelawney would be too occupied to call on him to participate.

Turning away from the window and squaring his body to the small table, Ron fixed his eyes on a spot in the wall just over his friend’s left shoulder. And only saw the curling edge of some peeling paint as he thought about what could have wound the half-giant to the point of being frantic. Pulling his attention from the wall, Ron let his eyes wander over the classroom. An exercise which had proved affective when he was trying to figure something out that was evading his inner strategist. Sometimes, just looking at things can trigger a random thought that can lead to a tangent that could turn out to be the solution to whatever problem needs sorting. Also – it has the added bonus of appearing like I am ‘In The Beyond’ and therefore Trelawney-free for as long as possible, he mused. Unfortunately, he came up short. “I’ve got nothing, mate.” Switching to a different subject, Ron kept his gaze vacuous and asked, “Merlin – do we really have to report to Filch after class?”

Recalling the brief and rather curt conversation he had with Malfoy just after Vectors, Harry didn’t crack his eyes when he replied, “Yeah. Apparently some boxes need to be moved. But Filch, via Malfoy, said that it can wait until after dinner.”

“That’s good to hear – I am SO looking forward to seeing if anything else…” A whiff of patchouli tickled the inside of Ron’s nose. “Quick – she’s coming!”

Immediately, Harry sat up a little straighter and began to silently move his lips – making it seem as if he were ‘communicating’ with ‘someone’. Cracking his eyes just a smidge, he saw Ron draw up his long legs and rest each ankle against the inside of the opposite knee. Assuming some sort of ‘channelling posture’, Harry saw Ron lift his face to the open window – as if he were ‘casting his soul’ to his Inner Eye – and completely relax his body. Pride for his friend’s capabilities had to be stamped down – for the moment. At least until Trelawney had passed.

The jangling of bracelets was the tell-tale sign of an eminent ‘Reading’. Figures, Ron thought. We were SO close to escaping WITHOUT having Her Flakiness in our pockets. A glimmer of hope remained that he and Harry could still sidestep an ‘Intercession’. And that hope was quickly replaced by resignation for the inevitable.

Harry, still moving his lips, formed the silent words: Oh Merlin – here we go. No getting out of this now.

Prof. Trelawney had taken to waving her arms around her body, in front of each boy’s face and all the spaces in between. Murmuring incoherently, neither Ron or Harry could fathom what she was about – that is until each Gryffindor felt the small table shake and quiver. Ron and Harry chanced a look at the other. And whispered at the same time, “She’s over the edge!”

From her perch on the table, Prof. Trelawney had arranged her legs very much like Ron’s but instead of resting her wrists on her ankles; Dean and Seamus could see that she had spread her arms so that her palms all but touched the noses of their two friends.

“Mate – I could not have planned this even if I tried.” Enjoying the show immensely, Dean nudged Seamus and said, “This is bloody brilliant!”

Crossing his arms and settling himself a little further back on his narrow chair, Seamus had to agree. “It would be a terrible shame to deny them this experience, wouldn’t it?” The special emphasis he had put on the two words ‘terrible shame’ contained every shade of every meaning that every antonym that those two words possessed.

Shaking his head at the silent plea Harry sent his way, Dean added, “Who are we to deprive our best mates the opportunity to gain the best education possible?” The lilt in his voice dripped with mock indignation at the thought of ‘not doing the right thing’ by their friends.

Completely on the same page as Dean, Seamus made eye contact with Ron before appearing to be completely engrossed in Trelawney being the ‘conduit for the flow of energy’ between the two boys. ”I know that I would not be able to sleep a wink if I knew I was impeding my friends’ intellectual and spiritual growth.” Damn, this is fun, Seamus thought. It wasn’t often that both Harry and Ron were in such a pickle. Feeling a sharp jab to his ribs, Seamus snapped his head at Dean’s raised hand.

“Mr. Thomas – do you have a question?” The singsong response came from the Divination teacher.

“Yes, Professor. I am confused. I thought that direct bodily contact was the best way to channel energies?”

Harry silently vowed revenge. Dean Thomas is a dead man!

Putting together why Dean had jabbed him in the ribs, Seamus didn’t miss a beat when he ‘backed-up’ his friend. “I remember you sharing with us how important the ‘Principle of Touch’ is when performing this aspect of the ‘Delicate Art of Divination’.”

Just wait until… I know where you sleep, Finnegan! That was the thought that kept Ron from bouncing out of his chair. That, and the mental image of dangling the Irishman over the beak of the Giant Squid.

Looking to add a finishing ‘touch’ to his machination, Dean asked Trelawney one more question. “With the combined energies of yourself, Harry and Ron – do you think an Eternal Triangle would be in order, Professor?” Groping for some bogus term he had heard back in Third Year, Dean explained, “You know – just in case a ‘Great Door’ is inadvertently opened?”

“Mr. Thomas – ten points to Gryffindor! You are certainly ‘In the Beyond’ today.” Prof. Trelawney’s voice rang with approval.

Watching his teacher as she roamed her eyes around the room looking for a ‘viable third person’, Seamus concluded: I would be remiss in my duty of being a Gryffindor if I did not try to help. “Professor.” Watching her focus her huge glasses on him, Seamus barely kept his voice even when he volunteered, “If I remember correctly – it was Mr. MacMillian who successfully predicted when the school bell was going to chime.”

Ron was cranked. That little…! Of all the people in class to choose from, Seamus had to suggest the boy who successfully predicted when the end of class bell was going to ring. The bloody bell rang because it was the bloody end of class!

MacMillian! To say that I am more than a bit testy would be an understatement. Harry made a show of rotating his shoulders as a way of reminding Dean that, what was done to Neville could just as easily be done to anyone.

Hearing Professor Trelawney to call out, “Five more points to Gryffindor!” only made each boy groan. Now Seamus and Dean are bloody heroes! Which had to immediately be masked as sounds of ‘soul casting’.

Listening to the ‘seer’ summon Ernie to the window-side table and firmly instruct the boy, Dean and Seamus each gave Harry and Ron a ‘thumbs up’ sign as they heard her admonish, “In order to proceed properly, you must strip off those gloves! My dear boy, if we are to have any success in protecting ourselves and those in this room from…”

Harry and Ron made three different vows in time it took for the Hufflepuff to drag a chair into place and sit down. The first two involved wringing the proper restitution from Seamus and Dean for creating such a diabolical situation. The third involved Ernie MacMillian. Whose obscenely furry hands thoroughly grossed out four seasoned Gryffindors as the three boys interlocked fingers in Trelawney’s Tower of Terror.

* * * * * * *

With all the chatter in the Great Hall, Ron counted himself lucky to hear himself think. Let alone hear what Hermione was trying to say to him. For once, she had not ruled out the possibility of eating lunch due to a previous commitment and she was actually sitting down to a meal. With him. And the rest of the Student Body. But it was enough for now. It was good to see her. He was her ‘brother’, for crying out loud. And more than once she had proven that family was not restricted to blood ties.

All the different Houses were intermingled with the topic of conversation dominated by Hooligans. At least that was what Ron was trying to understand as Hermione was telling him about Terry Boot.

“What did you say about Terry?” Ron had to ask again.

Laying a hand on his arm, she looked up at Ron’s freckled face. “I said – did you hear about Terry Boot and Mistress Sinistra?”

A Ravenclaw and a professor? Hmm… Now that is a new one. Waggling his eyebrows lasciviously, more because he knew it would wind Hermione than actually being a bit…intrigued by a possible liaison between the Astronomy teacher and Miss Boot, he said, “Really? I wonder if they need a look out? Perhaps I should volunteer my services.”

“And here I thought you were saving yourself for marriage.” Hermione glibly lobbed back at him.

Reaching out and taking her hand, Ron sent a fervent prayer that his ears would not turn red until he got all the words out of his mouth, “Oh contraire, mon amie. I said I was going to save my first group endeavour until after I get married.” Okay – now my ears can turn as red as a holly berry.

Extending her hand and ‘straightening’ Ron’s tie, she shot an ace onto his side of the court, “Then what do you call all those ‘Brilliant Ideas’ the group of you do at all hours of the day and night? Hmm?”

Tugging his tie so that he could breathe, Ron responded with the best forehand shot he had – he stuck his tongue out and aimed a ‘raspberry’ in her direction.

Calling a ‘draw’ without missing a beat, she continued with her story, “Well – as I heard it from Michael Corner – apparently Terry tried to prank Mistress Sinistra by tying a length of Invincible Silk between the door handle of the Astronomy Tower and the nearby cupboard.”

Always ready to hear about what the ‘amateurs’ were up to, Ron was ready for the rest of the story. “And????”

Dropping her voice but articulating her words so that her friend could hear her more clearly, Hermione said, “Well, as it turned out, Michael bought some rather dodgy Silk to begin with and it broke the moment Mistress Sinistra went to leave the Tower for the night! And the best part of this whole thing is that the door to the Astronomy Tower opens INWARD. So – even if he HAD decent stuff from the get-go – she could have still gotten out. And because she was lurking in the corridor, she still would have gotten caught.”

“Well – that leaves her off the list.” Ron’s inner pragmatist reared its head. Only to be replaced with the sound of a true professional. “You gotta admit – the girl deserved to be caught. Even if she did think it through to begin with – a lame stunt like that warrants scoffing. Locking a teacher in a classroom – that is why they are teachers – they like being in a classroom.” Ron heard Hermione laugh with him as he made his pronouncement. A passing thought clouded his smile for just a moment: Since when is Hermione so excited about rule-breaking? Mentally shrugging his shoulders, he figured it was about time Hermione got into the spirit of the competition. She works too hard as it is, he thought. She deserves to have a little fun.

Watching Hermione suddenly go very still and quiet made his Anxiety Bone start to itch. “What is it?”

Looking down at a spot on the bench where their two bodies almost met, Hermione’s face was painted with concentration. Looking up at her ‘brother’s’ face, Ron was taken back by when she said quizzically, “Running.”

Picking up a crisp and tossing it at Harry, Ron vied for his mate’s attention. Who was currently very involved in an exchange with Lavender. “Hey Harry!” Gotta remember to catch up with Lav later.

Dutifully plucking the crisp from his robes and tipping it into his mouth, Harry asked, “What gives?”

And that was as far as he, Ron or Hermione got when not one but TWO Hogwarts professors came charging into the Great Hall at the same time. Each one speaking at the same time.

“Headmaster – I’ve been robbed!” Hagrid’s heavy breathing was interspersed with every word he spoke.

“Headmaster.” Snape’s oily voice reverberated throughout the hall

“How does he do that?” Ron whispered to Hermione. In the past six years, the sound of the Potions Master’s voice always seemed to reach precisely who he intended – despite minimal lip movement.

“Shhh!!!” and a quick tap to his toes was all the attention his ‘sister’ afforded him.

Glaring down at Prof. Snape, Hagrid snorted derisively, “As if what you’ve got to say is as important as me being a victim of thievery.”

Returning Hagrid’s glare with just as much contempt, Snape didn’t alter his speech volume or intonation. “Your sheep aren’t missing.”

“How would you know? You hate sheep. You won’t even wear wool, your so bloomin’ biased. Why, for years I’ve been seein’ packages arrive for you from tailors who wouldn’t know a length of wool from a hole in the ground, their so pernickety.” Drawing a deep breath to launch another verbal attack, Hagrid expression changed from being defensive to something akin to a torch being lit somewhere behind his eyes. “Wait a minute – how did you know someone stole my sheep?”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” Snape’s voice rang with conviction, “No one stole your precious sheep.”

Seeking to intercede before the verbal banter took an ugly turn for the worse, Prof. Dumbledore rose from his chair and looked at each of his staff members in turn. “Professor Snape. Professor Hagrid. Is there something we can help you with?”

Neither the Potions Master nor the Magical Creatures expert answered Dumbledore’s question. Each kept the other in a stare-down.

Staining his voice with sarcasm, Hagrid placed his hands on his hips and bobbled his head when he said, “And how precisely do you know that, Pro-Fess-Or?”

Stepping back only so that he could aim a scathing look at the half-giant without craning his neck, Snape narrowed his eyes. “My fellow professor – you wouldn’t happen to be looking for twelve sheep? All of which sport various different colours?”

“And how would the likes of you know that? You won’t even eat the mutton that the Elves prepare because you despise those living beings so much.” Ron could see that Hagrid was becoming more defensive by the moment.

Trying to diffuse the escalating situation, Dumbledore spoke once again. This time, he chose a different tack. “Professor Snape – do you have any idea where Hagrid’s sheep can be located?”

The icy demeanour typical of the Potions Master was cracking. Clenching his teeth, it was a wrench for Snape to push the next few sentences beyond his teeth. “Headmaster. I know where each and every one of Professor,” stretching out every syllable of the word to make it sound as sarcastic as possible, Snape continued, ”Hagrid’s fleeced beasts can be found.” Drawing out the moment, it was a few seconds before the Potions Master, his revulsion for the four-legged animals etched into his every limb, unveiled what he knew. “At this very moment, those creatures are milling about and eating everything they can get their greedy little mouths on – IN MY CLASSROOM!” His last three worded were nearly shouted.

Hagrid shook his great shaggy head, “You mean to say that someone had the gall to pull somethin’ like that over on you?” The Magical Creatures professor was more astonished than anything else when he said, “Will wonders never cease.”

Re-directing his gaze at the Slytherin House Standard, Snape pulled his arms free of his sides and buried his hands deep with the folds of his silk-lined over-cloak. Wishing that he was anywhere but standing in the Great Hall with a concession to end all confessions, he steeled himself against the grudging admiration that had begun to take hold since he first marched from his infested classroom. Squaring his shoulders and all but snarling, his announcement reached the ears of everyone in the Hall despite the fact that he didn’t raise his voice. “Headmaster – I have been Pranked!”

Dumbledore and the rest of the assembled staff and students did not know what to say. Up until twenty minutes ago – in all the years that Professor Snape had been teaching at Hogwarts – had no Hooligan pranked (or successfully pranked) the Potions Master. Between his spies, guile and paranoia, Snape had been the elusive Golden Lark of Prankdom. But now – someone not only got the sallow faced teacher – but got him good. Reaching for his quickly dissipating self control, Dumbledore again asked the question he posed to the Hufflepuffs not twenty-nine hours earlier. “Professor Snape. Would you say that the Hooligan who pranked you was clever? That this prank was a worthy prank?”

Knowing that this would be as good a time as any for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, Snape waited a few seconds to see if his wish would actually come true. With the floor of the Great Hall still intact, he had to answer. Seething with grudging respect, he spat out, as if he had put something disgusting in his mouth, “YES.” The sound of rushing wind as the points accumulated in the Hooligan’s receptacle only added more ‘insult’ to Snape’s ‘injury’.

Rather enjoying the turn-about that was taking place in front of him, Dumbledore couldn’t help but approve of the way the Hooligan orchestrated the prank. It was almost as if the sheep in the classroom was secondary to ‘putting the screws’ to Professor Snape. There wasn’t a teacher who hadn’t counselled a student or fellow faculty member about the methods Snape employed to keep order and control in his classroom and beyond; this was the first time the Headmaster had seen the Potions Professor subjected to his own style of ‘coercion’. And the man cannot lie – there is no budge room this time, my dear Severus. Good show, Hooligan. “And this was accomplished, how?”

“When I entered my classroom, I saw twelve differently coloured statuettes scattered among the desks throughout the room. As I tried to re-locate the carved beasts, I found that they were adhered to the desktops. So, being the consummate professional that I am, I taught my class. All the while those things were constantly in my field of vision.”

Snape’s story had everyone quiet as – quiet as sheep, Harry thought ruefully.

“As the lesson was winding down, I ordered everyone to stay in their seats. I could tell that each and every one of those facsimiles were rich with Dark Magic.”

A chortle from Hermione had those nearest to her firing every variation of the word, “Quiet!’

“I approached the sheep nearest to me, took out my wand and commanded it to: Reveal Your Secrets.” Snape, who normally would be sounding the Horn of Victory at ferreting out such a ruse, only could shake his head in respect. “And brought the broad side of my wand across it’s back. The next thing I knew, there were twelve – live – bleating – coloured – sheep – in my classroom!”

The urge to clap in appreciation, admiration and pride in what the Hooligan accomplished was too strong to stifle. Many students crooked their fingers, brought them to their mouths and let our ear-piercing whistles. Those who couldn’t whistle, they ‘whooped’ at the top of their lungs. Those who could whistle, whoop and clap did not hold back. Not even Snape could restrain his veneration.

Letting the din quiet on it’s own, it was several minutes before Dumbledore asked the one question that was guaranteed to stick in the Potion Master’s side. “Professor Snape, how would you rate the execution of this prank?”

Prepared for the worst, the students and staff held their breath as Snape looked anywhere but at another student or the Heads Table. Finding the Slytherin House Flag to be safest place to fix his gaze, he had to be honest. Even if it pricked a bit. “It was…exemplary, Headmaster. Not only did the Hooligan bypass the wards to my classroom, but the Hooligan transfigured live sheep into miniatures – only to have them revert to their original state once I applied a spell which is known to be a personal specialty.”

Another cascade of points brought a fresh round of elation from everyone in the Great Hall.

Looking to give his Potions Master a chance to escape without being too obvious, Professor Dumbledore raised his hands. “Professor Snape, thank you for your candour. It was much appreciated by one and all.” Switching his gaze to Game Keeper, “Hagrid, it appears that Professor Snape has indeed found your missing sheep.”

“Blimey – I would have to say so, Professor Dumbledore.” It was apparent to Ron that Hagrid did not know what to make of the situation, but was ready to collect his animals with all due speed. “Who would have thought to do something like that? I was saving those sheep as a special lesson. Why, I had even-“

Raising his hand was the gentlest way Dumbledore knew to interrupt the Magical Creatures professor. Diverting his attention to a Potions professor who would rather be anywhere than where he was, Albus took control of the situation.

“Given your aversion to the animals –“ Dumbledore began.

“Hatred and loathing, sir.” Snape interrupted to clarify and lingering doubt about his true feelings towards the woolly beasts.

Nodding in a way that acknowledged Prof. Snape’s preferences and continuing where he left off, “I think that, if I could prevail upon our Magical Creatures instructor, the animals should be removed before they begin to consume the very desks on which they were adhered. Don’t you agree, Prof. Hagrid?”

Getting the Headmaster’s point, Hagrid offered a hurried, “I’ll get on it straight away,” and bustled out of the Hall.

“By your leave, Headmaster – I can be found in my office if my services are further required.” With that, and a dignified nod to the Headmaster, Snape swirled his cloaks around his body and strode from the scene without looking back.

Looking up at the Hooligan Standings, Professor called for everyone’s attention. “It appears that we have a front runner.” Scanning each of the Tables for any tell-tale sign as to who was behind such a brilliant prank, Dumbledore was actually pleased that he could not find a single clue as to the identity of the Hooligan. “As it now stands, the Hufflepuffs and Prof. Snape are no longer viable targets for any Hooligan who is looking to level the playing field.” Giving a smile to everyone, he closed with, “And good luck – to one and all. For it seems we will have quite an exciting time ahead of us!” Sitting back down, Albus turned to Prof. McGonagall who was sitting to his right. “I say, Professor. I had the most peculiar thing happen just this morning….”

Ron looked over at Harry. “Can you believe it? Someone actually pulled one over on Old ‘Slime’-erus.” Searching his brain for an appropriate way to convey just how impressed he was, Ron came up with one word to sum up his impression of the Hooligan’s latest coup. “WICKED!”

Now everyone was talking about the ‘Fleecing of Snape’, as it was quickly dubbed.

Harry, just recovering his breath from one of the most brilliant scenes he had ever had the privilege to witness, was stuck on one point of Snape’s tale. Addressing Ron, he had to ask, “Sheep come in colours?”

Reaching for an apple and taking a hearty bite, Ron waved the fruit in the air as he answered his friend, “Well – duh? How else do does one get different coloured wool?”

“I hope you bite a worm, Weasley.” Harry made a face at his friend for making fun of him.

“Why – then you tell me Harry – how would my mum get all those different colours for all those jumpers she knits every year?” Twisting to the Gryffindor sitting directly to his left, he muttered, “This ought to be rich.”

Thinking that no matter what he said, Ron was going to twist it anyway, Harry figured that he might as well wear his ignorance on his sleeve. “Well – I suppose the wool is dyed. You know – using vegetables, flowers and things like that to get different colours.”

Talking with a fresh bit of apple in his mouth, Ron looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, “Muggles – always doing things the hard way.” Looking around the table and enjoying the way Hermione’s eyes were crinkling as she fought back her laughter, he took his explanation one step farther, “If you need different colours, your breed different colours. Merlin – you would think that nothing could be simpler!”

About to take another bite of his apple, Ron was surprised to see a smirking Hermione restrain his wrist. “Um – Ron?”

“Yeah?”

Reaching in to the fruit bowl, she pulled out an orange. “Maybe you would like this instead?”

“What are you talking about? I wanted an apple. I am eating an apple. I am ENJOYING my apple. Is there anything wrong–“ Ron stopped in mid-sentence when he looked at the piece of fruit that was now in dire need of defending. “You have GOT to be kidding? I’ll be tasting flobberworms for a week!” Ron dropped his mostly eaten apple – which contained a mostly eaten flobberworm. Only an inch of its tail could be seen sticking out through the core of the fruit. Spitting chucks of apple as fast as possible – and seriously considering making himself become sick just to purge his system, Ron glared at Harry, “YOU did this!”

Harry was the epitome of innocence when he placed a hand over his heart and tried to make himself look as ‘insulted’ as possible. “Moi?”

With the upper-class men currently involved in making fun of the Gryffindor who had nearly consumed an entire flobberworm, it was Dennis Creevey who had the ‘bright idea’ to say out loud the pun no one dared to utter. “Looks like someone finally pulled the wool over his eyes!” The way those around him groaned and went eerily quiet for a moment before turning to the boy who had the unfortunate distinction not to keep such a though to himself. Colin didn’t even bother pleading ignorance for his younger brother.

It was Dennis Creevey who had the unfortunate distinction of not only going to his next class with a jumper full of crisps, but his pants – courtesy of the lovely Miss Brown – transfigured into a very short pleated plaid skirt.

* * * * * * *

Chapter 6: Trojan Horses and Those Bearing Gifts

Later that day – after dinner but before curfew

Filch has GOT to be loving this, Ron thought for at least the thousandth time since he and Harry had met with the crotchety Caretaker two long hours earlier. He, Dean and Harry had report to the student-hating Squib to get their ‘assignments’ for the evening. Rotating his head and hearing crackling noises, the term ‘indentured servitude’ echoed snarkily under his breath.

The scuffing sounds of trainers being dragged up yet another flight of stairs offered little solace to the Gryffindor Keeper. It just meant that Harry was equally bone-tired.

“What’s our last stop?” Ron looked down the staircase at his friend who was brushing a sweaty lock of hair off his eyebrows.

“Hermione’s office. She’s got a couple of boxes that need to go to Ravenclaw House.” Harry knew he was beat when cleaning out the Durlsey’s garage took on the form of a warm, fuzzy memory.

“Tell me again why we are better off than Dean?” Ron asked. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, just the concept of looking back to look at his best mate took precious energy that he just couldn’t spare. As it was, he could feel sweat tickle the small of his back as he used the banister to hoist himself further up the staircase. It would take too much effort to turn his head and ask his friend that question at the same time.

Counting the steps until the next landing, Harry looked up at his best mate and reminded the redhead, “Would you rather be here with me or by yourself cleaning out the Arachnid Terrariums?”

Suddenly sounding like a squeamish twelve-year-old boy going into the Dark Forest on a cold spring night, Ron grimaced. “I don’t like spiders.”

Gaining the landing – and a breather – Harry offered the reassurance Ron’s original question sought. “And that, my friend, is why we are better off than Dean.” Taking in the three different stairwells that branched from the landing, Harry asked, “Which way is it to her office? I’m too knackered to remember.”

“Apparently being Filch’s ‘personal assistant’ translates to ‘grunt monkey’ in Squib.” Looking down and then up, Ron pointed to a staircase just beginning to shift. “That’s our ride.”

Meandering the rest of the way to the Head Girl/Head Boy Office, Harry appreciated the way Ron was able to banter with him as they re-hashed the latest prank to the safeguards that people were taking to ‘protect themselves’ from becoming another ‘notch’ on the Hooligan’s ‘belt’.

Reaching the door to the Office, Harry wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked or the room lit with the diffused glow of candles and oil lamps flickering in the wall sconces. Thinking about Hermione’s schedule as of late, Harry was surprised to see that he and Ron were not the only ones working late.

Raising his fingers to his lips as a signal for Ron to be as quiet as possible, Harry couldn’t see who was inside the room but the shadow cast on the stonewall was moving and the possibility of implementing another PLAN would be just the remedy for sore muscles. Playing the odds, he had a one out of two chance in guessing correctly who that shadow belonged too. Given the ‘spread’ on Malfoy – getting the jump on His Most Blondeness would definitely put Harry and Ron ahead of the pack on the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin tally sheets.

Holding up one finger, then two fingers, Harry was just about to add another finger and burst into the room when a voice called out, “Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. There is no need to lurk in the hall since I can see Weasley Red reflected in my eyeglasses.”

Feeling a little thwarted, Harry pushed the door all the way open and he and Ron stepped into the softly lighted room. “Sorry Professor.”

“Thought you were someone else, Professor,” Ron said, offering his own version of an apology to Prof. McGonagall.

Peering over her spectacles, Prof. McGonagall summed up her lack of enthusiasm at two of her charges trying to burst in on her and appreciation of what they were attempting to accomplish with one heavily laden, “Evidently.”

Looking around the room, Prof. McGonagall had to clear her throat a time or two before she trusted her voice to speak clearly. “I take it that neither one of you have seen our Head Girl in your travels?”

Surveying the room, as if to see a familiar brunette greet him with a smile as he dropped off a stack of toast to a hungry girl who decided NOT to come down to breakfast, Harry could definitely feel Hermione’s personality in the room. Books of every size and bindings were stacked on the floor next to a very busy, organized desk. Comfortable sofas were situated near a grated fireplace so that one could work and be warm at the same time. A second desk, against the far wall – equally organized and just as flooded with papers of its own in various stages of completion only served to convey just how much was involved in being a Head Boy and a Head Girl. A well-stocked bookcase lined one whole wall from floor to ceiling and corner-to-corner. Quills of different shapes and plumes were suspended from drying racks specifically designed to keep the writing implements neat and clean. Charts and lists were tacked to the walls behind and adjacent to each of the workspaces. The only way anyone could tell who sat where was the nature of the desks themselves, Harry thought. Each piece was of a dark, richly coloured wood. To his eyes, both desks appeared to be very old, beautifully maintained antiques. Focusing on the enormous amount of ornate carvings and the fact that the desk against the far wall looked to be older and more affluent than its ‘cousin’, Harry sniggered silently. Obviously, that was where Malfoy sits.

“Interesting, isn’t it? When I first heard about it – I was fairly taken back. That, I can assure you.” Pausing to clear her throat again, Prof. McGonagall seemed to be talking more to her than to Ron and Harry. “But, after all, I expected no less.” The pride in her raspy voice was unmistakable.

Ron’s inner strategist had to agree. If two Heads – from rival Houses and with a history of mutual contempt – had to work together, work in the same space together and were mandated to provide an environment where students from ANY House could feel comfortable approaching EITHER Head, then it made sense to put aside their individual House identities. When Hermione and Malfoy were in this room – they were Head Boy and Head Girl. Not a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Nor were they a Muggle-born and a Pureblood.

Harry, not ready to give voice to his thoughts quite yet, was quick to change the subject at hand. Nudging Ron with a resigned, “We had better get to it,” Harry started looking around on the floor near Hermione’s desk.

“Guess so – don’t want to be here all night.” Ron was in complete agreement.

Not quite ready to leave, Prof. McGonagall moved around to the backside of Hermione’s desk and sat down. Considering the two lads, she had to appreciate the way they balanced their responsibilities against their impulsive natures. Granted neither one was as disciplined as Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy – but it is refreshing to have students who challenge me on a level beyond academia. “I trust our Caretaker is being – how shall I say this – judicial in doling out assignments?”

Watching Mr. Weasley’s mouth kick up when he said sardonically, “As judicial as a taskmaster with a toothache wearing sheepskin skivvies is capable,” and receive an approving grunt from Mr. Potter, she decided that she could keep her next appointment waiting for just a few more minutes.

Harry, pacing the room looking for the said boxes, thought Ron had ‘hit the bludger squarely with a bat’.

“Can I help you,” McGonagall started to ask before it took something more than a simple throat clearing to get her next words out, “Find what you are looking for, perhaps?”

Ron’s triumphant, “I’ve got it!” which was quickly followed by a, “Harry – come over here and give a mate a hand,” answered her query.

Smiling, Minerva McGonagall watched the two boys tug and pull the boxes free from an array of supplies. Squinting at the decorative label of Ginny’s – Aren’t You Gorgeous! – Personal Care Products, she was about to say something when a light cough interrupted her thoughts.

Hefting the cumbersome boxes, now stacked two-high in each boy’s arms, Harry looked at Ron and groaned. “These are heavier than they look.” Prof. McGonagall’s cough redirected his attention to his House matriarch. “All right there, Professor?”

“Yes. Miss Granger said she had something for me. It seems that this tickle I have just won’t go away. She said there was something or another on her desk that would quiet me.” Prof. McGonagall said.

Glancing around the room, Harry’s eyes fell on the oversized calendar tacked up to the wall. Fixed to Tuesday, October 21^st was an envelope that read: For Prof. McGonagall. Lifting his chin towards a spot on the wall behind his Head of House and shifting the boxes to get a more secure grip, Harry volunteered, “I think that is it, Professor.”

Clearing her throat again, Minerva rose and plucked the envelope from its spot. Opening it, she discovered an enclosed pouch that contained many small, individually wrapped lozenges. “Thank you, Mister Potter.” Taking one of the lozenges out of the pouch, unwinding the protective covering and popping one in her mouth, Harry caught a blur of evergreen robes out the corner of one eye.

“Ermmm… Professor?” Ron voice shot out at her retreating back.

Stopping just short of the door, Minerva turned to face the two boys. “Yes, Mister Weasley?”

“Mind holding the door? These boxes are a lot heavier than they look.” Harry could tell that Ron felt no shame in asking the Transfiguration teacher for help. After all – she did offer.

Waiting for Ron to walk through the door first, Harry looked down at Hermione’s desk one more time. It was a half-full bag of S.S.O.S. Lozenges, which had caught his eye. It was tucked away near a half-finished cup of tea. The top of the package was rolled to keep the rest of the contents from spilling out, obscuring the brand and the majority of the cover-art. Focusing, he was able to make out the acronym and tag line. Sweet Sound Of Silence Lozenges – Guaranteed Results Within 4 Consecutive Doses. Smiling, Harry was touched at just how considerate Hermione was to… well, to everyone.

Stepping backwards and pulling the door as inward as the hinges would allow, Prof. McGonagall waited until both boys stepped into the corridor before asking, “Are the both of you sure that the two of you have everything you were sent to collect?”

Tilting the topmost box so that McGonagall could see the piece of parchment Hermione tacked to the inside flap, Ron felt very certain that he couldn’t carry another cobweb. “It reads: 2 boxes Quidditch Pitch Products.”

Shifting his hands in order to get a better grip on the boxes he was carrying, Harry piped up. “I’ve got the two boxes of Cloud Nine.”

Confirming that each boy had his appropriate load, she pulled the door firmly shut and engaged the lock. As the two boys fell into flanking positions on either side of her, she felt mildly flattered to know that the two Gryffindors actually liked her company and were not intimidated by her presence. Thinking about her next appointment, Prof. McGonagall could not help herself. “I take it the two of you have heard the latest?”

Not sure what she was referring to, and not wanting to inadvertently set her onto something that they did which they hadn’t told her about, Ron evasively answered her question with one of his own. “Heard what, Professor?”

“Apparently, a young Hufflepuff thought that switching oregano with White Sage would be a worthy prank on the House Elves – and by extension the rest of Hogwarts – as dinner was being prepared this afternoon,” Minerva explained.

Harry snapped his head at the Assistant Head Mistress. He had heard something about an attempted prank that went wrong... “Is that what happened?”

“Our young friend did not do his research properly. The White Sage he intercepted was actually meant for Madame Pomfrey, as it is a key ingredient in many of her poultices. Madame Pomfrey can now attest, due to the overwhelming number of House Elves in the Infirmary now in her care, White Sage is an herb that the Elves have a particular sensitivity.” Minerva didn’t know who deserved more sympathy: the afflicted Elves, Madame Pomfrey having to tend to so many Elves at once, or the remorseful Hufflepuff who only realized his mistake when he was escorted out of his House by the Head Boy and Hufflepuff Prefects.

Immediately thinking of his friend, Harry had to know, “Is Dobby okay?”

Prof. McGonagall gave Harry and Ron a softly reassuring smile. “He’s fine. As it turned out, he was with Miss Granger – down in the laundry – at the time when all of this took place.”

Thinking that there was something more to her smile than reassurance, Harry started to think about all different uses Prof. Sprout had expounded on when it came to White Sage.

A relieved sigh came from the direction of Mr. Weasley. As well as a sudden insight followed by a sharply turned head. “Is that why you were looking for Hermione?”

Pleased with his logic, Prof. McGonagall decided that the Hogwarts Gossip Mill wasn’t the only information service on campus, “Yes and no. I wanted to ask her if she had any background on the Hufflepuff that might be pertinent in formulating his punishment. But, with Mr. Malfoy in attendance – her presence is not absolutely necessary.”

Listening to her use the present tense, Harry offered own insight. “Which is where you are going now, right Professor?”

Nodding her head in approval, she confirmed Mr. Potter’s logic skills. “You have deducted correctly.” Looking over the two boys carrying their loads, now it was her turn to ask the questions. “What is the end destination for the two of you?”

“Ravenclaw House,” Ron flatly replied. “Which is right next to East Timbuktu.” Prof. McGonagall knew that the redhead was referring to just how far away the Ravenclaw dormitory was from where the three of them were walking.

“Really?” The amusement in McGonagall’s voice was loud and clear to Harry and Ron. “Now that is interesting. From what I have heard, the whole House has bottled themselves up as a preventive measure against the Hooligan.”

“Your sources are spot-on, Professor. They have taken to having their meals delivered to their Common Room and have vowed to only leave their dormitory for classes. They have SWORN not to allow ANYONE who isn’t a member of their House through their portrait door.” Harry couldn’t think of a better way to post a ‘Prank Me NOW – PLEASE!!!’ sign on their portrait door complete with a bulls-eye painted Ravenclaw Blue. Well – they are supposed to be the smartest House, he mused, as much as I hate to admit it – a barricade might just work.

“Then how are the two of you supposed to make your delivery?” Minerva asked.

“We have strict instructions to leave the boxes outside their portrait door and scamper off like good little Gryffindors. Once the House is convinced that the ‘coast is clear’, then they will send out an ‘expendable’ to retrieve the boxes.”

“Well, I wish them luck,” Minerva said. Although….

“Why do I hear a ‘BUT” somewhere in your voice, Professor?” Harry asked. What does she know, he wondered.

“Someone, somewhere ALWAYS forgets to shut a backdoor. Isn’t that right Professor?” Ron knew he had enough experience with five older brothers to know that NOTHING was impenetrable or sacred. “Every plan has a chink in it somewhere.”

Tapping her forefinger to the side of her nose, Minerva smiled knowingly. “Mr. Weasley – five points to Gryffindor – for impressing me at such a late hour.”

Setting his boxes down, Harry looked at where the Moving Staircases joined the floor that they were on and looked at his Transfiguration Professor. As much as he would like to keep chatting with McGonagall, it would not get him to bed any more quickly. After all, Prof. McGonagall was headed for the first floor and her office and he and Ron had their own Ravenclaw Rendezvous to keep. But something was nagging at him – something he had heard about White Sage and House Elves. What is it Potter – think!

Seeing her Quidditch Captain only absently nodding his head to Ron earning Gryffindor House an unexpected five points, Prof. McGonagall looked around before beckoning the two boys closer. “Have either one of you ever played with a cat?”

The mental image of Hermione tugging her balls of yarn away from Crookshanks came to Ron. “Yeah.”

Dropping her tone so that even the portraits had to strain to listen, “Have you ever given a cat catnip?”

Harry could still see the image of an extra feisty, playful Crookshanks after Ginny gave the ginger coloured feline a toy garden gnome stuffed with the herb. Herb…

“You mean to say, that Madam Pomfrey has a ward full of House Elves high on White Sage?” Ron knew he sounded incredulous and if he hadn’t had the boxes in his hands he would have been doubled over in laughter.

Prof. McGonagall’s face was as mirthful as Harry had ever seen it. “Our school nurse is, at this moment, wrangling House Elves who have had the unfortunate luck to have come in contact with that particular plant.” Raising a hand to her hat and settling it more securely, she was quick to amend her statement. “Yes – it would have been a brilliant prank if our young Hufflepuff had chosen a different regiment of House Elf. As the herb fell on the kitchen staff, a number of our Elves suffered burns and cuts. Hence the reason why there IS a disciplinary hearing against this student.”

Ron’s face was just as quick to sober. “I give the kid credit for doing something not even George and Fred would have thought of, but you are right – he did not do his homework.” A smile broke out among his freckles. “But still – can you imagine all those Elves in Madam Pomfrey’s wing – acting like a bunch of cats loaded on catnip? THAT IS BRILLIANT!”

“Gentlemen, thank you for the pleasure of your company.” There was no mistaking the sincerity of her compliment.

“Night, Professor,” Ron called out to one of his favourite professors as he heard rather than watched Harry re-heft his load.

“See you in class,” Harry called out to the Transfiguration teacher as the staircase she chose began to disengage itself from the landing and swing downward.

Beginning to walk away, both Harry and Ron heard someone call their names.

Backtracking and praying that their arms wouldn’t fall off until after they got back to Gryffindor Tower, both of them chorused, “Yes, Professor McGonagall?”

The staircase was descending too rapidly to hear what she said, but seeing her take out her wand and fire two pulses of champagne coloured light at the boxes they carried was enough for them to get her meaning.

“Remind me to ask Hermione if students are allowed to award teachers points,” Ron exclaimed.

“She is the best!” Harry had to give credit where credit was due.

Sure we deserved to make reparations for putting Neville behind glass yesterday morning. No one could say that being Filch’s ‘lug-monkeys’ was an unfair Verdict of Restitution. But Professor McGonagall, casting a Feather-Light Charm on the boxes because she wanted too? That will be Number 9 on my list of the’ Top Twenty Things that are Grand About Being Back in School’, Harry deemed elatedly.

* * * * * * *

I have to be dreaming. Please, let me be dreaming!

Wishing that she had time to pinch herself awake, she let the snapping of her school robe be a poor substitute as she pumped her legs and pulled her elbows closer to her body.

Exhaling only draw another oxygen-rich breath, she was grateful that this was NOT the dream where she showed up late for class wearing nothing but a tea-cozy. Always be grateful for the little things were the thoughts she spared as she rounded the next corner.

Keeping her arms tight to her side, maybe I can out run them! But every time she looked back, students in various stages of dress only seemed to be closing the gap and growing in size.

Merlin help me – this is NO dream!

Mentally ticking off in her mind which door opened to what classroom as she sped down the corridors, Hermione’s mind began to formulate other options. If I cannot outrun them, then maybe I can out think them. Resurrecting a layout of the castle, she suddenly veered left. My plan isn’t working! Every time she thought she would loose them by taking a shortcut or little used passageway, the mob was still there. And they all were still gaining on her. They: a large group of Hogwarts students, travelling en masse at stampede-speed. Wasting a precious half a second on deciding that pulling rank and commanding the group to, ‘Cease and desist in the name of the Head Girl’ would be about as effective as telling the grass not to grow, she spun on her heels and made like the wind.

Somewhere near Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom on the second floor, someone in the back of the crowd began to chant. In less than three repetitions, a three-syllable cadence had EVERYONE chanting and pumping their arms in the air to the same rhythm. “HOO – LA – GAN! HOO – LA – GAN! HOO – LA – GAN!”

Sprinting to another set of Moving Staircases – she glanced around and noticed that none of them were shifting. Giving a fleeting look sharply down, she thoughts her eyes might be playing tricks on her. The stairs actually seem to be wider. Leave it to a magical castle to have an innate sense of self preservation, she thought ruefully. Reconciling herself to the fact that if she were the castle and at least half the student body was in a crazed, mob mentality state of being – I would do the same thing – she silently gave credit to the building of stone and wood for doing something that she herself could not do – at the moment. Which involved finding a way to funnel the crowd while at the same time avoid any permanent damage. Oh yeah – and keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. And – keep my shoes clear of my robes. That was on the list as well.

Clearing the fourth floor and heading east, Hermione knew she did not have to be a Marauder to realize she was running out of castle. The crowd was almost on her. She would feel the zeal of their chant thrum through her body. The footfalls from half the students enrolled in school shook the portrait frames where they hung. If I can just get to the Ravenclaw wing, she thought. I may just have a chance.

Rounding the last corner before entering the final corridor that would lead her to Ravenclaw House, she spared a half a second to take in what was in front of her. In that moment, everything took on a very surreal quality – as if the nightmare she was living was slowing down and being played out in slow motion. The long corridor only had one passageway that ran perpendicular to the hallway. Dotted on either side of the hallway were a handful of supply and broom cupboards. Of which she was sure were locked and secured.

Oh, I’m in trouble.

The door to the Ravenclaw dormitory was a scene unto itself. Whoever wasn’t behind her was in front of her. Coming to a full stop, she saw all eyes turn on her. My only possible escape is BEYOND the Ravenclaw Door, and now that is cut off! Approaching desperation, the probability of Filch forgetting to lock one of his precious supply cupboards was not a risk she could gamble.

Given Filch’s paranoia over students snogging in his precious supply cupboards, that option is out of the question. Now, I am out of time and space.

“HOO – LA – GAN! HOO – LA – GAN! HOO – LA – GAN!” The mob behind her was now right on top of her heels.

The scene in front of the Ravenclaw door was just as manic. Whoever wasn’t behind her were in front of her. Her only means of escape cut off by the students who crowded around the House entrance.

Less than three seconds – that’s how long it took for the group behind Hermione to infect the group that blocked her only apparent means to freedom. Now EVERYONE was chanting the same three syllables to the same tempo.

Turning her head rapidly in every direction, Hermione found herself in a situation that she could not think, rationalize or argue her way out of; panic began to prick the outside edges of her cool exterior. The crush was on her. There was a group of excited students in front of her. There was nowhere to go.

Just as she felt the first person jostle her, a well-muscled forearm shot out and grabbed her wrist. Too stunned to do anything but allow herself to be pulled, she had the sensation of being spun and a large body placing itself between her and the onslaught. The arm that had her wrist gently bent her elbow and then clamped down to securely press her against the length of her rescuer. Before she knew it, she was half led, half carried towards a broom cupboard. But all she could hear was, “HOO – LA – GAN! HOO – LA – GAN! HOO – LA – GAN!”

Through a veil of hair, she saw a jet of light fly between the tip of a wand and the door handle. Suddenly, darkness and quiet were the most immediate assaults on her senses. The dark was welcoming in its pervasiveness. The wooden door vibrated with energy from the crowd. She could still hear the chanting, but at least she could hear herself think. She felt her back be pressed against the inside wall of the supply closet and a pair well-made arms were braced on the smooth wood on either side of her shoulders. The body was large. She could feel warmth radiating off his person. From the puffs of air that touched her cheeks, she could tell that he was breathing a bit heavy. After all – so was she.

The panic she felt in the corridor – it was changing into something else. Something a little – primeval. She felt exhilarated. Just the tiniest bit like she was doing something…. dangerous. It felt good to be so…excited.

“Who? What?” The only words she was able to form were the most rudimentary in their nature.

The sound of a body fetching hard against the cupboard door caused her rescuer whip his head to the left.

“Shush,” was the low-spoken command she heard. “Be still.”

Looking down at her, he was glad that she nodded her head silently and kept her head tilted towards the door. He was enjoying playing the part of rescuer and didn’t want to surrender the title too soon. The fact that she didn’t immediate say his name was a clear indication that she couldn’t recognize him. She had no idea who he was – and in the dark, as far as she was concerned – he could be anybody. He could let himself be anybody.

She was quite a sight. Her tie was askew and somewhere along the way, her robe had slipped off one shoulder and had pooled in loose folds around her elbow. Ever since the first day of term, she had taken to wearing her hair up and away from her face. He rather regretted seeing her curls tamed and corralled into what ever plait, hair accessory or the ‘Up-Do Of the Day’ she fancied. In the few seconds it took to pull her from the corridor, he saw that great locks of hair had slipped free of the two sticks she had threaded through her tresses.

It was hard to see anything in the cupboard. As it was, he was blocking pretty much any light that seeped in around the edges of the access door. There was no way he could miss the way her eyes glittered in the dark as they picked up the residual, weakly refracted light. If he had to put one word on the energy he felt flow from her at this moment in time, he would have to say that the term he would use would be: charged. She looked stunning and a little…feral.

“I have to go. I need to be out there. Someone has needs to take control.” As much as she wanted to stay, Hermione could feel her sense of responsibility starting to creep back into play.

“Not yet,” he said. “You go out there now and you will only make things worse.”

“But it’s me they want. They – all the way from the first floor.” She was trying to create an argument that both her rescuer and her would buy. “I saw it in their eyes.”

“They aren’t after you.” His voice rang with absolute assurance.

“How can you be so sure? Were you there?” The need to know was in every letter of every work she spoke.

“I know because I am supposed to know. I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t have sources of my own.” A smile broke out across his face half way through his sentence and was carried by his voice.

Reaching out, she placed her palm on where she guessed she would find the middle of his chest. Enjoying the way his body heat permeated through his clothes, a certain tension began to take hold of her. Which she deliberately failed to hide. “What did you see?”

“You – entering the DADA classroom within moments of Terry Boot emerging from the Ravenclaw dormitory. Ms Boot tearing down the Moving Staircases and stopping in the Great Hall. EVERYONE who was at breakfast dropping whatever they were doing and begin racing for Ravenclaw House just as you were leaving the classroom.” The voice in the dark explained with a wry lilt to his slightly formal mannerisms.

The muffled voices of Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and someone else making their way through the crowd put her Heal Girl-ness on a mental back burner. With them reining in the scene, her presence would be over-kill. Besides, she liked where she was and what she was currently engaged.

I should be asking this person to declare himself – no DEMANDING to declare himself – but this is so…wickedly impish.

Not hearing an answer, the voice took on deeper, raspier tone as it continued with the tale. “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Although – watching you zigzag across the castle was fairly impressive. I didn’t know you knew the castle so thoroughly.” The innuendo that biased his words was completely unintentional. He found himself responding to her in a way that was never available to him before – but had played out in his mind a hundred-fold.

That dangerous feeling, which had first made itself known just moments earlier, was back. The fact the he knew who she was but his identity remained an unknown formed a potent combination of minx-like freedom and darkness-inspired empowerment. Her long-tethered impulses formed the words she spoke. “Well, that goes to show that there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” But the dangerous element spun her sentence in such a way that her words became a challenge.

The smallness of the space, the proximity of the warm male in front of her, the last minute rescue, her raging feelings, the sexy smell she kept inhaling, the way he had her ‘trapped’ but when in reality, she had him transfixed on her was all very heady stuff. Which was simmering. In fact, just a little more and it would all boil over.

Switching the tone of his voice to something akin to hers, he took a half a step closer to the girl in front of him. Releasing one hand from the wall, he brought the backside of his fingers down the soft, smooth slope of her cheek and gently lifted her jaw line with ruthlessly shackled strength and desire. Deliberately letting his breath waft across her cheeks, he asked, “Are you ready to go there, Miss Granger?”

The energy from the crowd as it pressed itself closer against the corridor wall and how the mass of students made the door rattle only heightened the flush that was wrapping itself around her neck. She felt hot. Prickly. Like something needed to happen. The hand that had been resting on the front of his shirt turned of its own volition and now grasped a fistful of uniform. The wall behind her took on a stabilizing role as she felt her bones becoming softer by the moment.

He was not immune. The smell of some spring flower stained his fingers. The way she chewed on her lip trying to decide what do next made him try to press his other palm through the cupboard wall. The unexpected grabbing of his clothes made him dip his head and slightly tip his head to one side. Who is holding back now?

The timbre of Dumbledore’s voice and McGonagall’s Scottish burr encouraging everyone to return to the Great Hall was felt rather than heard. Hermione could barely hear anything over the staccato of her heart beating. The tall boy in front of her was not in any better shape.

“I see. Then if –“ He was interrupted before he could form another word – by a pair of wildly questing lips. The adage of: If a Wizard won’t go to his wand – then the wand must be brought…was chased out of his head as she had begun to completely fill all of his senses.

It was a passionate kiss. She added a handful of hair to the fistful of jumper and uniform she had her hand. She felt her teeth scrape his and a sound like squeaky chalk vibrated the back of her mouth. In the moment, she inhaled sharply at the sensation. When she opened her mouth wider, felt his lips spread to keep hers covered as much as feasibly possible – was when she felt his tongue slide across hers. Letting her back completely rest against the wall behind her, she took him with her as she slumped. It was all she could do to keep her tongue and lips to the rhythm he measured.

There was no way he was going to stop. He felt her spine bend and was grateful for the wall that rose behind her. The hand that had been resting on her jaw tangled in the hair around her temple and snaked back to feel the silky curls more fully against his fingers and knuckles. The sticks that held her hair in place clattered to the floor – one after another. His mouth parted and twisted to the demanding lead she danced. He felt her free hand glide through his hair and her nails blaze a trail down the back of his jumper. Her fingers followed the path of his leather belt as she sought a place to rest her questing fingers – stopping only when she realized she was pulling at his shirttails and settling for twining the fine cotton around her fingers.

The light applause from the other side of the cupboard door could have been for them. It was a snogging session worthy of recording in the Annuls of The Kiss.

Breaking for air, Hermione pulled her tongue from one of most deliciously aggressive tussles she had ever experienced.

Chest heaving from the exertion it took to tear himself away from the kiss, his let his head fall forward and split its weight between her shoulder and the cool wall. He felt shattered but at the same time, he felt like he was invincible. Every response from the smug, to the sarcastic, to the dopey to the sappy were rehearsed and rejected by his mind.

Dazed yet oddly coherent, Hermione let her head fall to one side. Away from where his silky-coarse hair fell towards her shoulder. The temptation to re-engage was very powerful. She felt validated. She was worthy of being kissed like she would never be kissed again. Despite the fact that she was the one who had kissed him in the first place. She felt like she should say something – anything – but every thought that came to her either seemed trite or insecure or would trivialize what had just occurred.

The sound of the crowd breaking up broke through the thunderous pounding of his libido. He felt her shift and begin to straighten. As his head was closest to the door, he had that much more of an advantage to figure out what was going on outside their haven. Yet it was Hermione he heard speak. “They are breaking up.”

Standing straighter himself, he put his right hand on her right shoulder and reached for the doorknob with his left. “This is our chance.” He saw her nod. “Once I’m through, you follow – but just blend in. Don’t call attention to yourself.”

Eyes that were still slightly glazed with passion were temporarily blinded by the intrusion of bright morning light. Letting the first words that came to her well-massaged tongue flow, she called out to the tall boy silhouetted by the contrast of the dark cupboard. “I thought you said that they weren’t after me?”

Pausing to turn his head only slightly, he threw back with a deep, satisfied smile in his voice, “They weren’t. But not even you can talk your way out this one – stepping out of a broom cupboard looking the way you do.” And with that, he merged with the flow of the departing students.

Waiting for her turn to meld with the exodus, Hermione thought about the past few minutes. After several, sequential, introspective thoughts, there was nothing which had transpired that she would feel ashamed in repeating to anyone. It was amazing and wonderful and eye opening. Girls can make the first move and not be labelled a tart. If anything, she felt more confident than when she had first woken up. A gentle, “H-haw-hmmm,” broke into her reverie.

It was a portrait depicting a young woman sitting for an artist. Stopping the artist with a polite hand gesture, she beckoned to Hermione. “My dear. You may want to take a slightly longer route than everyone else.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what the girl was speaking of – she had already resettled her robe. “Pardon me?”

“As one young woman to another – you may want to tend to– “ Before the portrait could say another word, Hermione let out one of her famous shrieks.

One minute she was talking to a nice portrait on the fourth floor, the next instant she was being swept up off her feet. A strong arm dipped down and slid in behind her knees while another grasped her tightly just below her shoulder blades. A triumphant, “WHOOHOOO!” left little imagination as to which family her present captor belonged. “Ronald Weasley, put me down this instant!”

“No way Head Girl. You are not going to beg off and say that you have something more important to do. The Hooligan has just struck and everyone is going down to the Great Hall. Especially you!”

Ron was full to bursting. Every since Harry announced that he saw something on the Marauder’s Map, he, Dean, Seamus, Neville and Harry had been on the move. Along the way, they had gotten separated but as the crowd made for the first floor, they had found each other and banded back to together.

“You cannot tell me that you are going to carry me all the way there, are you?” Hermione knew she should not have egged him on, but his good mood was just too infectious. With her two best friends being as close as they were and knowing she was in such a heightened sensual state, Hermione wasn’t ready to share her secret just yet. Given half a chance to really look at her swollen lips and flushed cheeks, there was no telling what the ‘Gentlemen Don’t Behave That Way’ Enforcement Squad would do to her mysterious paramour.

“Merlin no! That is why a guy has got mates to back him up.” Ron changed his grip on his best friend ever so slightly. Pausing so that Dean could come up along side, he gave his friend and then Hermione a saucy wink. “Right Dean?” And with that, he launched Hermione into Dean’s waiting arms.

For the split second that Hermione was in the air, she vowed to ‘disembowel Ronald Weasley’. But as soon as she felt Dean’s strong arms catch her, she burst out into a near hysterical giggles. “Let me go this instant!” Unable to keep from laughing, she desperately forced out, “Just wait until I tell Ginny! She’ll –“ Hermione never had a chance to finish saying what she thought her friend might do.

Dean, shifting his Head Girl in his muscular arms and smoothly interrupted her with mock apprehension. “Tell Ginny?” Looking around and seeing a tall dark haired boy just coming along side, Dean let his eyes become large and ‘fearful’. “Crikey! She’ll kill me!” And with that, he tossed Hermione.

“Dean! No! Wait! I didn’t mean…!” With a breath jarring Oomph! – Hermione found herself being pulled tightly against the torso of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Lucky for her, it was someone who had arms of steel. At very least, someone whose shoulders did not readily dislocate.

“Morning, Hermione.” Harry couldn’t resist teasing the lovely girl who had stopped squirming in his arms.

Steadying when she realized that he wasn’t straining anything in carrying her, Hermione dared to look up into those green, sparkling eyes that seemed to see more than the visual plane. “Don’t tell me YOU’RE going to carry me down to the Hall?”

“Only if you think I have been getting into Madame Pomfrey’s cupboards,” Harry smirked.

Looking ahead, Ron, Dean, Neville and Seamus had taken the initiative – they had pulled away and were giving the two Gryffindors a little space.

“No. I intend to carry you until the end of the corridor and then we are going to high tail it down three flights of stairs. I think that this is going to be a record breaker.” Looking down at her smiling face shrewdly, he couldn’t help but ask, “Is there anything YOU wish to tell me, Miss Granger?”

Squeezing his shoulders as a signal to be put down, Hermione found her balance as her feet touched the floor. Standing well within his personal space while still encircled by his arms, a wonderfully wicked thought raced through her mind. Oh-so-coyly answering his question with one of her own, “Unless you have suddenly taken to rescuing the cornered, extracting payment for said rescue and subsequently sweeping ladies off their feet?”

Looking down at her and appreciating who she was, it took a moment for a lopsided grin to reply, “The latter – I am guilty. Half the school has now seen me with the fairer sex in my arms. As for rescuing the cornered – as you have called to my attention more than once – that is my forte. Extracting a price for a rescue? Well, then, I would have to say that the ONLY time I would stoop to such mercenary behaviour was if there was something which I had to have that I felt I could not bring about by any other means.”

Cannily smiling in her own right, Hermione looked into a pair of crafty green eyes. “Oh honestly Harry, when will you boys ever learn?” Maybe he wasn’t the one in the broom cupboard after all, she thought.

“What’s that, oh Wise Learned Hermione?” Harry asked, just as slyly.

“One can’t steal what is pressed into one’s pockets!” The plain look on Harry’s face was enough to convince her that she hadn’t tipped her hand. Gleeful for still having her secret snogging session unto herself, Hermione bounced up on her toes to press her lips to Harry’s cheek.

Keep it on the level, Potter. Keep it on the level. There are too many people around to do what you want to do to the little imp standing underneath your chin. Glancing ahead, his mates were already out of sight. Taking her hand as a compromise between what he really wanted to do and what she would let him get away with, Harry asked, “Shall we?”

Nodding in agreement, Hermione held onto Harry’s hand all the way to the staircases. Bounding down the steps as fast as possible, they were still among the last to enter the Great Hall.

What a sight!

Harry held tight to Hermione’s hand as he watched her scan the room as he himself took in the sight of all his fellow schoolmates – in various stages of dress (or undress) as some of the boys were still shrugging into t-shirts and girls pulling their school robes tightly over their bedclothes.

Harry noticed that every one was sitting where they could get the best view of the centre aisle. If that meant that Crabbe was sharing a seat with Susan Bones or a Gryffindor was sitting kitty-corner to a Dungeon Dweller – no one said anything about the anomaly. Pulling Hermione through the crowd until she was walking ahead of him, it was nearly impossible to navigate among the students who were stacked on top of the tables and leaning over the shoulders of those sitting on the benches. Letting Hermione work her Head Girl magic, it took a moment for her to find them a seat. Well, a seat for Hermione and a place for Harry to stand behind Hermione’s shoulder. Harry barely had time to register that he was ironically near Draco Malfoy when Luna and Padma pronounced to Headmaster Dumbledore, “Sir. We’ve been pranked!”

The ‘swoosh’ of points falling into the lead Hooligan’s tank only drew more attention to the two Ravenclaws standing in the middle of the Hall facing the Heads Table.

Luna Lovegood and Padma Patel were COVERED in Ravenclaw Blue soapsuds. Hair, arms, backs of socks and torsos were splotched with the blue suds. But, interestingly enough, their skin was not stained – even though the blue suds clung to the side of Padma’s porcelain-like complexion and Luna’s pale hair was still its unusual, natural hue, Harry noticed.

“Headmaster. We were so careful,” Padma began. “Since noon-time yesterday, Ravenclaw House has taken every precaution against the Hooligan.”

Picking up where her fellow Prefect left off, Luna said, “We made arrangements to have our meals delivered to the dormitory and we all made a pact not to let ANYONE who wasn’t a Ravenclaw through the portrait door. We had seen what had happened to the Hufflepuffs and decided that instead of trying the ‘safety in numbers’ tactic, we would reduce the Hooligan’s opportunity to prank any our House by completely restricting access.”

“Then, this morning….” Not really sure how to continue without showing how much she had enjoyed what had happened to her House, Padma looked to Luna for support.

Finding it impossible to keep a smile off her face, especially since she was having so much fun being covered in suds the colour of Ronald Weasley’s eyes, Luna said, “We were in the showers, Headmaster.” A chorus of testosterone scented catcalls broke out in the Hall. “I can only speak from personal experience – but what happened to me was confirmed by similar experiences by the boys as well.”

Feminine whistles and wolf-calls proved that the female population of Hogwarts appreciated the mental image of Ravenclaw boys in the shower.

Smiling at the fact that Luna knew she was blushing, she continued. “We were in the shower room and noticed that the shampoos and body soaps we were using were rinsing clean off our bodies but that the soap bubbles were building around our ankles. We tried to run more water – you know – to try to flush the suds away. But the more water we added, the more suds that there were. It became apparent that some how, somewhere the Hooligan got us.”

As if on cue, the entire Hall began to chant. This time students clapped their hands, stamped their feet or slapped the tabletops with cutlery with each syllable. “HOO – LA – GIN! HOO – LA – GIN! HOO – LA – GIN!”

Padma was trying to keep from laughing so hard that Harry could see tears leaking from her eyes as she and everyone else in the Great Hall applauded.

Headmaster Dumbledore was astounded. Two complete Houses and a professor pranked with in three days? Lightly stroking his beard, he asked, “Would you say that this was a worthy prank?” Thinking about the blue suds, he voice lost a touch of its amusement. “There was nothing damaged was there? Was anyone hurt?”

Quick to defend the Hooligan, Ron appreciated the way Luna held her ground. “Oh, no sir – nothing like that happened. We actually stopped what we were doing so that we all could watch. Headmaster, I wish that there was a way for me share with you the awe that ran through my House as this tidal wave of blue suds crested over the shower walls, broke at the door jamb and cascaded into our Common Room.”

Realizing that she had become more animated with her hands as she demonstrated what took place in the Ravenclaw Dormitory, Luna was quick to clasp her fingers and let her arms hang limp. “But to address your question: no. Nothing was damaged and no one was hurt. That is the nature of soapsuds. They are essentially dry. And that is why they ‘pop’ – there is no moisture to maintain their spherical structure. As for the blue – we all thought that was a BRILLIANT touch. No sir, we were victims of our over-confidence in our intellectual and practical approach to the Hooligan’s capabilities.”

Another layer of points dropped into the lead Hooligan’s receptacle.

Reassured, Dumbledore let a smile once again dominate his face. “How would you rate the execution, originality and the level of admiration for what has been done – too your entire House?”

Finding her voice, Padma spoke up loud and clear. “Sir. It was stellar. The Hooligan – without setting one foot into our dormitory – PRANKED our entire House by using our own intellect against us. And – not only do we applaud what has been done to us, but, “ Looking at an eager Luna before touching her gaze with the Headmaster’s, “We are wondering if we can be dismissed so that we can go back and…” Dropping the words she wanted to say, so that we can go back and have as much fun as our Housemates with the suds before they all evaporate, Padma back-peddled and hurriedly said, “Help our fellow Ravenclaws clean up the dorm.”

“Ladies. Thank you. But, before you go, could you answer one more question?” Dumbledore asked.

Padma answered, “Of course Headmaster – how may we help you?”

“Where is your Head of House? I am eager to speak with him. I must confess that I am having a bit of trouble with my office guardian and would like to ask him his opinion,” Dumbledore explained.

Luna looked at Padma before saying, “As soon as the suds hit the Common Room floor, I sent Terry Boot to collect Professor Flitwick. As far as I know, he is still at Ravenclaw House.”

“Please tell him that I am in need of his council?” Looking the two Ravenclaws as puffs of suds drifted off their clothes as they made their way out of the Great Hall, he called out once more, “And ladies – do have a goodtime? And – if possible – I would be grateful if you could save me some of those amazing bubbles.”

Turning to Prof. McGonagall, Ron couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he was sure envious of the morning Luna was having. Reaching out for Hermione’s arm, his grin stretched from one side of is face to the other. “What a week! You gotta promise me that if you see any Ravenclaw before I do, that you will get all the juicy little details.”

Looking past Draco’s head, Hermione angled her chin at Parvati and Colin forging their way to the tables. At each table, a packet was dramatically dropped and the contents splayed. By the time the Senior Correspondent for the Hogwarts’ Gossip Mill made her way to where the majority of the Gryffindors sat, she had perfected her tag line.

“This is why you love me!” she pronounced.

The packet was an amazing collection of Colin Creevey’s signature Wizard Photographs. That meant that not only did the subjects move, but also the snapshots were taken with the precision of a professional. And within each packet, there were multiple sets of the same pictures.

Sifting through the pile and taking out one set and passing the rest down the table, Harry leaned over Hermione’s shoulder. Which happened to be one shoulder away from Malfoy. Ignoring the Prince of the Pains in the Arses, Harry could not control the laughter that burst from his chest. Nor could anyone around him. The pictures were priceless!

Holding a stitch that had formed in her side from laughing so hard, Ginny looked up at the earnest photographer. “Colin – how did you manage to get all these?”

Colin’s pride in a scoop well delivered showed as plain as day. “I was coming back from the Owlery and decided to take a short cut through the fourth floor. Just as I was rounding a corner, I saw Terry emerge from the Ravenclaw portrait. While the door was ajar, I slipped in, took these – and a few more – and then raced to get them developed!”

The pictures were very worthy of praise - for Colin and for the Hooligan. It showed the Ravenclaw Common Room FILLED with blue soapsuds. Ravenclaws – known to be the most studious and least demonstrative of all the Houses – were having the time of their lives playing in the suds. Not only were they swimming through the fluffy stuff, but also they were throwing it at one another AND levitating great hunks of the stuff across the room at housemate who looked like they could use a ‘third’ or ‘fourth’ dousing.

Hermione’s sharply inhaled breath drew everyone’s attention to the picture that had been in her hands, which now was drifting down onto the tabletop. Pairs of hands scrambled to be the first ones to lay claim to it. Draco’s fingers were faster than anyone else’s. His reaction was similar his Head counterpart. Except that he included a, “See you in class, Granger,” and slipped a note into her robe pocket when he rose from the table to cross to the Slytherin encampment.

The picture was of Prof. Flitwick – surfing the tidal wave as his head tumbled over his feet - down the stairs that led from the Ravenclaw shower room to the common room, encased in the blue suds, with a truly memorable smile on his face and every other facial feature scrunched up in absolute glee.

* * * * * * *

The next afternoon…October 23rd

If she thought about it once, then she had thought about it a thousand times.

Looking down over the banister, Ginny had been trying to catch up with one person all morning. Slapping the balustrade with an open palm, she really started to consider whim. One of these days I am going to vault over these banisters and drop to the next flight of stairs. Then, I will volunteer my name for the weekly “Stupidest Student Stunt of the Week’ drawing. Of which Ron, Dean and Harry were past Grand Masters and card-carrying Members for Life. What was that they did? Oh yeah – pretty much everything they had been caught doing to each other for the past six years, she snarkily recalled. No, she needed to catch up with Hermione. Quickly.

Ginny Weasley wasn’t the only one hot on the Head Girl’s tail. Draco Malfoy wished he could summon his broom in order to catch up with Hermione. Ever since breakfast, he had been trying to catch her eye. He knew she had found his note. Either by guile or bizarre scheduling conflicts, somehow he was never able find the time needed to pull her aside. As more students pooled and flowed down the stairs and landings, he kept his eyes focused on her book bag. He used to track her by her curls. Now that she always wore her hair up, he had to find another means of not loosing sight of her in a crowd. And after the confrontation with her and Goyle’s younger brother several weeks ago, sending a fellow Slytherin with a Malfoy Summons wasn’t going to work either.

Too self-possessed to trot, or to even give the merest hint of being in a hurry, Draco gave superficial responses to whatever Crabbe and McNair were blathering on about. Double Transfiguration was going to take up the entire morning – hence no chance of garnering her attention until after class. Remembering her schedule tacked up in the Heads office, he had a pretty good idea where she would be before the afternoon lessons began. Pleased that his ‘Plan B’ was actually better than trying to pull her into an empty classroom, Draco didn’t even bother to toss a disparaging look at Potty when he saw the black-haired Seeker come up along side Granger and tug playfully on the strap of her rucksack.

Walking and talking had been a skill Hermione had mastered long ago. Walking and talking while thinking of something else took a bit more concentration, but was still something that could be done with a certain level of competency. Walking, thinking and searching for something in one’s book bag for a third unrelated item was slightly more challenging. After all, just because YOU know where YOU are going, doesn’t automatically translate into have a clear path of least encumbrance. At least that is was the suddenly random thought that crossed Hermione’s mind, as she suddenly had to swerve to avoid toppling a cluster of First Years like a group of Leg-Locked Hufflepuffs.

Approaching the last set of stairs that led to the first floor, the fine hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. With one hand still buried in her pack and keeping one eye on the steps to make sure she didn’t trip, Hermione barely grumbled when she felt a teasing tug on the strap she had slung over one shoulder. Which led to an even less of a struggle when the bag’s strap was lifted off of her and smoothly slid alongside the book bag belonging to a certain green-eyed man/boy who had an extremely playful smile on his face. Looking appraisingly at her best friend, Hermione switched which side of Harry that she was walking and linked her newly freed arm through his. Enjoying the easy banter that had flowed naturally between the two of them for years, the final few minutes it took to reach Professor McGonagall’s classroom left a smile on his face of which she knew mimicked her own.

Crossing the threshold, Hermione glanced around the room. Spying Dean and Ron she turned to Harry and said, ”Why don’t you catch up with those two and I meet you back here?”

Looking around and sensing Malfoy enter the room behind him, Harry nodded in agreement. This way I can touch base with Ron and Dean and all three of us can put our heads together to figure out what he is scheming. “All right. See you in a minute.”

Making a show of dropping first Hermione’s bag and then his own at their usual seats, only then did he cross over to where his mates were grouped around one of the large story-high windows. Harry was pleased to see Neville and Seamus had gotten to class a bit early. Five heads are better than three. Not to mention that Neville has a knack for noticing the small details that I sometimes overlook. That thought spawned the confidence behind his easy-going hails to his friends.

Seamus, who was currently sitting on top of a desk and propping one leg on the back rest of the matching chair, was in the middle of a story when Harry came up behind Neville and leaned his upper arm on his friend’s shoulder. Nodding in acknowledgement to Harry’s arrival, Seamus didn’t miss a beat and continued with his tale. “As I was saying. I was on my way to class this morning and I saw Professor Dumbledore standing in front of his office SHOUTING his password three times at his guardian gargoyle.”

Unable to restrain the impulse when Seamus left himself wide open, Ron was all nudges and winks when he said, “You don’t reckon that it’s gone stone deaf, do you?”

The collective groans of four Gryffindors were loud enough for Hermione and Prof. McGonagall to look up from their pre-class conference and level fixed gazes at the redhead.

“What?” Trying to explain himself as disarmingly as possible, he countered their disapproving looks. “If you had heard something like that, don’t tell me you wouldn’t’ve done the same?”

Following Neville’s line of sight when the quieter boy turned towards a blur of movement near McGonagall’s desk, the question as to what Longbottom was looking at was quickly answered. It was Dobby. He was delivering a steaming mug of something to the Transfiguration Professor. Still listening to Ron take his lumps for ‘seizing the moment’ and offering a small word here and there; Harry was more focused on what was going on across the room.

Hearing someone shuffle about near the vicinity of her kneecap, Prof. McGonagall greeted the Head House Elf warmly. “Good morning, Dobby. May I help you?”

Using his own particular brand of speech, which involved talking about himself and everyone else in the ‘third person’, the House Elf looked distinctly out of place in the classroom. And his nervousness was more than apparent. “Dobby has been sent on an errand of much priority. It was explained to Dobby that he must deliver this. “

Holding up the mug so that Prof. McGonagall could easily reach the decorative handle, “To Professor McGonagall with instructions that this tea will help the Professor with her throat.” Tugging on his clothing, he turned his tennis-ball sized eyes to Hermione. “Dobby is grateful for being with Miss and not getting sick like all the others.”

Directing a nod at the bat-eared Elf, Minerva dismissed Dobby with a very kind tone to her voice, “Thank you, Dobby. I am sure that I will enjoy this immensely.” Placing the mug on the corner of her desk, the Head Girl captured her attention.

Watching her Head Girl crouch down, Prof. McGonagall looked on as Hermione pulled a pair of mix-matched socks from her pocket and pressed then into his hands. “Good bye, Dobby.”

Taking a handkerchief out from his sleeve, Dobby’s great eyes began to well up with tears. “Miss is always so good to Dobby. Dobby likes having Miss as a friend.” And with that, he gave his nose a hearty blow.

Feeling embarrassed – not by Dobby’s declaration of friendship – but for being the cause of the House Elf’s tears, Hermione sounded a bit too firm as Minerva heard her dismiss the elf with a promise. “I will see you later Dobby.”

Looking for a way to help one of her favourite students out of a prolonged engagement with an overly emotional Elf, Prof. McGonagall called the class to order.

Watching his friend pad his way out the door, Harry was a little perplexed. Why would Dobby be delivering tea to a teacher? Certainly he has more important things to do? But, shrugging his shoulders, Harry also knew just how devoted Dobby was to Hogwarts and headmaster Dumbledore. He probably wanted to do it himself out of respect.

Taking to his desk near Ron, but several rows behind Hermione, Harry dropped all thoughts of House Elves and focused on the evergreen clad woman.

Picking up her pointer, Prof. McGonagall easily slipped into lecture mode. “Today, I thought that it would be interesting to see if you all could come up with the Transfiguration sequence that the Hooligan used to change live sheep into miniatures that were not only re-animated but resuscitated to their original health but size as well.” Turning towards the blackboard, she reached for her tea and took a pull on the hot beverage. “I know that all of you are proficient in turning animals into inanimate objects. But the level of control necessary for the Hooligan to accomplish what transpired would be what, Mr. MacMillian?” Clearing her throat, she waited to see which excuse the distracted student was going to use.

Ernie, in the middle of passing a note to the person sitting behind him, was nowhere near prepared for Prof. McGonagall’s sudden question. “I don’t know, Professor.”

“And here I am, thinking that you already know the answer and hence the reason why your were slipping that bit of parchment to your fellow classmate.” Prof. McGonagall’s pointed look all but guaranteed Ernie a detention. Stifling a light cough by taking another swallow of her tea, she looked around the room for another viable student to answer her question. “Mr. Weasley, do you have any theories?” Harry thought that he heard her voice starting to crack as she pronounced certain consonants

Quite the student when he applied himself, all of Ron’s previous joking fell to the wayside. Real concentration underlined every word he said. “Well, Professor. The Hooligan would have to make sure that they knew about the specific sheep in question and that person would also have to be very conscientious of how much time the sheep were transfigured into miniatures. As we have learned, the longer something is transfigured, the harder it is to revert it back to its original state.”

“You are correct.” Turning to another student, Harry was ‘all ears’ when Prof. McGonagall asked another question. “Mr. Malfoy. How could the Hooligan have prepared the sheep so that when Professor Snape said his incantation once, all twelve sheep transformed at the same time?”

Without missing a beat, Draco replied, “The Hooligan must have added a some sort of multiplier spell into the transfiguration process.”

Impressed that her Head Boy had a ready answer, she did not feel any compunction in delivering a, “Well said, Mr. Malfoy,” to the fair-haired Slytherin.

Stepping away from the black board only to stand in front of her desk, McGonagall was relieved to find no trace of the tickle that had been plaguing her over the past few days.

Feeling a bit renewed, she took another swig of her tea before issuing her instructions for the remainder of the lesson period. “I would like you all to break up into groups. Your lesson this morning is to prepare the systematic process that the Hooligan most likely used to achieve the results we all heard about. As this Hooligan is in all likelihood a housemate of someone who you all know, there is no reason why anyone in this class cannot map out the processes. I will circulate among to you to monitor your work and offer guidance where needed.” Pausing to write something on the board, she turned to face the twenty-five students who looked like they had just been sentenced to de-barnacle the Giant Squid. “The first group to successfully produce a viable sequence will earn their House ten points apiece for each participant.” With that being said, she toasted her students with another swallow of tea. As if to say, good luck.

Glad to de-barnacle the Giant Squid if there were only five points involved, the prospect of ten points and the bracing round of butter beers housemates would gladly procure was enough to send desks clumping together as everyone tried to assemble the best possible team. Therefore, it was no surprise to Harry when McGonagall pulled Hermione away from he and Ron with a simple wave of her finger. Nor when she did the same to Malfoy and pointed to where Susan Bones and Terry Boot were scribbling manically on a piece of parchment. Ron mirrored Hermione’s apologetic shrugs when he saw her get placed with Zabini and MacMillian. Zabini’s really good, Ron thought, but that wanker MacMillian would seriously handicap the both of them.

Two hours and twenty minutes into the exercise, Neville gave a frustrated sigh, ran his fingers through his hair and a low whistle. To anyone else, it gave the impression that the tall lad was stumped. To Harry, Ron and the other Gryffindor boys - the whistle was a subtle code that he and his dorm mates had devised to alert one another that something was ‘afoot’. It was the span of several seconds before Harry nudged Ron. Using his stretching ruse, Ron had caught a glimpse of a black robe slipping out of the classroom door. Professor McGonagall was not at her desk. She had also stopped circulating among the groups. In fact, all Ron could tell was that she had moved to one of the bookcases and had proceeded to pull a number of large tomes off the shelves and started stacking them on a nearby study station. Her tea was all but forgotten.

With Hermione fully caught up with sorting out Ernie and Zabini, there was no chance for help from that sector. Tapping Harry’s foot and jerking his quill in the Transfiguration teacher’s general direction, Ron leaned forward and whispered, “What’s that about?”

For the majority of the lesson, McGonagall had poked and pointed at the various attempts each group formulated. Never really saying anything but getting her point across nonetheless. Which was very typical when she really wanted her students to muddle through a lesson on their own. More than once she had expounded to all her classes how all the lecturing in the world could only supplement the knowledge gained by hands-on applications and practise. Which was why she had such a high success rate in her O.W.L and N.E.W.T level classes.

Chancing a look at Malfoy – the Slytherin too had noticed that Professor McGonagall wasn’t directly involved in the lesson. However, if Harry was any judge, His Royal Blandness did not seem too put out by her lack of interaction.

“I dunno. Maybe she has some sort of summary she’s preparing?” Harry could only come up with that one viable possibility.

If only a few people in class noticed Dobby leave the room, no one missed the appearance of Headmaster Dumbledore standing in the doorway. Or the smug way Pansy Parkinson re-took her seat next to Crabbe. “Professor McGonagall – I understand you wish to have a few words with me?”

Nodding tersely, Professor McGonagall moved to the blackboard.

“What is it that you seem to think I can assist you with, Professor?” Dumbledore’s blue eyes sparkled behind his half moon glasses as he smoothed down a few flyaway wisps of his beard.

Raising a hand to her chest and then lowering it back to hang slackly at her side, Minerva McGonagall seemed to be… at a loss as to how to say what she needed to convey.

“Professor, from what Miss Parkinson has told me, you had dispatched her with all due speed. In fact, the note she presented – in your own handwriting – asked me to come as quickly as possible.” Dumbledore was quickly forming an idea of his own as to what was troubling his tenured staff member. And it was beginning to show on his face. Looking around the room, he settled his gaze on the slightly flushed teacher once more. “Perhaps if you wrote it down it would make it easier for you?” A slight hand gesture accompanied his words.

Opening and closing her mouth, Minerva narrowed her eyes. Instead of reaching for a piece of chalk, she pulled from a pocket inside her robe a wand. For half a moment, it looked like she was going to actually launch a hex at Dumbledore. In the other half of the same moment she began to write in the air with the tip of her wand.

I’VE BEEN PRANKED!

Dumbledore had all he could do to keep his eyebrows from touching his hairline. The students in her class certainly did not misinterpret what she wrote. Who in the name of Merlin could prank Minerva McGonagall in the middle of her class? That was the ten thousand-galleon question. Raising both palms to keep the twenty-five Seventh Years quiet, Dumbledore could not wait to hear how this prank came about. “Professor McGonagall, can you tell me how was this accomplished?”

NO!

Looking at the students and looking at the two-letter word floating in the air in front of his friend, a few more pieces fell into place. “Is that because you do not know what happened to you?”

NO!

The two letters were bigger and brighter than their predecessors. “Professor McGonagall, I am afraid that I am at a loss. If you cannot tell me…” Dumbledore deliberately let his words trail off and fade as he stroked the surface of his beard again.

I CANNOT TELL YOU BECAUSE THE HOOLIGAN STOLE MY VOICE!

The bright floating letters did not contain any of the precisely flowing script he had grown accustomed to seeing over the years. By force of will, he kept the students in their seats and prevented the excited exchanges from bursting forth and dominating the few minutes that remained in the lesson. Completely enjoying the way the Hooligan had struck, Dumbledore couldn’t help but ask, “Is there someone I should summon for you to question, Professor?”

The look on her face was the epitome of how one’s expression would read if the words, “How exactly am I supposed to do that when I cannot even speak?!” flowed sarcastically from her tongue.

In less than a moment, Professor McGonagall put her hand to her chest, leaned backwards and perched herself on the edge of her desk. Putting half of her face in one hand, she threw a sidelong glance at her long-time friend, mentor and superior.

It was her shoulder shaking that gave her away.

Professor McGonagall was laughing. She was laughing so hard that she had to repeatedly squeeze water from her eyes.

What every person in the Transfiguration classroom bore witness to was not the tight snicker that had been heard on occasion come from the Deputy Headmistress. This did not compare to when the Gryffindor House Matriarch lightly chuckled at her House charges’ latest antics. This was a full-on, body encompassing laughing session the likes of which had not been witnessed by so many persons at one time in a great many years.

Hearing the bell toll, Dumbledore knew that no one was going to go anywhere without having The Questions’ answered. “Professor, would you say that? -“ He was interrupted by a shaky hand being raised in the air and a flutter of wrist movements by his stricken Transfiguration teacher.

Yes.

YES.

Y E S!

“And your level of admiration of said prank?” Dumbledore knew the answer before the words left his cheeks.

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

What he wanted to say was: Even when you can’t speak, you still don’t miss the mark, do you Minerva? What he had to say was, “Thank you. Professor McGonagall for your candour.” And with an abbreviated bow and a swish of robes, Headmaster Dumbledore was off to the Great Hall to answer the questions that the Hooligan effective stripped McGonagall from answering. Good Show! That one phrase repeated itself in his mind off and on throughout the rest of the day.

Looking at twenty-five students who were looking for her to say the two words that would release them, Professor McGonagall could feel the excitement thrum through her N.E.W.T level class. Well, if I can’t say it, the least I can do is this, she ruefully mused. Stabbing at the air, she gave them what they had been waiting for:

C LA S S D I S M I S S E D ! ! !

She coupled her words with hearty waves of her hands like she was pushing them out the door.

Let no one say that my Seventh Years are slow on the pick up, she thought as the squeak and scrapes of desks and chairs being shoved around were the only sounds heard as the students fought to re-arrange the furniture. All but tripping over one another, they clambered to get out of the classroom and spread the word that Professor Minerva McGonagall had been pranked. And pranked well!

* * * * * * *

Not everyone was eager to start spreading the wealth of knowledge gained in Transfiguration class that morning. That kind of job was best left to the professionals – a.k.a The Hogwarts Gossip Mill.

Two different boys, in two different parts of the castle, were mulling over the events of the past four days. Two seemingly untouchable teachers and two complete Houses had been struck. Both boys shared the same afternoon lesson. Both boys shared a fancy for a certain Head Girl. Both boys were convinced that if the pattern held, then one of their Houses would be next to fall. Neither felt the grim fear of being hunted – in fact – the opposite was true. Looking at the bright afternoon sun streaming through the castle windows, both boys pulled out an identically written note. Each had been charged with delivering the piece of correspondence with the utmost urgency at the first opportunity with strict instruction not to break the wax that held the edges together.

Instructions – not promises.

Hermione,

Luna wanted me to tell you that

Dumbledore had samples of our

Products analysed.

We are to report to the

Headmaster’s Office this afternoon.

Ginny

PS – My costume is SO fabulous.

I can’t wait to see yours!

Carefully refolding the parchment and muttering, “Reparo”, over the hastily applied seal, both boys had the same thought cross their minds.

Girls.

And what a boring place the world would be without them.

Author’s Note:

This chapter has been LONG OVERDUE for an obscenely long time. I cannot apologize enough for the wait and the delay. I will PROMISE YOU that this chapter will make it up to you. In addition – as you may have surmised, this story was created before the release of Book 6 and so it should be read as if Book 6 has yet to be published. I do have my own special take on wandless magic – again created before JKR laid the foundations for how wandless magic should work.

As before, italics have been used to denote what a character is thinking.

This chapter is dedicated to MC and Allie. You two rock.

Chapter 7: Remedial Relations

Thursday, October 23^rd – After lunch, just before afternoon lessons…

Walking the corridors, a Hooligan Contender mentally recounted the weeks’ accomplishments: Snape, McGonagall, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

Turning a corner, a sly smirk pulled at a corner of the Contender’s mouth. Speak of the devils…

A troupe of Hufflepuffs was making their way across the Breezeway. Some were telling their version of the Leg Lock Jinx prank. Others were speculating who the Hooligan should do next.

A Hooligan Contender easily answered the hails from the bright-eyed Hufflepuffs and kept walking without breaking stride.

Catching a snippet of what one ‘Puff said to another as the troupe moved away, the temptation to answer was irresistible.

“DEFINITELY! “

A shower of ‘wickeds’, ‘brilliants’ and ‘stellars’ fell in the Breezeway.

Of course the answer would be ‘yes’. How could it not? Rounding the corner, the Contender derisively humphed at the Hufflepuffs. If a Quidditch team were properly pranked, of course the culprit would have to have been the best Hooligan ever!

If the Hufflepuffs noticed any pride in that one word, good for them. That means that they will repeat how impressed I am with the Hooligan. Daring to swagger, the Contender savoured the irony. They will think that I am too proud of the Hooligan to be the Hooligan.

*** *** ****

Two different boys, one roaming the Quidditch Pitch and the other contemplating the lake, each fingered copies of the same note.

Two different boys, with two similar agendas, each folded their note and cast a repairing charm on the wax seal.

Indulging in a rare moment of self-appreciation for well-laid plans, Harry, Draco, and the Contender each shared the same thought: So far, so good!

* * * * * * *

“Mr. Finnegan.” Curling his lip and wrinkling his nose at the smell of singed hair, Snape resisted the urge to trace the plumes of smoke winding towards the ceiling. Looking down at the soot-encrusted Gryffindor, “Again, you have proven how flattering it is to be devoid of eyebrows. I would wager you enjoyed an extra helping of wool-“

No one could stay quiet as that one word reminded everyone of the moment when the Golden Lark of Prankdom went down in a blaze of text book-grazing glory. The fact that it had come from the Potions Masters mouth inspired more than one person to bleat like a sheep.

“Silence!”

Snape made sure his posture was as stern as the command he issued. Leather heels clicking against the stone-flagged floor followed the swoosh of a silk-lined cashmere overcape swinging dramatically around his body.

“There is no foolishness in this class.”

The statement reverberated off the dungeon walls.

“Tell me, Mr Finnegan.” Savouring the deep breath of fear-invoked quiet deepened the timbre of his voice. Slowing his speech, Snape found himself all but smiling as he laid another verbal trap. “Might I suggest sharing – with the rest of the class – where you procured the cotton?”

“Cotton, Sir?” Seamus answered before Harry could warn his mate to keep his mouth shut.

“The cotton you used to stuff that vacant cavern that is fixed between your ears!” Snape traded a palm-to-podium impact for a belittling vocal crescendo.

Knowing he had to palm Neville three Knuts because Snape did not smack his podium brought a wry twist to the corners of Harry’s mouth. Another thought drew his eyebrows closer together; Snape verbally pouncing on Seamus pricked at his Gryffindor loyalty.

Just who does he think he is?

An ankle wrapping around his lower leg answered that question, warning him not to say anything in Seamus’s defence.

He’s the one chap who would take away House points and bounce you into detention before you finished one sentence.

Releasing the chokehold he had on his quill, Harry looked over his left shoulder and took in the sights at a desk situated two rows back. The vapours rising from his dorm-mate’s desk wound around the magically suspended candelabras.

Goth much, Snape?

It was one thing to make sure the Irish lad never forgot why he had to shave less often than his fellow man; it was another to listen to Slimerus embarrassing the kid because he did not make the concoction correctly.

“The lustrous nature of Mr. Finnegan’s g-l-o-w-i-n-g complexion,” Snape started walking among the rows of desk again and addressing the class, “Is proof positive that Ylang-ylang and Boomslang are NOT interchangeable.” Sweeping his arm out only to catch the hem of his overcloak with his fingers, he tugged the well-tailored garment closer to his body. Barely disturbing the drape of the fabric, Snape pulled out his wand and Vanished the smoke-belching cauldron.

Striding to the front of the class, he welcomed the effect the added height of his podium had on students. Leering, tilting his head towards where the Gryffindors sat, he summoned his favourite high-hatted tone, “There are twenty-two consonants and vowels between the letters ‘B’ and ‘Y’. Just because some things sound the same does not mean that they should contain the same properties, Mr. Finnegan.”

Harry decided that Snape’s patronizing words would have a five-year old spinning on his heels and telling his mother that, “… the tall man with the big nose is a big meanie!”

“Forty-two points will be deducted from Gryffindor. One point for every letter Mr. Finnegan did NOT associate with proper ingredient and twenty more for, what I can only assume, was the misappropriation of a House Elf’s time.”

Taking up a quill, he made a show of making a notation in the margin of his lesson plan. The lack of dismays to his barb brought his eyes rolling to the ceiling.

Refocusing his attention on a quadrant of the room that apparently needed clarification he bit out, “House elves are not meant to lead study sessions!”

A vaguely malicious grin thinned the Potion Master’s lips as a delicious thought came to mind. This is an N.E.W.T level class after all.

“There will be a deliberate error within this string. “ Picking up a piece of chalk, he smirked as an elaborate chemical equation began to take shape. Speaking without looking over his shoulder, Snape hissed a command through clenched teeth. “Find it.”

With every symbol that was drawn on the board, Harry could feel his temper rising. Plotting revenge against The Snarky Walking Oil Slick of Hogwarts swapped the mental image of seeing Snape burned in effigy to something slightly more benign. Like having pudding smeared on the professor’s bed sheets. Nodding his head in approval, he could hear Fred and George agreeing with him. Better yet, Ron justifying the sacrifice of a preferred dessert. Pudding is good. It is cold, slimy and leaves a stain impossible to get out. Just like Snape.

The foot against his ankle relaxed when Harry loosened the grip on his quill for a second time. Aside from the need to back up a mate, Harry was thoroughly enjoying this Potions class. Seamus blowing up his face, Snape not living down the Fleecing he received earlier this week and now a little game of footsies – what is there not to like?

The Gryffindor Code was built to be colour-blind. Reviewing the parameters, Harry silently recited: green, red, blue, or yellow are not allowed to be factors when it comes to ‘them vs. us’. The Code was specific when it came to ‘student versus teacher’ relations. Looking to his left, at the Slytherins, Harry privately quoted a portion of the Code. Seek alliances with other students when faced with an antagonistic professor.

Getting Ron’s attention by surreptitiously tipping his chair back until the backing lightly tapped the desk behind him, he instigated the Gryffindor Chain of Mischief. Harry to Ron, Ron to Dean, Dean to Seamus, Seamus to Neville, Neville to Pavarti, Pavarti to Harry – mission accomplished. Harry angled his chin towards The Snape Pit.

Blaise, Draco, and Millicent seemed to be unable to keep the amused sniggers entirely behind their teeth. Putting a bag of Honeyduke’s chocolates against whether or not the Slytherins were laughing with their fearless leader would keep Ron in a state of chocolate euphoria for a week. The Hogwarts Gossip Mill ran a daily tally sheet indicating the number times Snape, himself, referred to the four-legged, multi-coloured puffballs that had made guest appearances in his classroom on Tuesday. Skipping the headlines and taking in the accompanying article, all students taking the Potion Master’s classes made sure to convey that they had not forgotten the Fleecing of Severus Snape. Harry was looking forward to being a featured source for the Evening Edition. Too bad Lavender doesn’t have an Extendable Ear, Harry thought. The Mill would have enough material for three issues a day!

A sharp jab to his elbow – contrived by the retrieval of an errant inkpot – brought him back to the moment. The clanking of his chair down onto all fours and breaking the ‘no noise’ decree cost Gryffindor another ten points. Seeing the hand motions made by Blaise towards his Head of House was well worth those ten points. Harry made sure he touched eyes with Zabini. A closed fist, a slightly swinging elbow and a tongue poking a cheek in time with the down swinging forearm - he and the Italian shared the same hand gesture towards the black-garbed professor who was still writing out the complex equation.

“Mr. Malfoy. Might I suggest that you inform your House that a meeting expounding on the benefits of Inter-Dormitory Relations will be hosted in the Slytherin Common Room?”

Not hearing any response, Snape almost cracked a smile at his Head Boy’s wile. It seems that the boy knows better than to answer any of my questions that start with ‘might I’. Turning away from the board, Severus veered his gaze to his charge. The look he shot at the tall blonde said what he could not: So close, Mr. Malfoy. But not quite close enough.

“Key note speakers will recount the experience of mucking Thestral stalls and raking the Hippogriff paddocks. I foresee Mr. Potter and Mr. Zabini and yourself providing enlightening testimony that I know will be… riveting to say the least.” Silently, he congratulated himself on tying the three students together with the word ‘and’.

There was no way to miss the sarcasm in those words, Harry thought. Especially the way His Most Mono-Chromed said ’and’ as well as ‘riveting’.

Harry kept his eyes on Draco. Despite the return of a reassuring presence in Hermione, he still found himself squeezing his quill until the ink dripped out of the feather. Not to be outdone, he mimicked Malfoy’s cool detachment. If a Slytherin could look unfazed, then so could a Gryffindor.

“Sir, I think that is a brilliant idea.” Drawling out the word ‘brilliant’, Malfoy’s sarcasm was not hard to miss.

Nor was Draco’s casually tossed challenge.

“Knowing that you will be there will guarantee its success.”

Slouched down in his chair, Malfoy barely bothered to raise his head when he counter-moved the Potions Master. Draco might have deliberately limited himself to Snape’s black gaze, but Harry could see that Draco cocked an expression that was worthy of his post-script. “Don’t you think so, Professor?”

Harry gave a bit of applause for the facial expression Draco fired at point-blank range. Not only did His Most Blondness confirm Snape’s attendance through a fringe of bangs, but he cornered the Potion’s professor at the same time with more than a dose of false flattery.

What is Malfoy playing at, Harry wondered. Why is he locking horns with Snape?

Looking to his best friend for a lead, he saw his desk mate tuck a curl behind her ear. This gave him a clear view of her stifling a smile. She is enjoying this.

Understanding why Malfoy locked Snape into attending that blasted oral presentation he had been volunteered for shifted to being a secondary concern.

Damn! How am I going to get anything done this term: Quidditch, grunt monkeying, studies and now groomsmanship? The possibility of him restricted to the Common Room in order to catch up on his lessons was starting to play out in Harry’s mind again.

The formation of letters on his paper split Harry’s attention between the Blonde Wonder and the desktop. Three words disappeared from his parchment almost as quickly as phrase materialized: cheek – from Draco?

Snape looked down at the boy who cleverly manoeuvred him through a hoop. Feeling his hands lock across his chest, he could feel a generous portion of crow cooking for the youth. Preparing to take the impertinence out of the lad and put him in his place, Snape began, “Mr. Malfoy. Might I-“

Hermione’s hand shot up.

The allure of taking more points away from Gryffindor House pulled his attention from Draco and refocused it on the best student in the class. “Speak, if you must.”

“Sir.” Keeping her attention squarely on the Potions Master, Hermione’s voice rang strong and clear. “Mr Potter’s services have already been pledged by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall to Caretaker Filch.”

Harry knew by the measured tone of her voice that the words Hermione spoke were not the first to form on her tongue. So does someone else…

My, my, my – what do we have here? Knowing that the Head Girl chose her words deliberately, Snape took in the reactions going on around him without moving his eyes. “Then I think it is only fair that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini get to enjoy the company of the thestrals and see to all their needs – hoof to tail – every afternoon UNTIL Mr. Potter’s social calendar has an opening.”

Shifting his stance and his expression to one that clearly read that she was responsible for the boy’s latest after school activity Snape sealed all four of the student’s fates. “Would you agree, Miss Granger?”

Harry was not surprised that Hermione did not answer. The neutral look on her face was a good masque. Good – but not perfect. There was something afoot in her mind. He could feel… power… coming at him, emanating from her. The strands of feathers on his quill began to tremor in the wake of an unseen vibration.

Snape was momentarily taken back before he recovered his own impassive expression. So, Miss Granger – you want to play do you?

“Since Mr. Potter is so busy with outside commitments and the like,” an unpleasant gleam sparked in the eyes of the teacher. There is more than one way to do this.

Approaching her desk, Snape made sure that Miss Granger knew exactly who he was speaking of, “Then it would be unreasonable to expect him to secure any thoughts onto paper as I recount the precise brewing procedure of this potion.”

Bringing his arm down from pointing at the chalk board, Snape swept the room with a leer. And made sure the whole class knew whom they could thank for his next announcement. “The foundation of which will be the subject of a three foot test to be given on Tuesday next.”

Assorted levels of grumblings broke out across the room. A look of feigned innocence closed Snape’s face. It was the epitome of: surely, you can’t be blaming me?

Harry got an eyeful of wand just before he heard Snape call out, “Accio quill!”

An exasperated sigh followed his shoulders slamming against the wooden backing of his chair as the Potion’s Master deftly plucked the quill from its conjured arch. Great. Just great, I got beaten by Snape.

Looking over at Hermione gave him nothing. She wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she wasn’t looking at anyone. Her eyes were open and Snape was standing right in front of her. It’s like she is not seeing him, Harry thought. He actually saw her inhale deeply and let that neutral expression come over her again. Keeping his face impassive was hard. But, if it meant that it bolstered Hermione then he could do it.

There was some sort of competition taking place between them. But, it’s not a stare down, Harry decided. Snape is looking at Hermione and Hermione’s looking at the wall. Flitting between the two, Harry saw Snape make slits out of his eyes; Hermione’s eyes did not blink. In fact, he thought, they are starting to water a bit.

Behind him, the unmistakable scuff of a book being pushed towards the top of a desk was heard as Ron dusted off his stretching ruse. To his left, Draco shifted from a sprawled, disinterested position to something akin to constrained awareness.

At a glance, it looked like the tall boy was nonchalantly shifting in order to prop his across his knee. In fact, Harry could see that the Head Boy was writing on a piece of parchment. Hang on – something is too familiar about that position. Not Malfoy’s legs, but his whole demeanour. Loose limbs and locked shoulders; I’ve seen him like that on the Quidditch Pitch. Specifically, when the Slytherin Seeker pinpointed the Snitch and was deciding whether to end the game with a surgical strike or toy with the opposing team with some coldly executed subterfuge plays.

Harry felt his eyebrow quirk at the two similar reactions. Who knew Ron and Malfoy could come together over anything?

Harry watched as the back of Malfoy’s hand did a broad sweep across his desktop. For himself, he did not move a muscle beyond re-anchoring his eyebrow. Some things did not need re-stating: Hermione is under my protection, just the same as Ron. If Snape started anything, both his best mate and his adversary en residence would have to step in line.

Somewhere among the rows of desks, Harry heard the sharp tinkle of breaking glass. Along with everyone else, he turned in his seat. A shattered beaker at her feet, a very flushed Susan Bones stammered, “It wasn’t my fault.”

“And I suppose that piece of equipment just happened to roll off your desk and break at your feet for no apparent reason, Miss Bones? Twenty points from Hufflepuff for un-necessary destruction of school property. “

Watching Snape’s cloaks billow and swirl as he focused his ire into his adjusted lesson plan, Harry slumped down in his chair and kicked his heels wide. Ron is so right - he’s gotta practise that move in front of a mirror.

The sudden image of Snape cat-walking in front of the Mirror of Erisad as he spun and opened his robe to display the latest in Hogwarts fashions pulled Harry straight up in his chair. Not good – that is really not good, Harry told himself.

Needing a distraction before the Spring Line was unveiled; he stared down at his papers. Contemplating whether he could memorize what he was missing as Snape launched into extreme detail about the potion at hand, Harry all but sniggered out loud. Clapping the insides of his soles together, a Sirius-moment made his decision. More than half the class has passed. As it is, I have not written down a word the Supreme Slytherin has said. There is no point in focusing today.

The sound of academic survival rang as his desk-mate reached for a fresh piece of parchment. The dip, tap, scratch rhythm of quill to paper was barely audible. What was as loud as the Hogwarts Express was the gentle exhaling of air she used to speed the drying of the ink.

Sorry.

Harry kept his face blank as those five letters appeared on his parchment. The flexing of his toes inside his shoes was the only telltale sign that he was caught off guard.

Don’t be thick, Harry. Stop it. Your feet will cramp.

There were only two persons who chided with concern. Both of them like to knit, but Molly Weasley is home at The Burrow.

Glancing to his left, all he could see was Hermione dipping her quill into her inkpot and tapping off the excess ink. All but shrugging his shoulders he thought, nothing new there. Scratching at her parchment until she needed more ink, she saved time by blowing on her notes at the same time she dipped and tapped. Hang on – where aren’t there any notes on that second page?

Think, Harry.

Dip. Tap. Scratch. Blow.

Blow.

Blow!

It’s about time, Potter.

Harry felt his eyes light up with pride and the foreseeable potential benefits. The cleverest witch of our age still surprises me. Only Hermione would be able to come up with something like this. Number Sixteen on the List of Things that Are Grand about Being Back at School: learning new ways to slip things past the professors.

Dip. Tap. Scratch. Blow. She blew the words from her paper to his. Harry watched as Hermione’s drying breath erased the words from her parchment only to have the letters re-form on his paper.

Pretty good, huh?

With Snape confiscating his quill Harry found himself in a unique opportunity – he had time to take in those around him.

Pretending to pay attention, he glanced at his best friend. Facing front, all he could see was her profile. Every now and then, he could see her eyes close, her lips purse and then shudder. She must be chilled. The dungeons are always damp. More than once he had been grateful for the fires they had to light in order to brew heat sensitive potions.

In fact, she was taking notes. The second sheet of parchment he saw her extract had been slid underneath its mate so that only a portion showed out of the right hand margin. A light-hearted smile flitted across his face. Ron was right. We have been a bad influence on her.

Sweeping the room without shifting his position, a Seeker’s skill well honed, Harry saw rows of books lining shelves. Bottles, with their labels precisely aligned, and all but reflected on the spotlessly clean floor.

Using his peripheral vision, he managed to see Zabini’s dark head. Closer, though, sat Malfoy. Nothing odd there – he was taking notes. Hang on – something’s not quite right. His hand kept brushing the right side of his paper, like he was pushing eraser grit off his desk. Ink dries, it absorbs. Hermione’s wrist actions on that second piece of parchment coincided with his hand scratching at and clearing the edge of his paper.

Certain stiffening in Hermione pulled his attention from Malfoy. Leaning forward to get a better angle in order to read over her elbow was not an option. Still unsure how she did it Harry zeroed in on her – enchanted? - parchment. Like her notes to him, the words appeared briefly before they disappeared entirely.

Fine. Done. After dinner.

Ron’s foot nudging the small of his back cost Harry a chance to read her reply. Ron, using the left side of his foot to tap the left side of Harry’s back, had him twisting his head to the left.

Both Gryffindors saw a self satisfied smirk come over Malfoy’s face as his eyebrows raced to his hairline. It was the most emotion the Dungeon Dweller displayed all day. The way he rolled his quillback and forth between in his fingers, his gaze fixed on his parchment, as that wry look never completely faded, left a disgruntled Harry and an over protective Ron the rest of the class to think about what put a smile on Malfoy’s face.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“MEWWWRRROOOOOWWWW!!!!!”

“Damn, Dean! Hold her still, will ya?”

“It’s not me, Ron. It’s these ruddy gloves.” Dean winced as another splash of bath water trickled down his wrist and pooled near the tips of his fingers.

“It’s your job to hold her! It’s not like YOU have to wash her.” Ron’s nose wrinkled as Dean saw a thoroughly disgusted look twist Ron’s lips. “Man, this stuff is horrid. Where did you get it?”

“Well, it’s not any prettier on this end – just in case you’re getting any ideas.” An elaborate sleight-of-hand re-anchored his captive. Dean felt no sympathy for Ron. Make all the faces you want, Scrub-Boy, I’m not switching. A deal is a deal. Ron washes, I hold, Harry dries. “Filch said someone gave it to him. He said it came from a good authority; this person used it all the time.”

“Yeah – I always want to smell like freshly ground garden gnome that has been putrefying in the sun all day.” The stink was making Ron’s eyes water. “Luna loves that about me – always ready to try new things.”

“The award for combining whining, alliteration and a completely un-necessary visual image goes too...” Barely avoiding a swipe to his face, Dean juggled the squirming wet mass away from his body. “Hurry up, Ron. These gloves are getting stiffer than you do when you look at a table full of food.”

“GggrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhROOAUGHHHH!!!!”

“Dean – what are you doing to her?” A wicked look crossed Ron’s face. “You’re four times her size. If you spent more time pumping iron than pumping your-“

“It’s not me, Ron. You keep jabbing at her. Like you’re Sir Scrub-A-Dub-Dub jousting with the Fanged-and-the-Furious” Picking up on a previous thread, Dean fished for information to take back to Ginny, “You know – I always told you that going on more than two dates with the same girl would not kill you.”

“I AM NOT! If YOU held her still long enough for me too get at her,” Ron, focused on the squirming mass in front of him, pointed an indignant, soapy, sopping wet shirtsleeve at Dean. “Then we can get this done and still be early for dinner.” Ron switched from an indignant tone to one slightly more cavalier, “It would be a shame if a certain Ravenclaw did not dine with the most talented Quidditch Keeper since Oliver Wood.”

“Like I am the one holding things up.” Ron’s answering smirk made Dean roll his eyes and level his gaze at his mate. “Just get it done, okay?”

“EeeeyYooooWWW!!”

“This is one pissed-off pussy.” Feeling his pants rip by a deeply swung back leg, Dean looked disparagingly at his mate, “Remind me to ask McGonagall to get you a bigger bed. Something that is big enough for you and your ego.”

“Like I am the one who looks like I am dancing with the Divine McG. Wanna practice a tango, Dean, while you’re at it?”

Alluding to that horrible dance lesson which his brothers still razzed him about, Ron’s teasing was infectious. Dean could count on Ron extracting payment for the shoe horn comment another time – more than likely in a very public place.

“With you? Your palms sweat. I’d drop you on your arse in a second.”

“You’d drop me anyway.” Thinking back to something said at the Welcome Back Feast, Ron feigned a wounded look, “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.”

“Hey – what can I say – I was busy with the ladies. So many men, so little time my friend. Like it’s my fault you are such a tease.” Switching from playing along with Ron to the task at hand, “I don’t want to hurt her. Anyway, it’s for her own good. She’ll thank us for it. You’ll see.”

“Like she thanked Harry and me back in Second Year, Dean?” Ron’s scoff matched Dean’s derisive snort. “As if! I am still finding mouse carcasses in my shoes.”

“MEWWWRRROOOOOWWWW - GggrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhROOAUGHHHH!!!!”

“Oh bloody hell! She’s free!”

“What did you do that for?” Ron’s eyes flashed with accusations.

“Me? You think I let her go on purpose?” Dean heard the stunned tone in his voice.

“Bugger!” Ron’s expletive was tossed at Dean. “Get her!”

“I’m on it!” Scrambling up from his knees, Ron’s earlier comment registered. Biting back, Dean heard himself countering, “It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

Sliding on a splotch of soap and water, Ron landed on his back before climbing to his feet again. Another expletive preceded him pointing his finger as he pulled his feet together to rise, “Quick – she’s heading for the door!”

A thump on the wooden floor pulled Dean’s gaze from the cat scrabbling at any horizontal surface to seeing Ron on his back. “Like the view from down there?” Nothing I can do there, he mused.

The sound of a box being kicked off a shelf had him turning his neck. The damage the irate cat was causing was easier to see than the bounding that was taking place along the edges of the room. Suds flew in every direction as Mrs. Norris tried to escape and shake water from her fur at the same time.

“Yeah – it’s the same way I looked up your mum’s skirts.”

Almost to his feet, Dean watched as Ron’s worn trainers kicked out from underneath him again. Dean smirked at the redhead: karmic payback, my friend.

Landing on his arse Ron hollered, “Dean! The door!”

Dean felt like time had slowed, that every movement took forever to complete. He saw the door opening. Ron was pointing and shouting. Dean had all he could do to pivot on his heels and try to head Mrs. Norris off before she could leap through the growing break between the door and the jamb. He felt like he was running in-place instead of careening across the room. A tall, dark-topped something barely registered as the corridor came into view and a swish of tail was his Snitch of the Day as time came back to normal.

A sodden mess of suds and fur crashed into Harry. A combination of momentum and fur made him stumble backward; the heel of his shoe kicked the door wide. Dean was barrelling straight for him and the Londoner’s arm swept Harry flush against the inside panel, the doorknob digging into the small of his back. Pulling his jumper free and preparing to recite the Top Five Better Ways to Greet a Friend, Harry stopped short as his mind replayed blur that was his friend. Oh Merlin - Dragon hide does not like water. The tops of his pant legs are ripped, like something sharp raked against the fabric. Nor was his dorm-mate showing any signs of slowing down.

Fingers digging into the pile of towels he carried, Harry whipped his head from watching Dean tearing down the hall to surveying the ravaged room. Sparing a glance at Ron, who was climbing up off his arse, hair falling over one eye with a soaked shirt front, it was only a second before he put everything together. Oh holy Merlin!

Ron bellowing something about women as he tore past the jamb and took off after Dean did not make sense. Dropping the towels on top of Dean’s discarded, ruined gloves; Harry sprinted after the red-head.

Doors and corridors flew by as Harry tracked his friends by Mrs. Norris’s wet paw prints. Down flights of stairs, across landings, through archways – no surface was sacred to an in-flight Mrs. Norris. Every now and again, sets of water spots would have at least one imprint smeared either to the left or right – right where one of Dean’s or Ron’s shoes slid.

Rounding the corner to the third floor, that was where Harry saw Ron and Dean running at full speed. Both boys were coming up on the staircases at the far end of the hall. Mrs Norris was alternating between running along the banister and leaping to the floor only to zigzag back to the banister.

Beyond his harsh breathing, the mewing of the pissed-off cat and his mates tossing out the occasional colourful adjective, Harry heard the Bitch Slap of Fate about to come crashing down on him and his friends. The grinding noise of stone against stone was unmistakeable. The stair way is about to shift!

Almost out of corridor on the fourth floor, he saw Dean and Ron at the balustrade where the third floor access met the run of stairs that led to the second floor. The stairs were about to separate. From where he was, Harry could tell by the way that Ron and Dean shared a look that all three of them were thinking the same thing: we miss this one, we lose. The guard rail across the landing was already in place and the staircase had already started to descend. A fluffed out Mrs. Norris, unfazed by the downswing, was taking the time to smooth her whiskers and tap her tail.

Taking the remaining stairs two at a time, Harry did not even blink as he his feet found their balance on the landing and his toes stopped within inches of the guard rail.

Coming up on his friends, his hands grasped the rough stone of the balustrade. Digging his fingers into the hand-rail for leverage, flexing his shoulder muscles and pushing off with his feet, the split second that Harry fell through the air was when the sound of Hermione’s voice echoed in his head: what an idiot. Only this time, he was not chasing after Malfoy to get back Neville’s RememberAll. His Standing Snitch Snatch was a signature move – but instead of being on a moving broom, he was now on a moving staircase.

Shifting his feet slightly as the whole case pulled away, a tremor ran the length of the run. Dean and Ron had landed somewhere near by on the stairwell.

Riding the downward swinging staircase, he shot the stunned cat a look. Mess with the teeth; you get the claws, kittie!

Shuffle, slide, shuffle, slide, soft knees – safe!

Harry was glad for the solidness of the steps as he dropped down from the banister. Seeing the staircase about to dock with the second floor landing, he stopped for a moment. Bloody hell! It was Mrs. Norris. You have got to be kidding me! She turned on her paws and he saw her hunker down and start stamping her back legs. Behind him, he could feel the adrenaline from Ron and Dean pulsing at his back.

“What the bloody hell!” Dean swore.

“She’ll never make it – she’s too heavy with all that water in her fur!” Ron’s eyes followed every swish of her tail and flick of her ears as the huge cat prepared to launch herself to the second floor.

“Do you think-?”

“If we ‘Wingardium’ Mrs. Norris, McGonagall will transfigure our hides into one way tickets to Azkaban,” Harry promised. Time is running out! “Ron?”

“Nothing for it – gotta run for it. Maybe we can-“

Ron’s strategy made sense – until Mrs. Norris made it obsolete.

“The bloody cat jumped! Wet fur, no room to get a proper running start and she bloody jumped! I swear – I am going to find out if there is a bloody kennel in Azkaban,” Dean growled.

“Later.”

Harry was already on the move. Jolted with the staircase coming to rest at the second floor landing, he looked at Ron again. “What are you thinking?”

“You either run to something or away from something. She is running away from us – she is running to a place to hide.”

Loping down another flight of stairs, Harry paused at the first floor before scanning the intersecting corridors. Damn! She could have gone anywhere! Looking at Dean and Ron, “Okay – we’ll have to break up.”

Cracking a lovelorn look in between pants,” Already? I knew it. The Rake of Gryffindor has carved another notch in his bedpost.”

“What can I say? I got the milk for free.” Harry looked at the taller boy and pointed out the ‘up-side’ in being ditched. “Look at it this way – you can put out for the next person and not feel like you are cheating,” Harry shot back at Ron with a blasé wave of his hand.

A tortured sigh came from Dean. Followed by the best combination of aghast and hurt Harry had heard in quite a while. “Wait – you mean that I have been pining after Ron, biding my time, and he has already been taken? Of all the no good, low-down rotten things, Potter…”

Holding up his hands in surrender, Harry made sure he made it look like he had done Dean a favour. “If it is any consolation, the milk is a little sour.” Whispering loudly and egging Ron, “I’d say it’s gone… bad, if you know what I mean. Like it’s been left on the… shelf a little too long.”

“My… cream has not… curdled, Potter!” Ron’s indignant outburst was only upstaged by his reddening ears.

“Yeah, yeah Weasley. If that is what you need to tell yourself in order to sleep at night.” Harry let his voice trail off deliberately. Switching gears, and facial expressions, he looked at his friends. “Dean, you take the kitchens and the first floor. Ron, you handle the Quad and Filch’s quarters.”

Ron nodded in approval of Harry’s plan and added to it. “Harry. You should check out the Pitch and search near Hagrid’s hut.”

“Good idea. We’ll meet back here in about an hour?” Harry looked from one face to another.

“Done,” agreed Dean.

“See you then,” echoed Ron.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Author’s Note: This is the SECOND PART of Chapter 7: Remedial Relations. This picks up IMMEDIATELY after Ron, Dean and Harry split up in their search for Mrs. Norris.

PLEASE – if you read and likes or read in did not like – PLEASE drop me a review/comment!

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“Hiya Fang – is Hagrid home?” Harry dropped a quick ear-scratch on the sleeping dog’s head as he made his way up Hagrid’s front path

Stretching his stride to plant a foot on each of the flagstones leading to Hagrid’s front door, Harry trotted up the front steps and knocked at the same time he opened the unlocked door. “Hagrid – you home?”

Running his eyes over the checked tablecloth, the made-up bed, various traps and cages suspended from the ceiling, there was no sign of the groundskeeper. Nor was there any evidence that Mrs. Norris was hiding in his friend’s hut.

Pulling the door shut and backtracking, he crouched down in front of Fang. The huge dog lifted his head off his paws and looked at Harry.

“Let me know if you see Mrs. Norris – okay?” Harry saw him lift an eyebrow and thump his tail – guess that is Dog-ese for yes. “Thanks. Good boy.”

Glancing over at the Pitch, he could see that the Ravenclaw team was in the air and practicing drills. This meant that, if he went over there, it would seem like he was spying on their game-plans instead of searching for an errant feline. Remembering something that happened last year, Harry wondered if tricking an opposing team member to bragging about their strategies in order to know about said strategies could be considered a trifle dodgy. Then again, smiling at the memory as he passed the Pitch and headed out beyond the greenhouses, being tricked by a fellow Quidditch player into thinking that you had tricked them into revealing their strategies only to find out that that was their plan all along – that is just good Quidditch strategy.

The expanse of lawn stretching from behind the greenhouses all the way to the lakeshore was enormous. And largely unbroken – unless that cat is hiding behind a blade of grass, she is not here. Shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun, he swept the area from left to right. A breeze lightly tossed the tops of the far trees and rippled the grass. Shaking his head, redistributing his hair so that the wind blew through it evenly, the smell of green grass, evergreens, lake water and hay flowed around him.

It was the smell of hay that had him gauging how much time he had left before he had to meet up with Dean and Ron. Squinting in the direction where the stables were and looking back at the castle, it was the prospect of going back with that beastly cat had him jogging to the stables.

Coming up on the corral, the coppery smell of blood wafted from one of the twin troughs near the paddock. Grimacing at the stained basin as he passed by it, Harry followed the trail of sunlight that spilled through the open doors of the barn.

Stalls and the intermittent tack room ran the length of the two-storey building. Over head, the loft area held rows of baled hay. The central corridor was peppered with hanging harnesses, clusters of barrels containing feed, and the sporadic pitchfork and rake leaned against the walls. Here and there, horse blankets were draped over the lower portions of the split doors that kept animals in their stalls but allowed for necks and heads to poke out into the hallway. A gentle hiss and mew brought a smile to Harry’s face. A pair of adolescent barn kittens was chasing each other from one room to the next and down the hallway. Following in the wake of their scampers, watching as they steered clear of the occupied stalls but still keeping their sparring match in play, the two rolled, tangled and broke apart only to rear up and aim open-pawed swipes at one another.

The sight of a scurrying mouse stopped both kittens in mid-attack. Clambering off each other and back onto all four legs, they both took off after the luckless critter. Happy hunting you two, Harry winged to the kittens. Focusing – not on the sound of pursuit emitted by the two kittens – his hearing, he cocked his head. Who is in here?

He knew he had not made a sound. The well-marked floor made his trainers silent. The occasional bits of straw crushed beneath his feet had been masked by the scuffle of the kittens and normal barn noises. Whoever they were, they were talking in normal tones. Following the sound of conversation, his inner Marauder perked awake. Excellent. This means that I can be nearby and still not miss anything that is being said.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“Granger. So help me. If I find out otherwise…” Draco let his voice trail off.

“Malfoy. I told you. It is being taken care of,” Hermione’s answer had more than one layer to it.

Running his hands along the ridge of the Thestral’s bony back, he trailed a cupped palm down a hind leg. Keeping his hand in place, he used the other to reach into his back pocket and withdraw the hoof pick. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he coaxed the animal into crooking its knee. Not bothering to look up from freeing bits of – whatever the hell this stuff is – debris imbedded between the shoe and hoof, he replied, “Just like you-“

“No. Not like that.” She cut him off decisively. “I promised. No one will know, for now. Just so long as you uphold your end of the bargain, Draco." “

Two can play this game, Granger. Speak of one thing but really talk about something else.

“I will handle Gorilla Boy.”

“Play nice, Draco. It is bad enough I have to clean up after Ron and Harry. That poor homesick Third Year hasn’t stopped wetting the bed yet!” Laughing despite the serious subtopic, Hermione rolled her eyes to the roof of the stall. “You should have seen me!” Bringing her dark gaze into alignment with his grey eyes, her smile was full of chagrin. “Trying to keep a straight face as Susan told me that the drains in the boys’ showers were getting clogged and she was worried about the plumbing if McMillan decided to grow a winter coat!”

Recalling a now-archived article from the Hogwarts Gossip Mill, a smirk crept over his face. “Did you ever find out-“

“Let’s just say that Ernie’s problems are,” she drummed her fingers against the shelf as paused, trying to choose the right word. Deciding the best way to reveal what she knew Draco watched as a wry smile of her own brightened her face as she alluded to the reason why the Hufflepuff prefect had back hair that crept up and over the collar of his uniform. “Self inflicted.”

Letting go of the cleaned hoof, Draco moved around to the other side of the Thestral. Repeating the same procedure, pieces of pulverized rock bounced off the walls of the barn as he scraped and prodded inside the animal’s foot.

Hearing her sober, Draco shot a look at his counterpart. He watched as Hermione kept to the left side of the horse-like creature and boosted herself onto an extended shelf that usually served as a resting place for wrangling equipment. Letting her heels lightly bounce off the wooden support beams, twisting away from the half-door, he knew she was waiting on him to say something.

It was interesting, being in the stables with her. Away from the school proper, friends, professors and other influences, he felt a shifting take place. It is like we reached a level of civility that isn’t allowed when we wear our robes. Popping both eyes open and shaking his head at the un-necessarily deep thought, he refocused his attentions on an inch of twig jammed sideways against the creature’s shoe. Tapping a series of reassuring claps on the animal’s neck, he grunted with the effort it took to pry loose the piece of wood. He saw the powerful legs begin to clomp down on the hay bed, signifying its discomfort. Ignoring how it flexed the top of its wings, Draco dug at the particularly tender spot. Both hands occupied, he hoped he could free the splinter before the creature decided to sample exactly how tasty a Malfoy could be.

An audible snap, the twig sprang free and Draco landed on his arse in the straw that lined the stall floor. Looking up and expecting to see freshly cleaned hooves coming down on his head, the sight of Hermione holding the bridle and cooing softly at the dragonish head was a surprise. Not that she would let someone get hurt if she could prevent it – she is a bloody Gryffindor after all, he reminded himself – it was the fact that she knew where the bit met the bridle. Her, finger-combing the animal’s forelock, meant…

She can see the Thestral!

Pulling his legs together and pushing off with his hands, Draco climbed to his feet and traced a pattern on its leathery wing. Looking across the nose of the creature, he deliberately caught Hermione’s eye. “When?”

Her gaze did not falter, but her eyebrows furrowed slightly. “No.”

Denied his answer – for now, Granger – Draco picked up the curry comb and started to work on the Thestral’s tail. Arching an eyebrow of his own at her, he countered, “Just in case you have forgotten, this Friday is jack-o-lantern day.”

“You forget Draco; I am not opposed to manual labour.” The look she gave him was the perfect response to his Malfoy ‘na-na-nanan-na’.

The Thestral ‘beat him to the snort’. “Work is servant’s stuff.”

Finished with the tail, he hung up the comb and reached into a rucksack resting in the corner. Grabbing two jars, tossing one to Hermione and keeping one for himself, he tickled the underside of the nearest wing. Taking half a step back when it unfurled, he opened the jar and scooped out several fingerfulls of the viscous salve. Reading her quizzical expression, “Keeps the skin smooth and supple – makes it less susceptible to tears from air borne objects and friction damage.”

“And to think I could never have been able to figure that out on my own, Mr. Malfoy.” Her sarcastic smile changed to derisive when she looked the Thestral in the eye and asked the animal, “Where would we be without Know-It-Alls in the world?”

The way the beast stamped its hooves made Draco think it understood what the brunette truly wanted to know. Not that he was a Know-It-All, but whether or not she would classify Snape and himself in the same category of Arsehole. After what happened in class today…

Hearing the jangle of the bridle as it was released, the other wing opened without prompting. Dipping into the jar and paying special attention to a chapped area near a joint, Draco thought Potter had a point when the Gryffindor Captain said that Hermione usually had the best things to say.

“Granger, have you-“

The answer he got was not what he was looking for – she is sidestepping.

“I told you, Malfoy, the robes will be delivered. If they do not come tonight, they will be here first thing tomorrow morning.” Tucking a curl behind her ear with her wrist, she did not bother making eye contact as she reminded him of the time table.

“That’s not what I was talking about.” Irritated that she was keeping him from finding out what he wanted to know, Draco let his eyes cloud over with frustration. Getting nothing but stubbornness, he switched his tone to something increasingly more intimidating the more he spoke. “But, seeing as we are on the subject. Granger, so help me…”

“You’ll what, Malfoy?”

Harry kept his distance until he heard Malfoy threaten Hermione for the second time. Tripping the catch, he let the half door swing wide, leaned casually against the door and looked expectantly at the Head Boy.

Ignoring the dramatic entrance, Draco looked at Hermione as if the tall, dark-haired boy did not exist. “If my House loses points because we do not have our robes, Merlin himself will not be able to save you. Dumbledore is resetting all the House passwords and the password to his office tomorrow morning, directly after breakfast. Neither you nor I nor the prefects will have the new codes until lunch. Which means no one can back track to the dormitories for any reason.”

He caught the way he and Hermione seemed to change now that they were no longer alone. Correcting his own posture from guarded-casual to en-guard casual, Draco narrowed his eyes at Hermione. “I mean it Granger.”

The Thestral sensed the shift in the air, the heightened level of animosity. Tossing its head and blowing noisily, it pulled back its wings and eyed the new-comer.

“Malfoy – I thought we had progressed beyond threats.” Her words were directed at him, but Draco could see that the Thestral had her attention. The bored tone in her voice was deliberate – sliding them both into thrust-and-parry mode.

Potter, for his part, ‘kept his glare on’ and folded his arms across his chest. The aggressive stance only further agitated the creature. Tut-tutting the other boy, “Careful, Potty. Any more sudden movements and people will start calling you Thestral Kibble instead of Scar Head.”

“You will do no such thing, will you boy?” Hermione asked the stall-lodger. Keeping one hand on its nose, she stretched out her hand and the halter that had been hanging just to the left of Potter’s head landed in her palm. Coaxing the bit free, she slipped the bridle off as well. “There, that’s better – isn’t it?” The look Draco got as she looped the fastenings of the halter through its rings was blatant: don’t make me muzzle you, Malfoy.

Waiting until she clipped the tethers to the halter, Draco opened his mouth only to be interrupted by Potter. “Malfoy, I suggest you apologize to Hermione.”

“When have promises become apology materials, Potter?” Looking introspective for a moment, he deliberately pondered out loud, “Unless, of course, your name happens to be Weasley and you are the Gryffindor Keeper.” Seeing Potter lift his chin, he figured now was as good a time as any to be magnanimous. “Since this happens to be the case, I will accept your apology for inflicting, “; a scowl from Hermione changed his choice of words, but not his meaning, “that ham-fisted keeper onto the noble game of Quidditch.”

“Harry – it’s fine.” Pulling the animal’s forelock free of the halter, Draco saw her give him one more meaningful look: don’t you dare. Turning on her heel and stepping away from the Thestral, she approached Potter. “What are you doing here?”

“Malfoy, take that back before I…”

“Before you do what, Potter? Summon all your little friends?” Draco felt the beginning stages of his own Granger ambush click into place. She might be able to handle me – and she is certainly able to handle Potter – but she sure as Hades cannot handle the two of us talking over her head. “I knew we were going to have a tea party eventually.”

“Ignore him. Harry – look at me.” Draco heard her question take on the edge of a demand. “What are you doing here?”

“Not now Hermione, can’t you see what he is doing?” Potter’s expression could not have been better if he had schooled the lad himself.

Looking from Potter, to himself and back to Potter, Draco saw low embers begin to glow in her eyes. “Yes – I can. I am not daft you know. Unlike some people…”

“Malfoy,” Potter flicked an annoyed ‘I’m handling this’ at Granger before locking wills with him again. “Apologize to Hermione, take back what you said about Ron and maybe – just maybe – you’ll be able to use a spoon at dinner tonight.”

“Harry – he is baiting you on purpose.” Granger’s hand on His Most Thickness was just as forceful as her command. “Back down!”

“I will not, Hermione. Do you know-“, Potter wrenching his arm free graduated Granger’s embers to flames.

“I know perfectly well what is going on – unlike you!” The effort to keep her voice down – as to not startle the Thestral – was evident in the way she tucked invisible strands behind her ears. Wonder if Potthead picks up that, Draco thought.

Turning her head so fast that her hair splayed around her shoulders, Draco saw just how close Firestorm Hermione was to setting everything ablaze. “Stop it, Draco. Enough. You got your rise. Let it be enough.”

A carefully constructed look of innocence on his part had Hermione partially facing Potter. Giving me the perfect opportunity – take this, Potter!

In full view of Harry, Draco made sure he gave Hermione’s profile the most wolfish once-over ever cast.

Usually bored with how easy it was to rile Weasley and Potter, Draco was inwardly surprised at how much he was having. Harry Potter, the second most Gryffindor of all the Gryffindors, nearly coming undone by a few jibes and taking an ‘inventory’ of Granger’s generous ‘assets’ is really quite excellent entertainment.

Taking hold of Potter’s sleeve one more time, Draco made sure Harry saw his look of disapproval as Hermione dragged her friend into the central hall way. A look to make sure Harry knew Draco would miss ‘appreciating’ the curves her Muggle clothes clearly outlined.

Ducking his head under the Thestral’s neck, Draco moved to the other side of the stall. His turn to lean against the door jamb, the view was perfect. It takes so little to do so much. This ought to be good!

“Are you satisfied, now? You just let him get the better of you!” The sound of Granger dressing down Potter was like an elixir slipping down his throat.

“Me? You’re going off on me because I stood up for you?” Potter’s score on the Incred-u-Metre: eight out of a possible ten.

“In case you have not gotten the owl, Harry – I have dealt with Malfoy in the past, I have been dealing with him all year. Don’t you think I have figured him out already?”

Hermione’s voice does get deep when she is put out, Draco pursed his lips to prevent calling out to Dunderhead to stop. Too late…

“You know – that is your problem, Hermione.”

“My problem?”

“Yeah – you think you have everyone and everything sorted out, figured out and organised. Two days ago, you told me that you would ‘solve your problem’ without even bothering to see IF I had a problem!”

Hmmm – wonder if Brown would like to have a serial added to the Hogwarts Gossip Mill? We’ll call it – When Potter Speaks.

“Oh, don’t worry Harry – I KNOW what your problem is,” Hermione bit through clenched teeth. “Believe me; I have enough to do without taking on anything extra.”

“You know what, Hermione – you are wrong.”

Now, this is worth the price of admission!

Watching her step into his personal space, her declaration didn’t need to be shouted to be heard. Folding her arms across her chest, Draco had to admit she cut a fine figure, especially when she stuck out her hip and turned out one of her feet. “I know EXACTLY what your problem is, Harry James Potter.”

“Oh yeah? Enlighten me, Hermione Jane Granger. Why don’t you share the wealth, Hermione? What exactly is ‘my problem’ that you are going to solve?”

Wizards and witches, we have achieved conflagration.

“Watch and learn, Harry. I am only going to do this once.”

Instant replay was the only way Draco could see what happened to him ten seconds ago.

Hermione, pivoting on her heels at the same time as her arms fell to her sides, marching away from Potter, standing in front of him, grabbing two big handfuls of his hair and pulling his face down to her level to land a hard, closed-mouth kiss directly on his lips. Releasing her grip, she all but threw him back in to the jamb. Marching back to face Potter, looking him hard in the eyes she said, “THAT is your problem. And I don’t know if I will be around long enough to figure it out.”

Now he and Potter were looking at her swiftly retreating back as she stormed out of the stables.

Hearing something, but not quite making words out of the sounds he heard, Draco felt an eerie sensation of déjà vu. “Potter, if you expect an answer you are going to have to repeat yourself.”

“I said: you did this!”

“Get your wand out of your arse, Potter. What happened right now had nothing to do with me.”

“Shave your teeth, Malfoy.” Hmmm… Potter’s getting feisty.

Do I or don’t I….

“Generally speaking, Potter, I leave talking shite to the politicians.” Well – I never could resist having the upper hand with the Clueless Wonder. “You really put your foot in it this time, Gryffindor.”

“What are you talking about, Slytherin?”

“You really are dense, you know that right? Don’t you know what is going on?”

“Snake cuddling?” Part one of Potter’s witty come-back. “Everyone is so bloody bright around here; maybe I am not taking the right classes.”

Damn, the boy got it on the first try. “Apparently you don’t, Scarhead.” Referring to their class timetables, “Do you know what she is taking this term?”

“Potions, Defence Against the Darkest Arts-“

“Rune Casting and Arithmancy, you dolt,” Draco felt his eyes roll to the hay loft.

“So? She’s been taking those for years.”

“It is a pity, you know. You may not have my lineage, but at least both your parents were wizards. It is a pity you were raised in a Muggle world.”

Shifting to brace his hands on the flat of the split door, Draco locked his eyes with the dark haired boy as Potter bit out, “What is that supposed mean?”

“Arithmancy – one of the most difficult and intellectually challenging of all the sciences and she doesn’t just succeed – she excels at it.”

“What is so special about Rune Casting? So you read a bunch of symbols on bone chips.”

“NOT in Seventh Year, Potty. Not for someone like her.” Oh, Potter – you really have no idea, do you? “Hers is a special project. She has to not only create a language that can be etched into bone, but she has to create the magics to actually bring the etchings and the language and the celestial movements and the powers of the elements together to make HER runes viable.”

“She can do that?” Make that answer a nine on the Incred-u-Metre. “I know she’s the brightest witch of our age…”

“You still don’t get it, do you? All you can think of is how superior she must be and how proud of her you are. Are you off the mark!”

Potter, you don’t have a comment?

“She is being courted as an Unspeakable. If she accepts their offer – she would be a fool not too because it is almost unheard of to be courted – neither myself, you nor Weaslebee will ever see her again. Granger will be sequestered, prepared and connected to deepest of all mysteries – the Source of all magics.”

The silence between the two boys was a bona fide ten on the Incred-u-Metre.

Feeling a hot breath on his left shoulder, Draco absently stroked the dragonish head of the Thestral as Potter took in one of Granger’s secrets.

“For what it’s worth Potter – you were right.” Seeing the Gryffindor look at him with slightly shell-shocked eyes, Draco gave into the urge to pull his thumb and forefinger down and around mouth, tracing the outside edges of his lips.

Licking each finger in turn, he had to give credit where credit was due. Nor could he resist baiting Potter on last time.

“She really does have the best things to say.”

Author’s Note: I had been offered some wonderful creative criticism after posting the previous chapter of this story. THANK YOU! I have sincerely tried to take your advice to heart.

IF you have read this story before and found it difficult to read – please give it another chance.

Reviews are invaluable to a writer. The thoughts of someone who has read a story means so much and can be tools that a writer can use to hone their craft.

PLEASE! Offer your thought!

Again – italics have been used to depict what a character is thinking.

********** *********** **********

“You still don’t get it, do you? All you can think about is how superior she must be and how proud of her you are. Are you off the mark!”

Potter, you don’t have a comment?

“She is being courted to be an Unspeakable. If she accepts their offer – she would be a fool not too because it is almost unheard of to be courted – neither myself nor you nor Weaslebee will ever see her again. Granger will be sequestered, prepared and connected to deepest of all mysteries – the Source of all magics.”

“You’re not lying, are you Malfoy.” Potter’s voice sounded distant.

“Unspeakables don’t have names, Potter.”

The silence between the two boys was a bona fide ten on the Incred-u-Metre.

Feeling a hot breath on his left shoulder, Draco reached up and absently stroked the dragonish head of the Thestral as Potter took in one of Granger’s secrets.

“For what it’s worth Potter – you were right.” Seeing the Gryffindor look at him with slightly shell-shocked eyes, Draco gave into the urge to pull his thumb and forefinger down and around mouth, tracing the outside edges of his lips.

Licking each finger lasciviously, Draco could not resist baiting Potter on last time.

“She really does have the best things to say.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

About an hour later…

“Harry, where have you been?” Ron looked up as Harry’s shadow fell across his shoulder. All around him, the noise from the dinner crowd was winding down. The meal was all but over.

“The Owlry,” Harry’s voice was not a happy one, “Before that, the infirmary.”

No harm ever came from sending a letter. But then again, Ron thought, who is happy about being in Hospital?

“What for? You look alright to me.” Giving his friend a once over as Harry tucked his long legs underneath the table and settled on the bench, there was nothing that he could see about his friend that was out of place. That is, until he put a platter of food in his Captain’s hands. Skinned knuckles on a puffy right hand stood out sharply against the dark cuff of Harry’s jumper. Cocking a knowing eyebrow, Ron figured he had better cover both possibilities. “Does the other guy look worse or are your ribs taped as well?”

Sliding food onto his plate, it was a full minute before Harry returned Ron’s question. Lifting his shirt-tail, Ron saw the pressure bandage that wrapped around his mate’s torso. A sardonic lifting of his chin towards the Slytherin table had Ron twisting in his seat. Malfoy had just come through the hidden door. A deeply bruised jaw, lit up in colours of deep blue and red, could be seen across the Hall.

More food was piled on Harry’s plate. He obviously isn’t upset – he’s eating like a horse!

“Malfoy did that?” Ron asked as he handed Harry the flagon of pumpkin juice, referring to Harry’s very erect posture.

Taking a deep drink, Harry set down his cup and gave his friend a real grin. “Nope.”

“Did you do that,” Ron shot a glance at Malfoy, currently being gushed over by Parkinson, “to Malfoy?”

“Yep.” The food was disappearing fast off his mate’s plate.

A non-descript school owl swooped into the Great Hall. Flying over three of the House tables, it landed inches from Malfoy’s goblet. Delivering a longish, narrow parcel from its beak, it squawked once and then took off.

“Are you going to make me play Twenty Questions with you while you feed your face or are you going to tell me what happened?” Looking over at Malfoy, the Slytherin was holding in his hand something red and gold. “Why does Malfoy have a straw, Harry?”

Coming up for air, Harry put down his fork and knife. Confirming that Malfoy received his Special Delivery, Harry graciously nodded in the other boy’s direction. Turning his head back to centre, he looked at Ron and smiled wickedly. “Because, my friend, it is never smart to drip blood near a Thestral when said animal has an empty stomach.” Refilling his goblet, he looked across the table at his friend. “Did you know Malfoy has a glass jaw?”

“Duh – remember when Hermione socked him in Third Year? The kid toppled like a knocked-over broomstick!” Chuckling at the memory of Malfoy getting his come-uppance from his other best friend, Ron leaned back, crossed his arms across his body and levelled his gaze. “So Retribution Boy, gonna tell me what the blazes went on between the two of you?”

“Did you find Mrs. Norris?”

“Sure. Found her with Nearly Headless Nick. Apparently he is the only one who thinks that she smells like a bloomin’ flower.” All but rolling his eyes at Harry dragging his feet in telling him what happened, “So – you and Malfoy…?”

“Found him in the stables – with Hermione.” Damn, Potter – wrong words to use when Ron is around. Seeing his friend bristle, Harry immediately made amends for giving Ron the wrong impression of what happened. “Not like that, you dolt. They were talking – about different things. Mostly about how no one will be able to get back into the dorms tomorrow…”

“Yeah – Dumbledore made an announcement earlier. All the passwords are going to be reset – including his. Apparently, he has had to resort to having McGonagall – before she lost her voice – and Flitwick say his password over and over before that stone gargoyle of his would move.” Ron felt a smile spread over his face as the mental image of the three professors standing in front of Dumbledore’s office, holding hands and shouting the name of some sweet, came into focus. “Strange though – he seemed more amused then out of joint about it.”

“I heard him threaten Hermione. “

“He’s mine,” Ron made a move to rise.

“Stop. Wait. Not yet. Let me finish.” Seeing the wary look on Ron’s face, Harry leaned forward and dropped his voice. “That is when I stepped in and sorted things out.”

Ron’s sceptical expression replaced the look of eminent fisticuffs the red-head had been shooting across the Hall at Malfoy.

“Well – maybe ‘sorting it out’ is not the right term. I crossed swords with Hermione in the process, though.” He felt his face fall at the mention of her name. He knew he wasn’t ready to share with Ron what Malfoy had told him about the choices before the Head Girl. “And, of course, Malfoy had to try to get in the last word.”

“Of course – lousy prick,” Ron sneered. Putting together what Harry left out, Ron finished the tale. “So that is when you clocked him and knocked him out. But that does not explain-“

“How my ribs got strained?” Harry cut in. “Ah – yes. There was this Thestral who had yet to have his dinner. I hit Malfoy, Malfoy bled. The Thestral got excited, broke free of its tethers. It went for Malfoy; I made a grab for Malfoy, to get him out of the way. The next thing I know – I’m on the floor wearing a bale of hay.”

“You know that is more of a summer fashion statement than part of the Fall Line – right?” Ron could not resist teasing Harry a little.

“I know – what can I say? I am a walking, talking fashion disaster.” Going back to his story, “From what Malfoy told Madame Pomfrey, the Thestral, in its excitement, kicked open a wing. That was what knocked the bale of hay over.”

“Okay, so that all fits. But why give Malfoy a straw?” That is the one piece I cannot figure out, Potter.

Raising his own glass – first to Malfoy and then to Ron – Harry laid out his rationale to his best mate, “Because he cannot use a spoon, my friend.”

The coincidence of looking over at the Slytherin table at the precise moment Pansy was mopping the front of Malfoy’s robes because the Head Boy dribbled pumpkin juice all over himself was priceless.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Friday, October 24^th – Just after dawn…

For the eighth Friday in eight weeks, the white cloaked figure stood in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office.

For the eighth time, the same magical implements were arrayed in front of the stationary guardian.

For the eighth time, the figure spoke the incantation from memory.

For the eighth time, each vocalization was interspersed with sharp palm-to-palm strikes.

For the eighth time, golden energy built and pooled inside the caster’s hands.

For the eighth time, golden energy was released, flowing out from the enchanter.

For the eighth time, the wards shuddered, glowed and ultimately accepted the magic created by the cloaked figure.

For the final time, the sensation of a spell well cast settled over the Hooligan.

Looking over a white-clad shoulder, the newly risen sun streaked through the storey-high windows.

Time to go…

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Exhale: three, four. Inhale: seven, eight.

Exhale: three, four. Inhale: seven, eight.

Merlin, this hurts.

Focusing on his footfalls marginally distracted him from the discomfort in his chest. The pressure bandage made it so that he could sleep through the night. It did nothing to prevent pain during his morning run.

Here and there, tendrils of fog drifted off the lake and onto the well-beaten path. Deep breathing hurt. Drawing shorter, shallower breaths was worse. An even, steady pace fell somewhere in between. At the very least, it gave him a space in which to think about things.

The Fall Ball was in a week and he still had not asked Hermione to the dance. After yesterday’s performance, he had not seen her to ask her to borrow so much as a quill. But, I have not gone looking for her either.

There was so much to figure out. There were so many half answered questions. Why was Hermione in the stables in the first place? What was that business between her and Snape? Why did Malfoy come to her rescue? Why did she try to deflect Snape from Malfoy? Why did she collapse on Monday, after the Hufflepuff prank? Why did she always have to be so…Hermione?

Coming around the lake for the last time, the sun rising over the tree tops did not offer any answers. The only thing he knew was that he had all the questions.

Ignoring the urge to sprint, Harry made himself measure his breathing against his footfalls the rest of the way to the castle. Gaining the empty Quad, he slowed to a light jog as he crossed the student square. Coming to a stop, he braced his right foot against the very same section of balustrade that Ron launched himself over exactly one week ago. Like he didn’t know he would get caught, Harry thought ruefully. Stretching his hamstrings, Harry nearly touched his head to his knee. Sobering, his mind turned to what Malfoy revealed yesterday. A feeling of hurt washed over him. Why didn’t she tell me?

Switching legs, his ribs reminded him of the bale of hay that fell on him yesterday. Trying to dissect Hermione’s reasons, all he could come up with were reasons why she would have told him her secret: we tell each other everything. Pulling both arms over his head, he felt his back, shoulder and chest muscles loosen up as he continued to stretch out. A voice inside his head gently chided, you are just as guilty. You are keeping a thing or two from her as well. Shaking out his hands and legs, a sense of time becoming pressing welled up inside him.

Brushing hands down his t-shirt, stray bits of leaves fell off him. Unhooking a sweat towel from his track pants, Harry rubbed down his bare arms as he walked through the corridors. Coming up on the Breezeway and seeing that the coast was clear, he wiped sweat and droplets of morning dew from his face. Satisfied with the results, he re-attached the towel, looked up and yelped.

Leaning nonchalantly against one of the armoured soldiers with her hands weaved around her upper arms was Hermione.

“You scared the Merlin out of me!” Panting slightly and running a hand through his hair, Harry did not know the right thing to say to her.

“I know. That was the point. To catch you unaware,” her voice was low and even and Harry thought he detected a touch of ice.

“Listen, Hermione – before we go-,” Harry felt the need to clarify what happened yesterday.

“We are not going anywhere.” Her tone was definitive as she cut him off in mid sentence. “You are going stay right there and I am going to come to you.”

Not ice. Definitely not ice in her voice, she sounds almost predatory.

Looking down, he saw exactly when she crossed into his personal space. And then she moved into his very personal space.

In his head he heard himself say, Errmmm…Hermione? About yesterday… But that was as far as he got before Hermione Granger reached her arms up, hooked her wrists behind his neck and pulled his head down until her lips were firmly pressed against the firm contours of his own.

Time whirled. Incrementally, The Breezeway, Hogwarts and the Scottish countryside fell away as her lips shifted, pressed, explored and covered his mouth. A low groan came from the back of his throat and matched the hitch in her breathing as her tongue slipped passed his teeth. His arms, reaching around her back, pulled her tighter and closer to him. Tapered fingers speared through his hair and lightly raked the back of his neck only to trace the lines of his throat with the pads of her fingers.

She was orchestrating this kiss and he was glad to let her. Glad to let her roam and explore. Glad to know that she was not holding anything back. Glad to know that every bit of passion he poured into kissing her was accepted and returned.

A faint whooshing sound told him when her robe pooled to the floor. The smell of her hair and perfume rising around him was the measure of how heated their embrace had become. The taste of her, lingering in the back of his mouth, was intoxicating. The sensation of fine cotton wrapped around the back of his hand told him when he pulled her shirttails free of her skirt.

“Are you ready to go there Mr. Potter?” Hermione’s voice was a sensually charged, low timbre challenge that echoed between his head and heart.

Her predatory voice was well steeped with the tell-tale signs of being well kissed. It was her words that threw him. The fact that she huskily repeated the words he spoke to her two days ago made him involuntarily lift his head. His eyes widened as his heart slowed to deep, reverberating thuds.

She knows!

With that as a mantra in his head, Harry kissed her. A possessive growl surged from that caged, primal part of his being. He did not just kiss her – he plundered Hermione. Every crease and crevasse of her mouth, he explored. Again. Every contour of her back, he traced. Again. Every silky curl that threaded between his fingers he used to weave an evocative sensation. Again. He inhaled her breath, drawing it deep. The discomfort in his ribs did not matter. The fact that they were embracing in the open did not matter. All that mattered was that she knew it was him who kissed her in that broom cupboard. That it was him who drew out the latent sensuality that she possessed. That she felt free to release her inner-woman in his arms.

Hearing their lips separating, Harry looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. Her eye lashes, dark crescents, brushed her cheeks. Her lips were puffed and deeply hued. The pulse point at the base of her throat throbbed with the tempo of her racing heart. Watching her lift her gaze, her lashes rising, the amber flecks scattered around her irises seemed to be aglow with arousal. Harry fell in love with Hermione all over again.

“THAT is the solution to your problem Harry.”

Bending at the knees, she reached down and scooped her robe. Using two fingers to drape the garment over one of her shoulders, she strode out of the Breezeway, her skirt flouncing with every step.

It was not until she was gone that Harry found a comeback to her parting remark.

“That one, I knew.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“Can anyone tell me one of the most elemental laws that exist in this universe?”

The Defence Against the Darkest Arts professor was in full-on lecture mode. Perched on his desk with his feet resting on the floor, ankles crossed, he scanned the room waiting on an answer.

Calling on a Ravenclaw, the whole room chuckled when the answer that was given pertained to Mr. Filch’s chronic halitosis.

“There is a difference between a universal given and a universal law.” Smiling with good humour, he looked around the class again and asked, “Anyone else?”

Without raising his hand, Blaise piped up. “Everything has a counterpart – nothing stands alone.”

“Very good Mr. Zabini – five points to Slytherin.” Looking eagerly around the room, the way the professor enjoyed teaching D.A.D.A was evident. “Mr. Zabini’s words ring true. Everything has a counterpart: light and dark, off and on, in and out, etcetera.”

Sliding off his desk and moving to the chalkboard, he picked up his pointer and tapped the phrase ‘Code Breaking’ that had been written prior to class beginning. “We have been looking at the topic of Code Breaking all week. And, in code breaking, it is sometimes necessary to look beyond the surface. That is, to look to what was behind the motivation behind the creation of a particular code.”

Setting down the pointer, his right hand reached out and swept the room. “Appearances can be deceiving! Often times, there are layers of spells applied to a certain object or artefact which makes it necessary to take into account who cast the spell – or spells, what the reason was behind the need for a spell – or spells – to be cast. As well as what the original casters might have thought the probability of his spells being broken might have been. Very complicated business, breaking codes and spells. It can be very dangerous as well. Sometimes, if the original caster feeling particularly paranoid there can be Repercussion Spells inlaid with the ‘protection’ spells.”

Ron, sitting next to Harry, shared a comment. “My brother Bill told me about those. Nasty business, that is.”

“Your brother is absolutely right, Mr. Weasley.” The teacher’s face became serious. “Repercussion spells are like booby-traps for the code breaker. It is the price paid for mistakes. You apply the wrong counter-curse to what you think is the correct spell and there is no telling WHAT could happen to you.” Smiling again, he sounded a bit like Hagrid when he said, “But, we’ll get into that later.”

The creak of the classroom door opening and shutting had everyone turning in their seats to see who had come into the room.

“All right, everyone. Let us all give a hearty welcome my colleague and our guest for the day.”

A chorus of, “Good morning, Prof. McGonagall” resounded.

Striding up the centre aisle, she stopped in front of the teacher, greeting him and then turned to face the collection of seated Seventh Years. “Good morning, class.”

From the back of the room, Seamus offered his own salutation. “It is good to hear you, Prof. McGonagall.”

Nodding, accepting of the chuckles emitted at her expense, she responded, “It is good to be heard, Mr. Finnegan. I especially think you will have a particular interest in what I say when you meet with me after your lessons.” Seeing the D.A.D.A. teacher unsuccessfully hide his smile at Seamus’s comment, she added, “Just wait – let’s see how smug you are when you get pranked.” Shaking a finger in his direction, a twinkle in her eye belied her warning tone. “It could happen, you know.”

“Sage advice, Professor – very sage advice,” he smiled back at her.

The professor slipped back into lecture-mode. “Now, we have been talking about code breaking. Sometimes, in order to break a spell – or a code – it is necessary to have someone of the opposite gender, but equal in magical aptitude, to assist in breaching the protective layers that have been applied to an object or artefact. Professor McGonagall has kindly enough agreed to assist us in seeing first hand the application of such an endeavour. For you see, even the most common of spells metamorphoses when the magics from a witch and a wizard – opposite but equal – are used simultaneously.”

Stepping away from Prof. McGonagall, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at his desk. With a command, the desk slid back until it was closer to the chalkboard. Turning back to the class with a clap of his hands he said, “Now that we are all here, we are going to enjoy a practical demonstration.”

Stepping around his desk, he picked up a piece of chalk and clearly printed two words on the erasable black surface. “This is the most basic spell in code breaking. Now, I want everyone to repeat after me: Abrasum Cantonis.”

The same chorus that greeted Prof. McGonagall stumbled over the Latin syllables.

“Again – say it again everyone. Abrasum Cantonis.”

In unison, the class spoke clearly in one voice, “Abrasum Cantonis.”

“Well done!” The D.A.D.A professor clapped his hands together one more time. Picking up a paperweight off his desk, he held it high in his hand before setting back down on a side table. “Now, I want you to watch Prof. McGonagall and myself very carefully. Remember, the true key to successfully performing this spell is not in the wand movements or the words. It is the fact that the effectiveness of both components is magnified due to the convergence of our magics.”

Holding hands and speaking the incantation together, a jet of blue light sparked from each of their wands only to engulf the paperweight in a shimmering silver cascade of colour. The paperweight shimmied. It’s form wobbled and, like an outer coating falling away, a living bird shook out its feathers and lifted itself to an outer edge of the room.

“Now, I want everyone to pair up. Don’t be shy. This won’t kill you, you know.” His eyes were full of good humour as he watched the room full of Seventh Years awkwardly hold hands and wait for his next set of instructions. One pair in particular made him almost want to call everyone’s attention to how well their magics matched. The sensation of magics mingling; he could feel it begin as soon as they intertwined fingers.

Seeing another pair having difficulty working out the logistics of hand holding, the professor offered, “Mr. McMillan! If you stand to her left, then you will find that that will work much better for the both of you.” Moving on, giving pointers to another modesty-sensitive pair, he paused and tossed over his shoulder one more decree to the Hufflepuff. “Oh, and McMillan – you will need to strip off your gloves in order to do this properly, Mr. McMillan.”

Crossing over to the base of the stairs that led to his office, the professor stopped in front of a halyard. Releasing the knot, the dragon skeleton that hung high above the desks was lowered. Tying off the line when the skeleton hovered five feet off the ground, he again gained Prof. McGonagall’s side. “Form a circle around Guilford. Hurry now.” Seeing the same squeamishness as before, he teased, “You are not hand-fasting, people. You are learning.”

“Now, everyone take up your wands. Hold tight to your partner.” Pulling his own wand out, he touched each of students with his eyes. “I want you to point your wand at Guilford and let him have it!”

“The count of three, everyone…” Clasping McGonagall’s hand firmly, he called out, “On my mark: one, two, three!”

Twenty-two wands and twenty-two voices swished, flicked and shouted at Guilford. Inside the ribcage of the skeleton, the individual jets of light conglomerated and formed a ball of pulsating energy. Just like the paperweight, the skeleton wobbled.

BAM!!!

A bright golden flash erupted from Guilford’s bones. Everyone staggered – cries of surprise were heard; no one could see clearly.

Immediately releasing McGonagall, the D.A.D.A professor cried out, “Sound off everyone!”

A sporadic murmur of the word ‘here’ and the phrase ‘all right’ was drowned out by Pansy Parkinson screaming.

Rushing to her side, McGonagall tipped the girl’s chin and looked her in the eyes. “What’s wrong, child? Where are you hurt?”

“MY ROBE! LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO MY ROBE!”

Rubbing the spots from his eyes, it was a second or two before the teacher could see clearly.

Draco Malfoy’s voice reverberated around the room. “Calm down, Panse. What are you…?”

By the sounds of it, Draco, Millicent and Blaise all saw what he saw - along with the rest of the class.

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” Swinging his head in the direction of the out cry, the teacher saw Zabini spreading his robe wide.

Looking to his right, the professor could see that Parkinson had graduated from shocked disbelief to outrage. The pug nosed girl was shaking her finger at another student.

“You! You did this! You are the Hooligan!”

The Slytherin girl singled out Granger.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The Great Hall was teeming with students, faculty and support staff. Lunch items were sitting on the tables but no one was eating.

Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were bantering back and forth, each telling the other that the prank orchestrated against them was the better prank.

Gryffindor House was assembled. All the Seventh Years were seated on the side of the table that faced the central aisle. All the other years were crammed onto the opposite side. One of their own had been accused and they were all there to show their support.

The Slytherin table was empty.

The Teacher’s Table saw each professor in their seat, with the exception of Prof. McGonagall. Headmaster Dumbledore was in his chair, looking out over the entire Hall. The scrape of his chair being pushed back was enough to make everyone stop talking. Nodding to Mr. Filch, the caretaker pulled open one of the massive doors. All the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws turned to stare at the two silhouetted figures standing in the doorway.

Prof. McGonagall and Hermione paused in the doorway. Looking at the younger girl, Minerva saw nothing but confidence her eyes.

Speaking softly, she asked, “Are you ready?”

Hermione quietly replied, “Yes.”

Seeing the girl straighten her back, Minerva heard her murmur, “It is the spotlight I can live without.”

Giving her charge a small smile, she made sure that she and Miss Granger walked shoulder to shoulder down the centre aisle. Stopping once they reached the edge of the raised dais, they both turned and looked confidently at the throng. Reaching for the younger girl’s elbow, she kept Hermione facing front when the creak of the other massive door opening had all the other professors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws craning their necks to see who was going to enter the Hall.

Organised into double rows, Slytherin House marched down the centre of the Great Hall. Billowing around their school uniforms and snapping in the wake of their ardent strides, each and every member of that House had on the ugliest school robes imaginable. At the head of the columns, Minerva acknowledged the Parkinson girl and Zabini.

Oh my Merlin!

Instead of being black the robes were silver. Set against this backdrop, a hundred pairs of green and black snakes had been embroidered. The snakes were stitched in such a way that each pair formed the shape of a heart. To add insult to injury, the tongues had been stitched so that the snakes were making kissy-faces!

From her place in front, Minerva could hear Weasley tell Potter that his dress robes from the Yule Ball were a step up from what the Slytherins were wearing. The lad is speaking the truth.

“Headmaster – we’ve been pranked!” It was the Zabini boy that Minerva saw step forward. Parkinson remained glued to his side.

Of all the vessels depicting the Standings of the Hooligans, only one had a significant lead over the others. The sound of more points accumulating put the leader, now the perpetrator behind Slytherin House being the ‘proud’ owners of new robes, even further ahead.

“How would you rate what has been done to you and your House, Prefect Zabini?” The expression Minerva saw on Albus’s face changed as he switched from Zabini, to Parkinson and back to Zabini.

“Sir – we were in class, in the middle of a lesson, with not one, but two Hogwarts professors in attendance. Somehow, the Hooligan planted a Repercussion Spell on the lesson materials.” A rich Italian accent gave up what happened to his House. “When combined with the magics from everyone in class, every single member of my house, no matter where they were in the castle or what year they were in,” pausing to pluck at the snake embossed robe he now wore, “had their robes transformed into this. And, we had to endure the entire morning in these robes due to the inaccessibility of the dormitories and the edict that school robes must be worn at all times while school is in session. The Hooligan did not just prank our robes, Sir – our vanity was what the Hooligan struck.”

At least the Zabini boy is a good enough sport to laugh at himself and with his fellow housemates, Minerva silently congratulated the boy.

As more points fell into the Hooligan’s receptacle, a round of wolfish cat-calls and the sound of exaggerated kissing broke out in the Hall.

Cocking a wry eyebrow of her own at her colleague, she was pleased to see the mirth she felt mirrored in the Headmaster’s eyes.

“Sir, everyone in my House is itching for the opportunity to have the Hooligan host a seminar on Repercussion Spells in the dungeons.” Zabini’s last statement put another layer of points in the Hooligan’s coffers.

Satisfied with the formalities she knew he enjoyed, Minerva made eye contact with Albus before placing a reassuring hand on Miss Granger’s shoulder.

The Parkinson girl stepped forward.

“Headmaster, I would like to formally charge Hermione Granger with an accusation of Hooliganism.”

Looking to her right, Minerva could see Albus stroking his beard. Bracing his fingertips on the table, it was a moment before he acknowledged Parkinson’s demand. “You realize that the Head Boy does not share your view? In fact, he has petitioned me personally to dismiss your allegation against Miss Granger.”

Standing up straighter, Parkinson lifted her nose higher into the air. “I do, Sir.”

“And you also know that Miss Granger is not only our Head Girl, but one of our most scholastically decorated students?”

“But she did it! I saw her!” Minerva cringed at the whine that dominated the girl’s voice.

“Prefects? What do you say? You know what hangs in the balance. If Miss Parkinson cannot make her case, your entire House forfeits any and all future claims against the Hooligan’s points.”

“Sir. The House stands behind Miss Parkinson.” The Zabini boy said the words, but it was resignation – not conviction in the Gryffindor’s guilt – that measured his words.

Speaking more to the rest of the student body than to just Miss Parkinson, “We have a formal accusation before us.” Standing once again, he looked down at where the Head Girl and Deputy Headmistress stood. “Allegations have been made against Miss Granger.”

A chorus of indignant: ‘that’s rubbish’, ‘unfair’ and ‘bloody bollocks’ rang out across the Hall.

Raising his hands to command silence and respect, “Regardless of our personal feelings, Miss Parkinson is entitled to present her case.” Looking down over his half-rimmed spectacles, he spoke again. “Miss Granger, are you guilty of casting a Repercussion Spell on the bones of dearly departed Guilford?”

Hermione’s voice did her Head of House proud. “No, Sir. I did not.”

“Miss Parkinson seems to be of the opposite opinion, Miss Granger.”

“With all due respect, Headmaster – the fact that Miss Parkinson is in possession of a rationalized opinion is astounding. Apparently balancing books on one’s head to practice one’s posture can lead to academic achievement.”

Minerva made sure she bit her cheek to prevent her from snickering out loud over Hermione revealing how the Parkinson girl ‘studied’.

From the Slytherin side of the room, an aristocratic drawl shot out across the proceedings.

“Miss Parkinson, as Head Boy and a fellow Slytherin, I believe it is in our best interest if you drop this.”

Her grip still reassuring on Hermione’s shoulder, there was no way Minerva missed the way her Head Girl relaxed at the sound of the other boy’s voice. I do believe we have something to talk about later, Miss Granger.

“Then tell us, Granger.” Parkinson’s face scrunched to match her snide tone, “Where were you when the Hufflepuffs-“

“Admitted to being pranked?” Hermione finished the Parkinson’s sentence.

“She was standing next to me, Headmaster. I will vouch for Miss Granger’s whereabouts.” Minerva heard her voice ring throughout the Hall.

“All right. So, where were you when Prof. Snape had his office ransacked by a bunch of woolly beasts?”

“Miss Granger was leading a discussion that morning. She was in my sights the entire period.” Madame Sinistra stood up and spoke for Hermione.

My, my Miss Parkinson – you are not as confident as you were before you brewed this kettle of fish, Minerva chided the Slytherin girl silently.

“You’re running out of time Pansy. Stop now, before it’s too late.” Minerva turned to where the Head Boy leaned casually against the wall behind the Slytherin table. If I’m not mistaken, he sounds like he wants Parkinson to continue.

Minerva saw a lick of panic cross the pug face of the other girl. That is until it was chased off with a nasty, sneaky, ‘I’ve-got-you-now’ expression.

“Where were you when the Ravenclaws had their dorm filled with soap suds? I don’t remember seeing you until AFTER we all back in the Hall.”

Minerva saw students looking at each other and, increasingly, at Miss Granger. Teachers paused, trying to see what would happen next. Miss Granger, she could see, was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

A very long minute passed. Silence stretched around the Hall – twice.

A clear male voice sounded from the Gryffindor Table.

“Hermione Granger was with me.”

Potter!

Harry Potter’s voice sliced through the tension. Immediately, Minerva heard the stunned, barely audible sounds of students and teachers wondering if what they heard was actually what they heard. Whispers were exchanged for louder tones as realization hit. Minerva could see that Hermione, standing in the front of the Hall, visibly pale, was all the proof anyone needed.

“Of course you would say that – you are her friend. Why should we believe you?” Parkinson shouted above everyone’s voices. “What were you doing, then? That is – if you and she were really together?” The girl’s tone dripped with insinuation, as well as the unspoken dare to confess to snogging in a broom cupboard.

“Taking inventory of Mr. Filch’s cleaning supplies, of course.” Glib nonchalance best described Harry’s response. “I was going to suggest that he order a fresh round of student-proof locks”

Potter called Parkinson’s bluff! Minerva could feel the shocked look on her face spread to her grip on Hermione’s shoulder.

“I don’t care what any of you say!” Standing firm despite knowing she lost the high ground Parkinson made her demand. “She hates us Slytherins, despises Prof. Snape, looks down on the Hufflepuffs and the Sorting Hat originally put her in Ravenclaw.” All but stomping her foot like a five year old, she whinged, “And – I SAW HER! Test her wand, Headmaster!”

“This will, to the best of your knowledge, prove Miss Granger’s guilt?” It was not hard to miss that Dumbledore’s words were very specific. Casting a very serious expression on Zabini, “Do you agree with this, Prefect?”

“Yes, I do.”

Startled out of some errant thoughts, Minerva was caught slightly off guard when Albus called her name. “Has Miss Granger’s wand been used since the incident?”

“No, Headmaster Dumbledore, it has not.” Brandishing Hermione’s wand, Minerva lifted it high so everyone could see it.

“Very well then,” he said. Pulling out his own wand, Dumbledore cast his spell, “Prior Incantato!”

A jet of magic flew from Dumbledore’s wand, connected to, and illuminated the tip of Hermione’s wand

The Great Hall was silent for the second time in space of five minutes. The only sound that broke the quiet was the firmly intoned, sharply enunciated: “Abrasum Cantonis.”

“Miss Granger has been vindicated by her own voice!” Waiting a moment for the ensuing applause to settle down, she heard Dumbledore ask, “Professor McGonagall, would you please be as kind as to return Miss Granger her wand? The allegation has been proven to be false.” Sweeping the Hall with his eyes and raising his hands, he announced, “Miss Granger is not the Hooligan!”

Looking over her shoulder, she did not try to stop her House from leaping up and creating a ruckus when Miss Granger rejoined her fellow Gryffindors. She did see a very heated exchange of looks between her Head Girl and her Quidditch Captain. Quirking an eyebrow she thought, that should prove to be interesting.

With that done, Blaise Zabini cleared his throat to capture his Headmaster’s attentions on more time. “Excuse me, Sir, but what about our robes?”

Eyes twinkling, the smile on Albus’s face was genuine and in no way patronizing. “What was your lesson for today?”

“Gender mingled magics, Sir,” Zabini stated, “As well as Repercussion Spells.”

Speaking more to himself than to the Slytherin Prefect, “Yes, yes, I see.” Changing tones, he called, “Dobby? Dobby, are you here?”

Out of nowhere, the House elf materialized. And just as quickly, Pansy Parkinson shrieked in disgust.

“Dobby is here, Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“Dobby – do you see that group of students over there?” Waving his hand, Dumbledore indicated to where Slytherins were standing.

“Dobby sees the boys and girls, Sir.”

“Dobby – could I ask you to do something for me and, by extension, something for them?”

Dobby’s eyes began to water and his big bat-like ears trembled. “Dobby has been asked to do something for the great Albus Dumbledore? This is such and honour! Dobby is so eager to do whatever he can do for Hogwarts School-“

“Yes, and thank you for your loyalty, Dobby,” Dumbledore cut the house-elf off in mid-sentence. “Would you summon Winky for us, Dobby? I believe we are going to need her assistance.”

“Dobby will do so right away!”

Almost immediately Winky materialized in the Great Hall.

“Dobby, Winky, do you think you can assist these students with their robes?”

“Yes, Sir.” Drawing close to one of Winky’s ears, Minerva could see the House Elf’s mouth moving but could not hear what he was saying.

Both elves clasped hands, and spoke in one voice, “Finite Incantatem.” Each elf snapped their fingers.

Exclamations erupted from the Slytherin camp. Zabini and Parkinson spoke at the same time: the nasally whine of Pansy clashed horribly with the smooth tones of Blaise. “Our robes are worse!”

Instead of one hundred pairs of snakes entwined into hearts and kissing, there were now two hundred pairs of snakes entwined into hearts and kissing.

Looking at the Slytherins and trembling, Dobby and Winky dematerialized.

“For those of you who are studying for your N.E.W.T.S, what has just occurred is a prime example of a precisely laid Repercussion Charm.” Minerva heard the teacher in Albus speak out. Swinging his arm to the Hooligan’s points, a thin layer accumulated. “That is for you, Hooligan. Well done.”

“But Sir – our robes!” Zabini exclaimed. Obviously the lad is not as impressed as Albus, Minerva thought.

“What about your robes, Mr. Zabini?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Headmaster – may we – I – please have our new password so that we can go and change?” Zabini was plaintive.

“I am afraid that at this point, that is quite impossible Mr. Zabini.”

Minerva found herself smiling. Looking down at Miss Granger, Minerva gave the girl a knowing wink.

“You see, Slytherins. The time it took to dispel Miss Parkinson’s allegations was all the time that was allotted to change the passwords and relay to the Prefects and Head Girl and Boy.” Dumbledore spoke to afflicted House. “Now, we will not have another opportunity until after lessons conclude for the day.’

Watching Zabini and the rest of the Slytherins storm off to their table, it was easy to see that the whole troupe of them was trying to wrap their pride around their damaged vanity. Prof. McGonagall saw Pansy Parkinson still standing in the same spot when all this business began. Although now, instead of pronouncing someone else’s guilt, she was opening and closing her mouth to the measure of what went wrong with her plan and how the tables were so completely turned against her.

Leaning a bit forward so that Miss Parkinson could hear her clearly, Minerva struck one for her Head Girl.

Tipping her head meaningfully, Minerva had to give the pug-girl a piece of advice.

“Close your mouth child. Keep making a face like that and you will end up in a fisherman’s net!”

With that taken care of, she took her own place at the Teacher’s Table and enjoyed the view of some truly heinous school robes.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Caught Off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts

Author’s Note: Oh Boy! Here it comes! I have dug myself a Plot Hole and I am going to have to offer a ‘Missing Moment’ from Chapter 3 to fill it in…As before, what a character is thinking is denoted by the use of italics. Also, EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS and dedications go out to The Amazing Karla, The Wonderful MC and the Fabulous Prof. Roz….

MISSING MOMENT – CHAPTER 3: Inter-Student Relations.

Madame Hooche’s ‘Welcome to Vector’s’ opening lecture the first week of classes….

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 its 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.”

Daphne Greengrass, seated two rows up and one seat to the left of Ron, raised her hand,”Madame 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.”

“Hey Harry – what’s up with Greengrass being in class? I know EVERYONE who plays Quidditch and I have NEVER seen her pretty backside on the Pitch.” The way Ron shook head showed how perplexed he was.

“Don’t know. What I do know is that Madame Hooch wouldn’t have her here if she could not keep up.” Harry knew his answer was fairly empty – but he was telling the truth. NO ONE got into Vectors without being CHOSEN.

A black robe, lined with green, worn by a pretty seventeen year-old girl turned and faced both boys with a challenging look on her face.

“Ummm… Ahhh… Hiya Daphne.” Watching Ron shift his books to his other hand and crack a smile at the Slytherin though half-lidded eyes, Harry could see that his mate was counting on Weasley Charm to get his big foot out of his bigger mouth.

“Weasley, might I make a couple of suggestions?” Daphne asked.

Daphne’s voice, Snape’s words, Harry thought. Yep, she’s Slytherin alright.

“I would enjoy listening to anything you had to say, Daphne.” Ron’s voice was full of innuendo. Going for the gold, he asked, “Does midnight – on the Astronomy Observation Deck – work for you?”

Harry had to fight back a groan that burned in the back of his throat and threatened to roll his eyes to the ceiling from Ron laying it on so thick.

“One: girls have ears. And, for the most part, those ears are connected to fully-functional brains. That means that we can actually hear what you say and decide for ourselves whether or not your Ego-itis is a chronic condition needing medical attention or if it is based on your sexual frustration with having regular ‘dates’ with the same five ‘ladies’.” Wriggling the five her fingers on her right hand for effect, she made it crystal clear who the ‘ladies’ were.

“Second: think – THEN – speak. I GUARENTEE you will live longer if you do.” Daphne’s expression told Ron EXACTLY what would happen if he ever challenged her flight capabilities again as she strode out of the room and disappeared around the corner of the jamb.

Harry gave into now urgent need to groan and roll his eyes when he heard give a low whistle. “Sass, brass and brains wrapped in one conveniently placed, pretty package. We are lucky men, my friend.”

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, were 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.

Second Author’s Note: Now – onto the story!

Chapter 8: Target Practice

“Harry Potter – you have to tell me EVERYTHING!” Lavender’s demanding squeal sounded like nails scratching a chalkboard as she curled her fingers and dug her grip more deeply into his jumper. The glint in her eyes reminded him of the way a Thestral jockeyed for a blood apple. “And don’t leave out a single detail!”

“Mate – we gotta talk!” Harry could feel Ron’s words weighted by the look in his eyes. Ron only gets that glint in his eye when he is focusing on an oncoming quaffle or skewering his best friend for long overdue details. Specifically as the details pertained to a certain brunette and what actually happened in the darkness of a broom cupboard.

“Damn, Harry. Good job.” Dean’s outburst had Harry glancing to his left. Looking at his dorm-mate, his friend’s face mirrored the tone of his voice: impressed. Ginny, swanning up to her boyfriend, wearing a ‘you-have-the-mentality-of-a-troll’ look on her face, erased whatever else the Londoner was going to say. The way Dean went from practically thumping him on the back to being towed away by a red-head who silenced him with a glare, made Harry feel grateful that he did not have to answer to Ginny for being a seventeen-year old male.

Back off, people! Everyone was talking at him at the same time. Questions and chatter came from every direction. The bawdier assumptions about the where, what and how of his liaison with Hermione, he silenced with a glare. Scanning his House, there was only one person he wanted to talk to and she was cornered by a fan club of her own. No way of getting to her right now. She was surrounded by a crowd of different people, all of whom were making the same kind of comments that he was being barraged with. Her head turned from one person after another, shooting down the well-intentioned romantic comments and the slightly lewder connotations with the same amount of accuracy. He watched as she gave each person a disparaging eye-roll, a terse one-word answer, or in Pavarti’s case, both. Despite the distance, he could see flickers of irritation flash in her eyes when the Indian girl grabbed Hermione’s arm and – with different words – asked the same question, a g a i n.

People – if she didn’t say anything the first time, what makes you think she will say something different the second time? He’d bet a treacle tart that she was looking for the most immediate means of escape.

She hates being the centre of attention. Something else tickled the back of mind. Why is everybody asking me where and when Hermione and I kissed?

Seamus, being shorter than he and Ron, abruptly climbed onto the bench. Putting his fingers in his mouth, Seamus scattered Harry’s thoughts with an ear-piercing whistle.

“All right you lot!”

Harry waited for the floor to open up and swallow him when he realized Seamus was addressing the whole Hall and referring to him and Hermione at the same time. Looking over several heads, what he saw made him smile: Pavarti may have Hermione’s arm, but not her attention. He felt a corner of his mouth quirk when he saw Hermione zero in on a flagon of pumpkin juice and then mentally gauge the distance from the flagon to Seamus’s head. Good intentions, bad idea: too many witnesses. Attempting to make eye contact while everyone else was looking at his dorm-mate, Harry found his quirk become a grim line when she answered him with a volley of well-sharpened daggers launched from deep within her brown eyes. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Harry mentally sighed. Even the Slytherins, in their not-even-House-elves-would-use-them-for-dishrags ugly robes were ready to listen to what the Irish boy was about to say.

“Anyone who placed a bet is to meet me in the Student Quad after classes. All wagers will be settled then!”

Calling out reassurance to those who wanted more details, Seamus hopped down off the bench and started to dig in his book bag for parchment and quill. Laughing and fending off the more apprehensive concerns with a hand wave, Harry felt himself become less amused with how blasé Seamus sounded when he said, “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, everyone! Don’t fret - you’ll all be sorted out after classes and not a moment sooner!”

You’ve been keeping a betting pool – wee Seamus – about me and Hermione? Harry felt his eyes narrow as he focused on the columns and headings on the tally sheets that were being spread out and passed around. Snagging a parchment in transit and originally meant for some Ravenclaw somewhere behind him, he followed a row of marks that were cross-referenced by dates, locations and ‘acts’. Getting to ‘third base’, on a prep table, in the kitchens, during Transfiguration? Hermione is going to have to take a number. I have first dibs on our resident Love-Bookie. Recalling Ron’s words, Harry silently tut-tutted the boy. You forget that I know where you sleep, my friend! Watching Hagrid hoist Flitwick onto his shoulders and wade through the crowd to make sure that their guesses were ‘still on the list’, Harry felt his wand arm become twitchy. The kind of impulse that would only be satisfied by dragging Seamus by the scruff of his neck into the hallway for a first-hand demonstration of ‘Why You Never Mess With A Witch or Wizard Who Is More Powerful Than Yourself’.

So, Naked Boy, have you ever wondered what would happen if you were hit by a Body Augmentation Curse?

The vision of the Irish lad scaled down to the size of a Leprechaun faded when Harry saw Ron hold up both of his hands and heard him holler, “OYE!”

Ron made sure his voice only carried far enough to make sure everyone in Gryffindor House, not the entire student body, turned their heads and focused on what he was about to say.

“There will be a MANDATORY HOUSE MEETING, everyone! I want EVERYONE in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday, at four o’clock. I DO NOT CARE if you are strapped to a hospital bed. Find someone to levitate your sorry carcass to this meeting. No exceptions, excuses, whining about homework or begging off.” Ron’s blue eyes swept the crowd. “We are the only House still standing and I want to keep it that way!” Harry saw everyone around him agreeing to Ron’s plan.

Lowering his arms and smiling broadly, he finished his speech. “Good.” Rubbing his palms together for effect he decreed, “Now, let’s eat! I’m starving!”

Jerked to a stop after having taken only two steps, he shot a scowl at Lavender. Her grip on his jumper kept him from using Ron’s announcement as a means to melt into the crowd and leave the Hall. Her quirked eyebrow and over-sweet smile was the equivalent of an immobilising hex. Following her line of sight it was a fight to keep from gnawing off his own wrist as he connected the dots. Pavarti was closing in on him and it was Lavender’s job to keep him from escaping. Hang on – last time I saw Pavarti, she had been grilling Hermione. If Pavarti is coming at me, then where is Hermione? Scanning for the Head Girl again, he caught sight of a straight-backed, brown-haired female give a furtive look around her before she flipped up the hood of her robe and slipped out of the Hall

A quick promise whispered in Lavender’s ear set him free. Leaving Lavender to placate a not-so-amused Pavarti, he angled his way through the crowd. It was a long two seconds before the feeling of impending backlash subsided. Giving up His Most Furriest to the H.G.M. kills two birds with one stone, he reasoned with himself. The word still gets out, and there will be enough fall-outs to prevent MacMillan from retaliating.

Saddling up to Ron, a challenging ‘you-are-standing-here-for-WHAT-reason?’ glare was necessary to convince a hovering Hufflepuff that he would find safer company among his fellow Housemates. Looking in Ron’s eyes, Harry passed him the parchment he had severely wrinkled and asked quietly, “Can you take my books to class?”

Watching Ron tuck the paper inside his robe and size up the situation as more Ravenclaws, some older Hufflepuffs and abhorrently garbed Slytherins closed in on the Gryffindor Table, had him thinking like his Keeper. Seeing Seamus the centre of the newcomers’ attentions, Ron nodded to Harry. Speaking only loud enough to be heard – not overheard – there was no mistaking the loyalty in his voice. “Yeah, no problem.”

Sweeping the throng, Ron’s inner strategist played out the most likely scenario. The Gossip Mill’s Special Edition will be looking for verification before ‘going to print’. Once they see that Harry and Hermione are gone – at the same time – that’ll be fuel for the proverbial fire.

Stifling an instinctual groan, he levelled a knowing look at Harry. “You won’t have long, though.” Concern for his ‘other’ sister deepened the timbre of his voice and momentarily chased the humour out of his eyes. “Find her fast, okay?”

“Done.” Not missing the moment of unguarded affection in Ron’s face, Harry made sure that his other best friend was reassured. “I promise.”

Harry clapped his friend’s shoulder, “Thanks, Ron,” before slipping though the crowd and making his own way out of the Great Hall.

Xxx Xxx X xx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

The din from the Great Hall spilled out into corridor as Harry pushed open one of the massive oak doors. Letting the door swing shut behind him did not totally cut off the noise, but it did muffle enough of it for him to pick up on the tapping of footfalls against floorboards. Looking left, then right, he barely managed to glimpse a swirl of black robe disappearing around the next corner. Sprinting down the corridor, classroom doors and access ways blurred together as he caught up with his quarry.

“Hermione – wait up!” His voice sounded so loud as it bounced off the empty corridor walls and rang around his ears.

“Hermione – stop!” He knew that she could not be too far ahead.

Breaking out into a run, it was only seconds before his fingers grabbed a fistful of robe. Coming to a halt, Harry used his momentum to spin the person he had been chasing so that he could talk to his best friend face to face.

“Hermione – you have to believe me – I never meant for this to happen. It is just that everything happened so fast.” Fixing his eyes on a spot on the wall over her shoulder, Harry knew his words were coming out too fast. “It’s just that I saw you standing up there, and that cow Parkinson was being – well, she always is – a wench, and all of a sudden, I heard myself talking and then Seamus started in and then…” Feelings and thoughts from the last thirty minutes, eight weeks and seven years all started to blend together. A montage of events, complete with sound effects, played out in his head as he continued to look at the wall. Careful Potter – not yet! Now’s not the time. Shaking his head, the spots that danced in the darkness of his tightly shut eyes pushed those thoughts to a slightly safer emotional distance. “It’s just that, you know…” His voiced trailed off again as he settled his gaze more squarely on a hooded Hermione. “Aren’t you going to say anything, Hermione?”

“First of all, I strongly recommend complete sentences. Daddy always says that there are too many people in the world who do not know how to string words together properly.” A feminine voice explained. “That is why The Quibbler is always particular when it comes to hiring freelance journalists.” Flipping the hood back, pale blonde hair, blue eyes and a porcelain complexion was the last thing Harry expected to see.

LUNA!

“Oh Merlin, Luna – I am so sorry! I thought… you know… and then I just started going on…” Great job on picking up where you left off, Potter. Bonus points allotted for stating the obvious.

“Second of all, I’m not sure that I want to give you what I was asked to give you,” Luna’s voice carried a hint of indecision.

Huh – what? Inner-Harry and Harry shared the same thought. As a general rule, Harry always gave himself a few extra seconds to process anything that Luna said – just to make sure he understood everything she did say, in the manner that she meant it to be heard. Watching her blink several times with out saying anything more, he felt like he might need a week – possibly a fortnight – for this one to fully sink in.

This time a hand resting on his arm did not warrant a scowl. A firmly stated, “Walk and talk with me,” had him turning around and branching off towards the east end of the castle and falling in-step with the willowy Ravenclaw.

Patting his arm with her fingers, Luna did not look at him when she said, “You acted too rashly.”

Looking at the fingers that drummed against his robe, Harry sighed. “I know – I wanted to catch up with her before she sent her Howler. And maybe I did not think everything through but what was I supposed to do? Just stand there and not do something about it?”

The girl walking beside him didn’t answer his question or even glance in his direction despite the way his voice rose in indignation. Rounding a corner and climbing a flight of stairs, the silence between him and Luna stretched all the way to the landing and the length of the adjoining hallway.

Now in an inner part of the castle, the walls were peppered with sconces alight with oil-lamps. Minute air drafts made the flames flicker and cast subtly moving shadows against the walls as the two friends walked along.

“Luna. Do you know something that I don’t?”

A wry smile revealed a row of white, even teeth, “Many, many things, Harry.”

Dropping the smile, Harry saw her expression become pensive. “You laid claim to a victory of a battle which you did not fight.”

“That’s not what happened at all! She was backed into a corner! That,” Luna’s disapproving look had him searching for a different word to apply to Pansy, “Parkinson girl wouldn’t stop! And don’t forget, no one else was coming forward to vindicate Hermione!”

“What did vindicate her, Harry?” Luna paused in front of a top of another flight of stairs and without taking her hand off his arm, they both started to descend. “Was it you?”

Frustration in trying to follow Luna’s logic was bringing colour to his cheeks. “What do you mean? You were there – you saw what was going on.”

“I saw someone doing well at something they did not like doing and I saw someone do something which they are very good at doing despite knowing that they should not be doing that in the first place.” Turning west, Luna paused before they started walking down another corridor.

“Luna, I have no idea what you just said,” Harry replied with a rueful shake of his head. He could feel his skin starting to prickle like it did when he gave the wrong answer in class even though he had done the homework.

A look of consideration flashed in her eyes before she said, “People look at what is in front of them and react. Seeing what is taking place around you – that is something entirely different.”

Coming up on a hallway sprinkled with classroom doors, the number of students passing them was increasing. Changing his position as to prevent Luna from being accidentally jostled, Harry had one thought on his mind. Which he shared with the pretty Ravenclaw, “How bad is it?”

“Harry.” Luna’s look became pensive again as they stopped at a doorway. “Understand. Just because you cannot see what someone else has set in motion, don’t assume that it is not taking place.”

“Well, at the very least,” flashing a mischievous grin at the blonde girl, “I can tell Ron I saw you safely to your afternoon lesson.” Harry said. Even if I am more confused then when I started out, I am glad that it was her robes I grabbed.

“No – this is your next lesson – Harry.” Eyes sparkling with her point being made, the final nail – tempered by double entendre – was pounded into Harry’s thick head when he saw her look past his shoulder and beam at the person coming up behind him. “Hello, Ronald.”

Harry saw his friend’s face light up at seeing who was standing in front of the Divination classroom door. Hearing Ron ask Luna to give him a moment, Harry received a questioning look from his red-haired friend whom he answered with a self-deprecating shrug, “No, I missed her. “

Giving his mate a look that meant that they would talk later, Harry stepped aside and let Ron pass so he could stand near Luna. Kicking up the corners of his mouth with a genuine smile, Harry gestured to his companion. “But I did accost someone who is fair, sage and more generous than you or I.”

Looking over at Harry and then up at Ron, Luna smiled. “I told you Ronald that I would catch up with you after lunch.” Not side-tracked by his charm, Harry easily read her pointed look as she added, “It was always my plan to meet you here.”

Okay – I get you now.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her and nodded in defeat. Leaving those two in the corridor, Harry gave the girl credit. Luna had just proved her point and had done it well. Just because I did not see what she was intending doesn’t mean her intentions didn’t exist. Taking his thoughts one step further as he collected his books from a rather subdued Dean and waited for Firenz to start the class, his eyes clouded over with embarrassment. Hermione was vindicated by her wand being tested – which would have happened anyway whether I thumped my chest or not.

Thinking of the situation he had put he and Hermione in, one thought dominated all the others swirling around in his head as the Centaur began his lecture. Oh Merlin, am I in for it now!

Xxx Xxx X xx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

Caught Off Guard: The Hooligan of Hogwarts

Author’s Note: Three things:

ONE: This is a slightly re-worked version of what I posted last week, but with some vital information included. Of which will clarify any confusion.

TWO: Oh Boy! I have dug myself a Plot Hole and I am going to have to offer a ‘Missing Moment’ from Chapter 3 to fill it in…I guess you could consider it ‘Story Spackle’.

THREE: There will be multiple parts to this one chapter… I didn’t realize how much I had to do until I sat down and did it! Part Two is ready to go.

As before, what a character is thinking is denoted by the use of italics. Also, EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS and dedications go out to The Amazing Karla, The Wonderful MC and the Fabulous Prof. Roz….

MISSING MOMENT – CHAPTER 3: Inter-Student Relations.

Madame Hooche’s ‘Welcome to Vector’s’ opening lecture the first week of classes….

Delivering her speech as she walked up and down the aisles, Mme. Hooche purposely timed her strides so that she was once again standing squarely at the head of the classroom.

“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 its 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.” Shifting until she was 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.”

Seated two rows up and one seat to the left of Ron, Daphne Greengrass raised her hand. ”Madame Hooch?”

“Yes?” Beyond her sharply enunciated tones, self-confident stride and absolute command of the material, Madame Hooche garnered nothing but unflagging attention and respect from her ten hand picked students.

“What about this Friday?” Daphne’s voice carried a hint of anticipation and wariness.

Judging by the look on Mme. Hooche’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,” Mme. Hooche announced with a wicked glint in her eye and tone in her voice that revealed just how much she was looking forward to the end of the week. “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 began her lecture by scrawling a loopy over-sized V on the blackboard.

“Velocity is actually a formula comprised of …”

* * * * * * *

“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.”

“Hey Harry – what’s up with Greengrass being in class? I know EVERYONE who plays Quidditch and I have NEVER seen her pretty backside on the Pitch.” The way Ron shook head showed how perplexed he was.

“Don’t know.” Harry knew his answer was fairly empty – but he was telling the truth. “I do know Madame Hooch wouldn’t have her here if she could not keep up.” NO ONE got into Vectors without being CHOSEN.

A black robe, lined with green, worn by a pretty seventeen year-old girl turned and squarely faced both boys.

“Ummm… Ahhh… Hiya Daphne.” Watching Ron shift his books to his other hand and crack a smile at the Slytherin though half-lidded eyes, Harry could see that his mate was counting on Weasley Charm to get his big foot out of his bigger mouth.

“Weasley, might I make a couple of suggestions?” Daphne asked.

Daphne’s voice, Snape’s words, Harry thought. Yep, she’s Slytherin alright.

“I would enjoy listening to anything you had to say, Daphne.” Ron’s voice was full of innuendo. Going for the gold, he asked, “Does midnight – on the Astronomy Observation Deck – work for you?”

Harry had to fight back a groan that burned in the back of his throat and urge to roll his eyes to the ceiling from Ron laying it on so thick.

“One: girls have ears. And, for portion of the female population, those ears are connected to fully-functional brains. That means that we – the select few whom you deem worthy of being a arm decoration – can actually hear what you say and decide for ourselves whether or not your Ego-itis is a chronic condition needing medical attention or if it is based on your sexual frustration with having regular ‘dates’ with the same five ‘ladies’.” Wriggling the five her fingers on her right hand for effect, she made it crystal clear who the ‘ladies’ were.

“Second: think – THEN – speak. Do that, and I GUARENTEE that your quality of life will improve proportionately.” Daphne’s expression told Ron EXACTLY what would happen if he ever challenged her flight capabilities again as she strode out of the room and onto her next class.

Harry gave into the now urgent need to groan and to roll his eyes when he heard Ron give a low whistle. “Sass, brass and brains wrapped in one conveniently placed, prettily wrapped package. We are lucky men, my friend.”

Passing by their instructor's desk on the way out the door, Draco Malfoy was being admonished by a rather severely 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, were 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.

Second Author’s Note: Now – onto the story! This chapter picks up IMMEDIATELY after McGonagall tells Pansy that opening and closing her mouth like a fish is not the best look for her.

Chapter 8: Target Practice

The excitement level in the Great Hall reached the rafters and ran the length and breadth of the vaulted ceilings. It was not everyday Hermione Granger, Smartest Witch of Their Age, was accused of Hooliganism. It was even less unlikely that Harry Potter, best friend to the accused and last year’s Rake of Gryffindor, would have announced to the entire population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that the Quidditch Captain and the Head Girl Extraordinaire were snogging in a broom cupboard while the Ravenclaws were surfing on a sea of blue soap suds. But here they were and every student, every faculty member just witnessed both events take place within minutes of each other and, at the moment, the Gryffindor House Table was ground-zero.

“Harry Potter – you have to tell me EVERYTHING!” Lavender’s demanding squeal sounded like nails scratching a chalkboard as she curled her fingers and dug her grip more deeply into his jumper. The glint in her eyes reminded him of the way a Thestral jockeyed for a blood apple. “And don’t leave out a single detail!”

“Mate – we gotta talk!” Harry could feel Ron’s words weighted by the look in his eyes. Ron only gets that flare in his eye when he is focusing on an oncoming quaffle or skewering his best friend for long overdue details. Specifically as the details pertained to a certain brunette and what actually happened in the darkness of a broom cupboard two days ago.

“Damn, Harry. Good job.” Dean’s outburst had Harry glancing to his left. Looking at his dorm-mate, his friend’s face mirrored the tone of his voice: impressed. Ginny, swanning up to her boyfriend, wearing a ‘you-have-the-mentality-of-a-troll’ look on her face, erased whatever else the Londoner was going to say. The way Dean went from practically thumping him on the back to being towed away by a red-head who silenced him with a glare, made Harry feel grateful that he did not have to answer to Ginny for being a seventeen-year old male.

Back off, people! Everyone was talking at him at the same time. Questions and chatter came from every direction. The bawdier assumptions about the where, what and how of his liaison with Hermione, he silenced with a glare. Scanning his House, there was only one person he wanted to talk to and she was cornered by a fan club of her own. No way of getting to her right now. She was surrounded by a crowd of different people, all of whom were making the same kind of comments that he was being barraged with. Her head turned from one person after another, shooting down the well-intentioned romantic comments and the slightly lewder connotations with the same amount of accuracy. He watched as she gave each person a disparaging eye-roll, a terse one-word answer, or in Pavarti’s case, both. Despite the distance, he could see flickers of irritation flash in her eyes when the Indian girl grabbed Hermione’s arm and – with different words – asked the same question, a g a i n.

People – if she didn’t say anything the first time, what makes you think she will say something different the second time? He’d bet a treacle tart that she was looking for the most immediate means of escape.

She hates being the centre of attention. Something else tickled the back of mind. Why is everybody asking me where and when Hermione and I kissed?

Seamus, being shorter than he and Ron, abruptly climbed onto the bench. Putting his fingers in his mouth, Seamus scattered Harry’s thoughts with an ear-piercing whistle.

“All right you lot!”

Harry waited for the floor to open up and swallow him when he realized Seamus was addressing the whole Hall and referring to him and Hermione at the same time. Looking over several heads, what he saw made him smile: Pavarti may have Hermione’s arm, but not her attention. He felt a corner of his mouth quirk when he saw Hermione zero in on a flagon of pumpkin juice and then mentally gauge the distance from the flagon to Seamus’s head. He definitely deserves it but bad idea: too many witnesses. Attempting to make eye contact with her while everyone else was looking at his dorm-mate, Harry found his quirk become a grim line when she answered him with a volley of well-sharpened daggers launched from deep within her brown eyes.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye of more people crowding the table, Harry mentally sighed. Even the Slytherins, in their not-even-House-elves-would-use-them-for-dishrags ugly robes were ready to listen to what the Irish boy was about to say.

“Anyone who placed a wager is to meet me in the Student Quad after classes. All bets will be settled then!”

Calling out reassurance to those who wanted more details, Seamus hopped down off the bench and started to dig in his book bag for parchment and quill. Laughing and fending off the more apprehensive concerns with flick of his hands, Harry felt himself become less amused with how blasé Seamus sounded when he said, “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, everyone! Don’t fret - you’ll all be sorted out after classes and not a moment sooner!”

You’ve been keeping a betting pool – wee Seamus – about me and Hermione? Harry felt his eyes narrow as he focused on the columns and headings on the tally sheets that were being spread out and passed around. Snagging a parchment in transit and originally meant for some Ravenclaw somewhere behind him, he followed a row of marks that were cross-referenced by dates, locations and ‘acts’. Getting to ‘third base’, on a prep table, in the kitchens, while sent on an errand during Transfiguration? Hermione is going to have to take a number. I have first dibs on our resident Love-Bookie. Recalling Ron’s words, Harry silently tut-tutted the boy. You forget that I know where you sleep, my friend! Watching Hagrid hoist Flitwick onto his shoulders and wade through the crowd to make sure that their guesses were ‘still on the list’, Harry felt his wand arm become twitchy. The kind of twitch that would only be satisfied by dragging Seamus by the scruff of his neck into the hallway for a first-hand demonstration of ‘Why You Never Mess With A Witch or Wizard Who Is More Powerful Than Yourself’.

So, Naked Boy, ever wonder what you would look like if you were hit by a Body Augmentation Curse fired at point blank range?

The vision of the Irish lad scaled down to the size of a Leprechaun faded when Harry saw Ron hold up both of his hands and heard him holler, “OYE!”

Ron made sure his voice only carried far enough to make sure everyone in Gryffindor House, not the entire student body, turned their heads and focused on what he was about to say.

“There will be a MANDATORY HOUSE MEETING, everyone! I want EVERYONE in the Gryffindor Common Room on Sunday, at four o’clock. I DO NOT CARE if you are strapped to a hospital bed. Find someone to levitate your sorry carcass to this meeting. No exceptions, excuses, whining about homework or begging off.” Ron’s blue eyes swept the crowd. “We are the only House still standing and I want to keep it that way!” Harry saw everyone around him agreeing to Ron’s plan.

Lowering his arms and smiling broadly, he finished his speech. “Good.” Rubbing his palms together for effect he decreed, “Now, let’s eat! I’m starving!”

Jerked to a stop after having taken only two steps, he shot a scowl at Lavender. Her grip on his jumper kept him from using Ron’s announcement as a means to melt into the crowd and leave the Hall. Her quirked eyebrow and over-sweet smile was the equivalent of an immobilising hex. Following her line of sight it was a fight to keep from gnawing off his own wrist as he connected the dots. Pavarti was closing in on him and it was Lavender’s job to keep him from escaping. Hang on – last time I saw Pavarti, she had been grilling Hermione. If Pavarti is coming at me, then where is Hermione? Scanning for the Head Girl again, he caught sight of a straight-backed, brown-haired female give a furtive look around her before she flipped up the hood of her robe and slipped out of the Hall

A quick promise whispered in Lavender’s ear set him free. Leaving Lavender to placate a not-so-amused Pavarti, he angled his way through the crowd. It was a long two seconds before the feeling of impending backlash subsided. Giving up His Most Furriest to the H.G.M. kills two birds with one stone, he reasoned with himself. The word still gets out, and there will be enough fall-outs to prevent MacMillan from retaliating.

Saddling up to Ron, a challenging ‘you-are-standing-here-for-WHAT-reason?’ glare was necessary to convince a hovering Hufflepuff that he would find safer company among his fellow Housemates. Looking in Ron’s eyes, Harry passed him the parchment he had severely wrinkled and asked quietly, “Can you take my books to class?”

Watching Ron tuck the paper inside his robe and size up the situation as more Ravenclaws, some older Hufflepuffs and abhorrently garbed Slytherins closed in on the Gryffindor Table, had him thinking like his Keeper. Seeing Seamus the centre of the newcomers’ attentions, Ron nodded to Harry. Speaking only loud enough to be heard – not overheard – there was no mistaking the loyalty in his voice. “Yeah, no problem.”

Sweeping the throng, Ron’s inner strategist played out the most likely scenario. The Gossip Mill’s Special Edition will be looking for verification before ‘going to print’. Once they see that Harry and Hermione are gone – at the same time – that’ll be fuel for the proverbial fire.

Stifling an instinctual groan, he levelled a knowing look at Harry. “You won’t have long, though.” Concern for his ‘other’ sister deepened the timbre of his voice and momentarily chased the humour out of his eyes. “Find her fast, okay?”

“Done.” Not missing the moment of unguarded affection in Ron’s face, Harry made sure that his other best friend was reassured. “I promise.”

Harry clapped his friend’s shoulder, “Thanks, Ron,” before slipping though the crowd and making his own way out of the Great Hall.

Xxx Xxx X xx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

The din from the Great Hall spilled out into corridor as Harry pushed open one of the massive oak doors. Letting the door swing shut behind him did not totally cut off the noise, but it did muffle enough of it for him to pick up on the tapping of footfalls against floorboards. Looking left, then right, he barely managed to glimpse a swirl of black robe disappearing around the next corner. Sprinting down the corridor, classroom doors and access ways blurred together as he caught up with his quarry.

“Hermione – wait up!” His voice sounded horribly loud as it bounced off the empty corridor walls and rang around his ears.

“Hermione – stop!” He knew that she could not be too far ahead.

Breaking out into a run, it was only seconds before his fingers grabbed a fistful of robe. Coming to a halt, Harry used his momentum to spin the person he had been chasing so that he could talk to his best friend face to face.

“Hermione – you have to believe me – I never meant for this to happen. It is just that everything happened so fast.” Fixing his eyes on a spot on the wall over her shoulder, Harry knew his words were coming out too fast. “It’s just that I saw you standing up there, and that cow Parkinson was being – well, she always is – a wench, and all of a sudden, I heard myself talking and then Seamus started in and then…” Feelings and thoughts from the last thirty minutes, eight weeks and seven years all started to blend together. A montage of events, complete with sound effects, played out in his head as he continued to look at the wall. Careful Potter – not yet! Now’s not the time. Shaking his head, the spots that danced in the darkness of his tightly shut eyes pushed those thoughts to a slightly safer emotional distance. “It’s just that, you know…” His voiced trailed off again as he settled his gaze more squarely on a hooded Hermione. “Aren’t you going to say anything, Hermione?”

“First of all, I strongly recommend complete sentences. Daddy always says that there are too many people in the world who do not know how to string words together properly.” A feminine voice explained. “That is why The Quibbler is always particular when it comes to hiring freelance journalists.” Flipping the hood back, pale blonde hair, blue eyes and a porcelain complexion was the last thing Harry expected to see.

LUNA!

“Oh Merlin, Luna – I am so sorry! I thought… you know… and then I just started going on…” Great job on picking up where you left off, Potter. Bonus points allotted for stating the obvious.

“Second of all, I’m not sure that I want to give you what I was asked to give you,” Luna’s voice carried a hint of indecision.

Huh – what? Inner-Harry and Harry shared the same thought. As a general rule, Harry always gave himself a few extra seconds to process anything that Luna said – just to make sure he understood everything she did say, in the manner that she meant it to be heard. Watching her blink several times with out saying anything more, he felt like he might need a week – possibly a fortnight – for this one to fully sink in.

This time a hand resting on his arm did not warrant a scowl. A firmly stated, “Walk and talk with me,” had him turning around and branching off towards the east end of the castle and falling in-step with the willowy Ravenclaw.

Patting his arm with her fingers, Luna did not look at him when she said, “You acted too rashly.”

Looking at the fingers that drummed against his robe, Harry sighed. “I know – I wanted to catch up with her before she sent her Howler. And maybe I did not think everything through but what was I supposed to do? Just stand there and not do something about it?”

The girl walking beside him didn’t answer his question or even glance in his direction despite the way his voice rose in indignation. Rounding a corner and climbing a flight of stairs, the silence between him and Luna stretched all the way to the landing and the length of the adjoining hallway.

Now in an inner part of the castle, the walls were peppered with sconces alight with oil-lamps. Minute air drafts made the flames flicker and cast subtly moving shadows against the walls as the two friends walked along.

Looking down at his companion, Harry had to ask, “Luna. Do you know something that I don’t?”

A wry smile revealed a row of white, even teeth and a charming dimple, “Many, many things, Harry.”

Harry her voice and posture go from lightly teasing to moderately scolding in the space it took for the dimple to disappear and her posture to slightly stiffen. “You laid claim to a victory of a battle which you did not fight.”

“That’s not what happened at all! She was backed into a corner! That,” Luna’s disapproving look had him searching for a different word to apply to Pansy, “Parkinson girl wouldn’t stop! And don’t forget, no one else was coming forward to vindicate Hermione!”

“What did vindicate her, Harry?” Luna paused in front of a top of another flight of stairs and without taking her hand off his arm, they both started to descend. “Was it you?”

Frustration in trying to follow Luna’s logic was bringing colour to his cheeks. “What do you mean? You were there – you saw what was going on.”

“I saw someone doing well at something they did not like doing and I saw someone do something which they are very good at doing despite knowing that they should not be doing that in the first place.” Turning west, Luna paused before steering him down another corridor.

“Luna, I have no idea what you just said,” Harry replied with a rueful shake of his head. He could feel his skin starting to prickle like it did when he gave the wrong answer in class even though he had done the homework.

A look of consideration flashed in her eyes. “People look at what is in front of them and react. Seeing what is taking place around you – that is something entirely different.”

Coming up on a hallway sprinkled with classroom doors, the number of students passing them was increasing. Changing his position as to prevent Luna from being accidentally jostled, Harry had one thought on his mind. Which he shared with the pretty Ravenclaw, “How bad is it?”

“Harry.” Luna’s look became pensive again as they stopped at a doorway, leaned against the jamb and said, “Understand. Just because you cannot see what someone else has set in motion, don’t assume that it is not taking place.”

More and more students were bustling by on their way to class. Too many for Harry liking, given what he and Luna were talking about. Switching subjects was the best protection from being overheard.

“Well, at the very least,” flashing a mischievous grin at the blonde girl, “I can tell Ron I saw you safely to your afternoon lesson.” Harry said. Even if I am more confused then when I started out, I am glad that it was her robes I grabbed.

“No – this is your next lesson – Harry.” Eyes sparkling with her point being made, the final nail – tempered by double entendre – was pounded into Harry’s thick head when he saw her look past his shoulder and beam at the person coming up behind him. “Hello, Ronald.”

Harry saw his friend’s face light up at seeing who was standing in front of the Divination classroom door. Hearing Ron ask Luna to give him a moment, Harry received a questioning look from his red-haired friend whom he answered with a self-deprecating shrug, “No, I missed her. “

Giving his mate a look that meant that they would talk later, Harry asked, “Got my books?”

“Nope. I had to slip ‘em to Dean on the sly. Was the only way to break up the row he was having with Ginny,” Ron explained with a rueful shrug.

Nodding in understanding – especially after seeing the way Ginny ‘got Dean’s attention’ in the Great Hall, he stepped aside and let Ron pass so he could stand near Luna.

“Be prepared for an ugly night Harry, especially if she had time to post a Howler.” Ron was empathetic but he wasn’t laughing. Mostly because a good part of him believed Hermione was done wrong. Not that he could say why, specifically, but the feeling was there even if he didn’t have the words to spell it out.

Understanding why Ron had gone suddenly quiet, Harry agreed with his best mate’s assessment. “I know.”

Kicking up the corners of his mouth with a genuine smile, Harry gestured to his companion. “But I did accost someone who is more fair, sage and generous than you or I.”

Ron picked up on Harry wanting to change the subject. Popping his eyes wide open and inhaling sharply as if he had heard someone bad-mouthing the Chudley Cannons, he reassured everyone who was within earshot. “Don’t worry everyone. I still have The Mirror and The Mirror says that I am the still prettiest one of them all.” Turning to Luna, he was all sheepish smiles and freckles. “I looked for you in the Hall but couldn’t find you.”

Looking over at Harry and then up at Ron, Luna smiled. “I told you Ronald that I would catch up with you after lunch.” Not side-tracked by his charm, Harry easily read her pointed look as she added, “It was always my plan to meet you here.”

Okay, Luna – I get you now.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her and nodded in defeat. Leaving those two in the corridor, Harry gave the girl credit. Luna had just proved her point and had done it well. Just because I did not see what she was intending doesn’t mean her intentions didn’t exist. Taking his thoughts one step further as he collected his books from a rather subdued Dean and waited for Firenz to start the class, his eyes clouded over with embarrassment. Hermione was vindicated by her wand being tested – which would have happened anyway whether I thumped my chest or not.

Thinking of the situation he had put he and Hermione in, one thought dominated all the others swirling around in his head as the Centaur began his lecture. Oh Merlin, am I in for it now!

Xxx Xxx X xx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

Later that afternoon, after Divination…

“MOVE! MOVE! M O V E! “

Her teaching robes were an ink-dark spot on the green grass before the second word left her mouth.

Madame Hooche’s voice was faster, sharper and more commanding than the whistle that hung around her neck. A Hufflepuff was in a deadly flat-spin and he was rapidly running out of air-space as he plummeted towards the landing area. One look told her that he had miscalculated the variables associated with carrying a second person. The Hufflepuff was yanking on the handle of his WindSprint in a panic – which caused the deadly spin in the first place. She could hear the boy sitting behind him screaming that he was too young to die.

Wandless magic had her SkyStreaker smacking her palm. Wandless magic had her airborne and coming up and behind the wildly descending broom.

Excellent lesson plans and meticulous attention to safety on behalf of the Vector’s professor had Harry, Ron, Draco and Daphne Greengrass getting into position without having to be told what to do.

From their positions on the ground, everyone watched as Madame Hooche proved exactly why she was the Flight Instructor at Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry and why it was a privilege to be enrolled in the class.

Matching the speed of descent and the counter-clockwise motion of the out-of-control broom, Hooche didn’t hesitate or waste a single movement as she manoeuvred into position. Locking her ankles around each other for leverage, she braced her knees to catch her weight as she tilted herself backwards. Hanging upside down, hooking her knees on the broom’s handle and extending her arms, it was a precious half a second before she could pluck the screaming student off the out-of-control broom. Looking down beyond his flailing legs, it was another fraction of a moment, when the WindSprint was in mid arc, before she could release the younger student into a free-fall that would not end with him getting hit with the back end of the broom as it came around. The unknown student’s screams grew higher in pitch when she let him go. Making delicate adjustments to her own broom’s trajectory with her thighs, she focused on the Hufflepuff and coaxing him out of the death grip he had on his broom.

Madame Hooche’s safety drills had a Ravenclaw dashing to the infirmary as soon as she kicked off. Breaking into Emergency Response Mode, Harry, Ron, Daphne and Draco separated from the rest of the class. Forming a square underneath the pair of spinning brooms each braced the tops of their broom handles against the navigational twigs at the base of the brooms. Daphne’s broom was the last one to lock in place, the responsibility for the cushioning spell was hers.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a screaming student was heard dropping out of the sky. Arms and legs tangled in his uniform, he landed face first into an invisible net that stretched from broom-to-broom. Bouncing twice was all the time the foursome could spare before Daphne issued the counter-spell; having more than one person in the net at a time too dangerous to chance. The sound of robes snapping was not enough to break their concentration, but it did have them craning their necks towards to the sky. Calling out the charm again – just in time – the blue-garbed fly-boy landed in the invisible net hard. Shaken, pale – but unhurt.

Still hanging upside down, Madame Hooche felt like she could hear the collective gasp from below as she released the grip the backs of her knees had on her SkyStreaker and kicked her legs so that, for one split second, she was in a controlled somersault between the two brooms before landing, seat-first, on the out-of-control broom. Counter-balancing her weight to offset the spin, she knew she only had a few rotations left before she would either land on the ground or land in the hospital wing.

She only needed one rotation to realize that she did not have enough air-space to break the spin.

There was time for Plan B.

Locking her wrists, one fluid motion had her standing on the spinning broom. Timing would be everything: wind speed, velocity, the flat-spin of the broom, her weight and the responsiveness of the WindSprint were factors that had to be calculated quickly. Stomping on the broom with one foot at precisely the right moment and actually kicking herself free of the Hufflepuff’s WindSprint, she watched as time slowed to one-tenth its normal pace. The heavier end of the broom swung until it pointed to the ground below and top of the handle pointed towards the top of her head while she fell – in free fall – beside the broom. Stretching out her right hand, she reached for the ‘pommel’ of the broom and pulled the shaft hard against the length of her body. Fitting one boot into the foot prongs, the second slow-quickly followed. She could see treetops swaying and ripples on the lake as time suddenly resumed and speeded up. Mentally and physically preparing herself, she cast the one spell any serious flyer dreaded but guaranteed to stop the vertical spin that challenged her sense of balance and direction.

“DOWN!”

Leaping free of the broom as the school grounds rushed up at her, the WindSprint struck and sank several inches into the soft soil as her booted feet hit land. Her soft knees and relaxed hips, spine and neck absorbed a lot of the shock that was transferred to her body when she struck the well padded grassy area that was designated as the Vectors practice zone.

Stretching out her own hand, wandless magic pulled her SkyStreaker from wherever it landed back to her palm. Her short, spunky hair was even more wind-blown than usual and dust clung to her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, chin and forehead. A heightened brightness to her eyes and the white-knuckled grip she had on her broom were the only tell-tale signs that anything out of the ordinary had happened in the past four minutes. Looking at each of the four students who had followed her safety drills to the letter, she took a couple deep breaths of air before saying, “Twenty points for each of you.”

One of the four seemed more affected than the others. Madame Hooche approached her and placed a dusty, gloved hand on the Slytherin’s shoulder. Looking at the girl straight in the eye, Hooche gave the younger witch a well-earned, in-frequently offered compliment. “Greengrass – well done – you made the right calls at the right time. You’ll do well as a Rescue Flight Medic. Keep up the good work and I will write your recommendation myself.”

Sweeping the rest of her students with her eyes, taking a head count as she walked over to the trembling Hufflepuff and his friend she asked, “Why was it that Potter, Greengrass, Weasley and Malfoy were the ones to cast the safety-net spell?”

“Because they have the longest brooms,” a voice answered automatically.

“That is precisely the reason why. Longer brooms equal greater area of safety and in an emergency every spare inch counts.” Crouching down in front of the younger student, she brushed his hair out of his eyes. Taking a handkerchief out of her pants pocket and pressing it into his hands she asked gently, “Are you alright?” Too stunned to form words, the boy simply nodded.

Looking to her left to where the Hufflepuff was standing next to one of his friends, she beckoned for him to come to her. Putting a re-assuring tone into her voice, she smiled at her student and the underclassman who was his ‘victim’.

“You’ll be alright. When Madame Pomfrey gets here, I want you to go with her and let her check you out.” Seeing the younger boy begin to shiver, and the terror still dancing in her student’s eyes, she could see that the first stages of shock were taking effect. Snapping her head back toward the rest of her class, she called out, “I need a pair of robes! “ Turning back to the two affected students, she switched back to her re-assuring tone as she shared, “It is important that we keep you warm.”

A pair of heinously ugly, snake-heart-shaped-kissy-faced-definitely-not-school-issued-robes pooled on the ground in front of her. Glancing at Daphne and Draco in their house jumpers, their Slytherin-ness was apparent. They each had a perfectly good reason – and valid excuse – as to why they would not have to wear butt-ugly robes for the rest of the afternoon.

“Glad to help, Madame Hooche,” Daphne said with a smile - relief in having the garment off her body echoing every word.

“Glad to be rid of it, Madame Hooche.” Draco’s response cut to the quick and brought a much needed chuckle to the group.

The smile she had been denying herself since the start of class spread across her face as she acknowledged their Slytherin cunning. “Five extra points for each of you. For finding a creative, iron-clad way to evade an afternoon’s worth of teasing by your fellow classmates.”

Turning her attention back to the trembling Seventh Year and trading her mirth for re-assurance, Madame Hooche spoke very clearly but without reproach, “Tomorrow, I want to see you here. Together we will get you back on your broom and together we will sort out where the over-compensation for the additional weight took place. Agreed?” Hearing a small sound that sounded a lot like a ‘yes’, she draped one ugly robe and then the other over the two lads. Standing up, she winced at the crackling noises her joints made. It had been a long time since she had to execute a perfect Plan B.

“Common sense, knowledge of your broom and faith in your instincts are the three tools an aviator has to have on them at all time.” Rejoining her class, she looked at each one of them in turn. “These four at the tallest in the class, and coincidently have the longest brooms. That is why they formed the safety net. Remember our line-up, people. If one of them were in the air, then the next person would have stepped up and completed the charm. But never forget: going to get help is equally, if not more, important. Being there for your fellow flyer is paramount. One of the greatest misconceptions out there is that those who fly are solitary individuals’ who are hell bent on leaving the land-world behind.” Pausing for a moment to let her words echo between her students, Madame Hooche let it be known how ridiculous that myth was. “You all know that every time you take off, you take with you the need to return – to come back to something, someone, some place. Tell me that is the mind frame of a loner.”

A chorus of ‘here, here’ broke out around her. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the dispatched Ravenclaw approach the practice area with a satchel-laden Madame Pomfrey following close behind. A part of her relaxed as she saw Poppy quietly separate the two shaken students and begin to tend to them; it was the part of her she needed to finish teach today’s lesson.

“Now. You have seen what a miscalculation can cost you. But you also know that what you all just saw is a reality that each of you carries with you every time each of you climbs toward the clouds. Don’t let the possibilities of ‘what if’ over-ride your sense of probability and faith in your skills and brooms.” Bringing her whistle to her lips, she blew three sharp blasts and was back to her usual efficient self. Pomfrey was herding the two students towards hospital and the remaining nine members of her class had their eyes glued on their professor.

“Alright, people! Potter, Weasley – you’re next. ‘Dive and Dash’ is the name of the game when we started today’s lesson and it hasn’t changed. Just in case you all have forgotten, this is a defensive manoeuvre. It was developed with the intent of inserting a flyer into a situation, collecting a person in trouble, putting them on your broom and orchestrating a getaway where both of you escape unharmed – or as undamaged as possible. As we have seen today – it is not as easy as it looks. You are used to one person on your broom: you. But, with weight distribution changed, your broom is not going to respond in the way you are accustomed. That rules out relying on the use of muscle memory and automatic compensations to manage your broom.”

“In light of recent events, I think we are going to change things up a bit.” Clapping her hands together in a way that sparked smiles among her students, she explained, “So. Here’s what you get to do. Go out. Find a ‘victim’. Bring them back. The last person back has to polish the other’s broom for a month.”

One long trilling blast from her whistle had both Harry and Ron throwing their legs over their broom handles, poised to take off

The word, “GO!” had them streaking into the blue sky overhead.

Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

Author’s Note: I know that the opening scene in this chapter closed the previous chapter, but I am including it because a) it is a fairly fabulous scene and b) I think that some people may have missed it. Also – this is a fairly long chapter – I had a lot of ground to cover to solidify the romance between Harry and Hermione and to start to wrap up some of the loose ends… Believe it or not, the end is near! I know that I promised the Gryffindor prank in this chapter, but if I included it (because it is, as of five minutes ago, written – Go Me!) it would have pushed the word count to somewhere near 18k…as it is, this chapter is around 12K…The good news is that the Gryffindor Prank will open up the next chapter… After that, there are just two other pranks, and the Fall Ball! *snickering in self-deprication* I know: by then, it may well be fall! Anyway – I am working on it! I PROMISE!

TO EVERYONE WHO HAS READ, IS READING, HAS LEFT A REVIEW OR THINKING ABOUT WRITING A REVIEW: THANK YOU! THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!!! I wish I knew enough words to share with you just how much it means to me to know that this story is being read. And, as always, reviews are SO SO IMPORTANT! Even if it is just a word or two – it means so so so much….

EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS TO PROF ROZ for reading and making suggestions and to MC for keeping me going when the last thing I wanted to do was write… Ladies – you rock!

Target Practice: Part Two

Later that afternoon, after Divination…

“MOVE! MOVE! M O V E! “

Her teaching robes were a puddle of black fabric on the grass before the second word left her mouth.

Madame Hooche’s voice was faster, sharper and more commanding than the whistle that hung around her neck. A Hufflepuff was in a deadly flat-spin and he was rapidly running out of air-space as he plummeted towards the landing area. One look told her that he had miscalculated the variables associated with carrying a second person. The Hufflepuff was yanking on the handle of his WindSprint in a panic – which caused the deadly spin in the first place. She could hear the boy sitting behind him screaming that he was too young to die.

Wandless magic had her SkyStreaker smacking her palm. Wandless magic had her airborne and coming up and behind the wildly descending broom.

Excellent lesson plans and meticulous attention to safety on behalf of the Vector’s professor had Harry, Ron, Draco and Daphne Greengrass getting into position without having to be told what to do.

From their positions on the ground, everyone watched as Madame Hooche proved exactly why she was the Flight Instructor at Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry and why it was a privilege to be enrolled in the class.

Matching the speed of descent and the counter-clockwise motion of the out-of-control broom, Hooche didn’t hesitate or waste a single movement as she manoeuvred into position. Locking her ankles around each other for leverage, she braced her knees to catch her weight as she tilted herself backwards. Hanging upside down, hooking her knees on the broom’s handle and extending her arms, it was a precious half a second before she could pluck the screaming student off the out-of-control broom. Looking down beyond his flailing legs, it was another fraction of a moment, when the WindSprint was in mid arc, before she could release the younger student into a free-fall that would not end with him getting hit with the back end of the broom as it came around. The unknown student’s screams grew higher in pitch when she let him go. Making delicate adjustments to her own broom’s trajectory with her thighs, she focused on the Hufflepuff and coaxing him out of the death grip he had on his broom.

Madame Hooche’s safety drills had a Ravenclaw dashing to the infirmary as soon as she kicked off. Breaking into Emergency Response Mode, Harry, Ron, Daphne and Draco separated from the rest of the class. Forming a square underneath the pair of spinning brooms each braced the tops of their broom handles against the navigational twigs at the base of the brooms. Daphne’s broom was the last one to lock in place; the responsibility for the cushioning spell was hers.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a screaming student was heard dropping out of the sky. Arms and legs tangled in his uniform, he landed face first into an invisible net that stretched from broom-to-broom. Bouncing twice was all the time the foursome could spare before Daphne issued the counter-spell; having more than one person in the net at a time too dangerous to chance. The sound of robes snapping was not enough to break their concentration, but it did have them craning their necks towards to the sky. Calling out the charm again – just in time – the blue-garbed fly-boy landed in the invisible net hard. Shaken, pale – but unhurt.

Still hanging upside down, Madame Hooche felt like she could hear the collective gasp from below as she released the grip the backs of her knees had on her SkyStreaker and kicked her legs so that, for one split second, she was in a controlled somersault between the two brooms before landing, seat-first, on the out-of-control broom. Counter-balancing her weight to offset the spin, she knew she only had a few rotations left before she would either land on the ground or land in the hospital wing.

She only needed one rotation to realize that she did not have enough air-space to break the spin.

There was time for Plan B.

Locking her wrists, one fluid motion had her standing on the spinning broom. Timing would be everything: wind speed, velocity, the flat-spin of the broom, her weight and the responsiveness of the WindSprint were factors that had to be calculated quickly. Stomping on the broom with one foot at precisely the right moment and actually kicking herself free of the Hufflepuff’s WindSprint, she watched as time slowed to one-tenth its normal pace. The heavier end of the broom swung until it pointed to the ground below and top of the handle pointed towards the top of her head while she fell – in free fall – beside the broom. Stretching out her right hand, she reached for the ‘pommel’ of the broom and pulled the shaft hard against the length of her body. Fitting one boot into the foot prongs, the second slow-quickly followed. She could see treetops swaying and ripples on the lake as time suddenly resumed and speeded up. Mentally and physically preparing herself, she cast the one spell any serious flyer dreaded but guaranteed to stop the deadly vertical spin that challenged her sense of balance and direction.

“DOWN!”

Leaping free of the broom as the school grounds rushed up at her, the WindSprint struck and sank several inches into the soft soil as her booted feet hit land. Her soft knees and relaxed hips, spine and neck absorbed a lot of the shock that was transferred to her body when she struck the well padded grassy area that was designated as the Vectors practice zone.

Stretching out her own hand, wandless magic pulled her SkyStreaker from wherever it landed back to her palm. Her short, spunky hair was even more wind-blown than usual and dust clung to her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, chin and forehead. A heightened brightness to her eyes and the white-knuckled grip she had on her broom were the only tell-tale signs that anything out of the ordinary had happened in the past four minutes. Looking at each of the four students who had followed her safety drills to the letter, she took a couple deep breaths of air before saying, “Twenty points for each of you.”

One of the four seemed more affected than the others. Madame Hooche approached her and placed a dusty, gloved hand on the Slytherin’s shoulder. Looking at the girl straight in the eye, Hooche gave the younger witch a well-earned, in-frequently offered compliment. “Greengrass – well done – you made the right calls at the right time. You’ll do well as a Rescue Flight Medic. Keep up the good work and I will write your recommendation myself.”

Sweeping the rest of her students with her eyes, taking a head count as she walked over to the trembling Hufflepuff and his friend she tossed a question out to the entire class. “Why was it that Potter, Greengrass, Weasley and Malfoy were the ones to cast the safety-net spell?”

“Because they have the longest brooms,” a voice answered automatically.

“That is precisely the reason why. Longer brooms equal greater area of safety and in an emergency every spare inch counts.” Crouching down in front of the younger student, she brushed his hair out of his eyes. Taking a handkerchief out of her pants pocket and pressing it into his hands she asked gently, “Are you alright?” Too stunned to form words, the boy simply nodded.

Looking to her left to where the Hufflepuff was standing next to one of his friends, she beckoned for him to come to her. Putting a re-assuring tone into her voice, she smiled at her student and the underclassman who was his ‘victim’.

“You’ll be alright. When Madame Pomfrey gets here, I want you to go with her and let her check you out.” Seeing the younger boy begin to shiver, and the terror still dancing in her student’s eyes, she could see that the first stages of shock were taking effect. Snapping her head back toward the rest of her class, she called out, “I need a pair of robes! “ Turning back to the two affected students, she switched back to her re-assuring tone as she shared, “It is important that we keep you warm.”

A pair of heinously ugly, snake-heart-shaped-kissy-faced-definitely-not-school-issued-robes pooled on the ground in front of her. Glancing at Daphne and Draco in their house jumpers, their Slytherin-ness was apparent. They each had a perfectly good reason – and valid excuse – as to why they would not have to wear butt-ugly robes for the rest of the afternoon.

“Glad to help, Madame Hooche,” Daphne said with a smile - relief in having the garment off her body echoing every word.

“Glad to be rid of it, Madame Hooche.” Draco’s response cut to the quick and brought a much needed chuckle to the group.

“Five extra points for each of you.” The smile she had been denying herself since the start of class spread across her face as she acknowledged their Slytherin cunning. “For finding a creative, iron-clad way to evade an afternoon’s worth of teasing by your fellow classmates.”

Turning her attention back to the trembling Seventh Year and trading her mirth for re-assurance, Madame Hooche spoke very clearly but without reproach, “Tomorrow, I want to see you here. Together we will get you back on your broom and together we will sort out where the over-compensation for the additional weight took place. Agreed?” Hearing a small sound that sounded a lot like a ‘yes’, she draped one ugly robe and then the other over the two lads. Standing up, she winced at the crackling noises her joints made. It had been a long time since she had to execute a perfect Plan B.

“Common sense, knowledge of your broom and faith in your instincts are the three tools an aviator has to have on them at all time.” Rejoining her class, she looked at each one of them in turn. “These four at the tallest in the class, and coincidently have the longest brooms. That is why they formed the safety net. Remember our line-up, people. If one of them were in the air, then the next person would have stepped up and completed the charm. But never forget: going to get help is equally, if not more, important. Being there for your fellow flyer is paramount. One of the greatest misconceptions out there is that those who fly are solitary individuals’ who are hell bent on leaving the land-world behind.” Pausing for a moment to let her words echo between her students, Madame Hooche let it be known how ridiculous that myth was. “You all know that every time you take off, you take with you the need to return – to come back to something, someone, some place. Tell me that is the mind frame of a loner.”

A chorus of ‘here, here’ broke out around her. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the dispatched Ravenclaw approach the practice area with a satchel-laden Madame Pomfrey following close behind. A part of her relaxed as she saw Poppy quietly separate the two shaken students and begin to tend to them; it was the part of her she needed to finish teach today’s lesson.

“Now. You have seen what a miscalculation can cost you. But you also know that what you all just saw is a reality that each of you carries with you every time each of you climb into the clouds. Don’t let the possibilities of ‘what if’ over-ride your sense of probability and faith in your skills and brooms.”

Bringing her whistle to her lips, she blew three sharp blasts and was back to her usual efficient self. Pomfrey was herding the two students towards hospital and the remaining nine members of her class had their eyes glued on their professor.

“Alright, people! Potter, Weasley – you’re next. ‘Dive and Dash’ is the name of the game when we started today’s lesson and it hasn’t changed. Just in case you all have forgotten, this is a defensive manoeuvre. It was developed with the intent of inserting a flyer into a situation, collecting a person in trouble, putting them on your broom and orchestrating a getaway where both of you escape unharmed – or as undamaged as possible. As we have seen today – it is not as easy as it looks. You are used to one person on your broom: you. But, with weight distribution changed, your broom is not going to respond in the way you are accustomed. That rules out relying on the use of muscle memory and automatic compensations to manage your broom.”

“In light of recent events, I think we are going to change things up a bit.” Clapping her hands together in a way that sparked smiles among her students, she explained, “So. Here’s what you get to do. Go out. Find a ‘victim’. Bring them back. The last person back has to polish the other’s broom for a month.”

One long trilling blast from her whistle had both Harry and Ron throwing their legs over their broom handles, poised to take off.

The word, “GO!” had them streaking into the blue sky overhead.

Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

Circling the Herbology greenhouses did not turn up a viable ‘victim’ for his Dive-n-Dash assignment. Taking a pass over the student quad was an equal exercise in futility. The thought of having to have to polish Ron’s broomstick for a month was motivation enough to keep looking. Leaning to the left, Harry felt the layers of his hair lift as he headed into the wind. Enjoying the way his broom cut a clean arc though the on-coming breeze, he drew in a lungful of the autumn air and blew it out. Just a hint of coolness tickled the inside of his nose.

Swooping over Hagrid’s hut, it was impossible to miss the huge wheelbarrows lined up near the pumpkin patch. Just as easy to see was his friend pushing another wheelbarrow, filled to the brim with over-sized pumpkins, across school grounds.

Angling his approach so that his altitude matched Hagrid’s shoulders, Harry slowed down and came along side his friend.

“Hiya Hagrid!”

“Harry, what’er ya doin’ here? Shouldn’t you be in class or sumthin’?” Hagrid back peddled quickly, “Not that I’m not ‘appy to see yer or nothin’.”

“I am in class – Vectors.”

“Madame Hooche,” Hagrid nodded his head sagely. “You’ll find no one better when it comes to flyin’ or teachin’ flyin’. Dumbledore did a good thing in hiring her, he did.”

“No kidding.” Harry immediate flashed back to what happened just a little while ago. Hovering next to his friend, he asked, “Where are you going with all these pumpkins, Hagrid?”

“I gotta get ‘em picked and up to the castle in time fer Halloween Week. This load is fer the House elves to carve up and put in the dormitories and classrooms. The really big ones are fer the Hall and entryways. I gotta do those next.”

“You do all this by yourself, Hagrid? “ Doing a quick sweep of his friend’s hut, the garden and large stretches of lawn without seeing a soul in sight, Harry was impressed – and concerned. But then realized who he was talking too… without a soul nearby… Harry found himself stifling any hint that would give away all the possibilities that were running through his mind.

“Pretty much. Every year I get a helper though,” Hagrid’s eyes shone with appreciation. “Never know who I’m gonna get. This year, though, I got a thumpin’ good ‘un. Took one look at the size of the crop, the barrows and the distance to the castle and – BAM! Cast a feather-light charm over the whole lot and an impervious charm on the wheel-n-axel without breakin’ a sweat. Jus’ what I woulda’ done if I could use magic. I don’t mind admittin’ to you that getting’ these to the castle ‘as never been easier. I can make the trips back and forth lickety-split.”

Sharing Hagrid’s smile and enjoying his company, Harry knew he was running out of time if he was going to have any hope in beating Ron back to Vectors.

“Sorry Hagrid – I gotta go. Get back to class and all that.”

“I understand. Maybe I’ll see yeh this weekend. Come by for a cuppa. I baked some goodies this morning and they should be nicely set by this time tomorrow.”

The image of Hagrid in his ruffled, checked apron sniffing pridefully over oven-fresh, inedible ‘goodness’ sprang to Harry’s mind.

“I would like that but let me see how much homework I have. Don’t want to fall behind.”

“No – no tha’ would never do.” Watching Harry about to take off on his broom, Hagrid added, “By the way Harry – I told Ron to check near the stables when he flew through. You may want to take a turn ‘round the lake before headin’ back to class. Yeh know, to see if there is anythin’ there worth pickin’ up, if yeh get my meanin’”

Catching the knowing wink Hagrid sent his way Harry smiled and did a ‘man-to-half-giant’ nod to his friend, “Will do – thanks, Hagrid!”

Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

Coming up on the Black Lake, a naiad sunning herself in all her glory would have been invisible to him. All he had eyes for was the way Hermione looked, crouched down next to the lakeshore, dappled by early afternoon sunlight filtering through the overhanging tree boughs. Jumper less and tie-less, her shirtsleeves were rolled up as she rinsed each arm – elbow to fingertip – in the cool, fresh water. Once her hands were clean, she reached up and plucked the two hair sticks out of her up-do. He sighed in disappointment as he saw her gather stray strands, twist all her hair into one thick rope and re-secure the curly mass to the back of her head. Her curls suited her to perfection but it was a rare occurrence to catch her when her hair was down.

Narrowing his eyes, not sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing; his curiosity was piqued as he watched her begin to unbutton her white oxford shirt. Stopping when the last button was slipped out of its hole, she freed her shoulders and coaxed her wrists out of the cuffs. Slinging the shirt low around her hips she knotted the sleeves to keep it in place. A very becoming camisole, in a lighter shade of Gryffindor Gold, highlighted the elegant lines of her shoulders and décolleté without being overly revealing or too prudish.

Bending forward, splashing cold water on her face and spreading the water over her throat and across the base of her neck was something she did several times. Seeing Hermione look behind her, to the left, to the right and across the lake, Harry held his breath as he wondered what else she was going to take off.

A self-deprecating smile spread across his face when his stealth was rewarded by getting to watch his best friend strip off her shoes and socks, pick her way to an outcropping of rocks and let her bare legs dangle in the lake. Remembering something he had been told once, he changed the words to make them situation-appropriate: perves never prosper, Potter.

Hanging back a bit, Harry told himself to wait before approaching her. Privacy was found in so few places on campus and here he had perfect privacy to look down at his friend – his best friend – and really let his emotions roll through him without having to be on-guard for hidden Gossip Mill correspondents. A hint of hypocrisy echoed in his heart. He was trespassing on what Hermione perceived as private moments for herself. Shaking his head at the circles his thoughts were travelling – his privacy, her privacy, seizing the opportunity to lower his protective walls, at the same time she was obviously taking an introspective moment thinking that she was alone when in fact she was being spied on by him – it was enough to get him tangled in his own thoughts. Shaking his head at himself, he placated any residual qualms by being honest with himself: his thoughts were about her and him and what to do about putting the two words together – him and her – and making it one: them.

The Fall Ball was the perfect place for him to do what he had been planning, in one form or another, ever since the end of fifth year. Thinking back, every time he planned something with another girl, he always gauged the activity to what he thought Hermione would like. That is why he never took another girl to Madame Puddifoot’s. All that pink, the ruffles and foo-foo ambiance would make her want to wrap her tie around his neck and nail it to a heart shaped window sill, keeping him there for everyone to see just what kind of ass she could make him out to be. However – a quiet corner booth out of sight of the main door was what Madame Rosemerta ‘reserved’ for him whenever he brought a date to The Three Broomsticks. It was because of Hermione he knew when not to talk when he was with a girl. Smirking at the memories of the days when Hermione would ramble on and on, not letting him get word in edge-wise, he knew that was not the reason for what his dates perceived as good manners. The reason was that, what he had learned, was that people say so much about themselves when they speak. It was not in what they said – it was in how they said it. The key was listening, not just hearing, to the other person. Number One on the ‘Top One Hundred Things Harry Should Have Done Differently and Didn’t’: listening to Umbridge’s opening speech back in fifth year. Sure, he heard what she said, but it was Hermione had listened to that toad-woman-from-hell.

Shuddering at the thought of what fifth year could have been like if the DA had never formed, if that all that extra work hadn’t been put into learning defensive spells and if extra study sessions hadn’t been instigated, the evening they all spent at the Department of Mysteries would have played out differently – possibly tragically. Hermione lying on the floor unconscious and he not able to revive her was an image that still haunted him. But he had learned, and he had honed his ability to listen. Just listening gave room for contemplation. Not only in offering a thoughtful response to a question or comment but listening allowed him to be able to read into key elements in a person’s personality.

One of his best litmus tests he used when out on a date was asking a girl what she did that day. He would pay attention. Not what they did that day but how his dates would go about it, sharing what they did during their day. Recalling one evening when all he did was listen to gossip and make-up tips, which if truth be told was quite informative and very funny, what he learned was that what his date was interested in had nothing to do with what he wanted in a relationship. Not that he wanted to get married or looking for Miss Right, but the thought of spending time with a girl who thought more of what others thought of her than what she thought of herself had absolutely no appeal. Different girls, different dates, different places he went with girls on dates all added to his knowledge of what he one: liked, two: found fascinating and three: had no interest in pursuing. Insecure girls who only wanted to talk about him had issues he wasn’t ready for or in a position to help them overcome. Merlin knows I have enough of my own emotional baggage to deal with, the idea of helping some put themselves back together emotionally is something I cannot do right now. Girls looking to marry the Boy Who Lived and Has a Huge Bank Account were just plain scary. Girls who shared a lot of common activities made great friends but not good girlfriends. He found that they would have already talked about – or only talked about – what they had just done. This led to the discovery that having different interests had the makings of more interesting interactions later on.

But every time – every girl, every place, every date – he compared what he was doing with that he thought Hermione would think what he was doing and who he was with. And, when he explained it all to Ron during their trip to visit Bill in Turkey over the summer holidays, he knew he sounded downright barmy and pathological. But it was the truth. She was there, in some form, in one way or another, in every aspect of his life, because – and this was the one thing that sounded like it was the most stunning revelation to have ever graced his life rather than the most obvious conclusion that the entire population of Hogwarts had already deduced – she was the one person he wanted to have a part in every aspect of his life.

When he and Hermione talked, it was of different things but with similar points of view. She challenged him to think and speak about what was going on: school, life, Quidditch. He in turn, drew her out of academia and complex conversations with teachers and put her in a place where she could talk about what was going on: parents, room-mates, frustrations. When they were quiet it was natural and comforting, not awkward and prickly. She hated to fly. He was a natural born flyer. But, she appreciated his talent and cheered for him at every game and, if possible, brought her books with her to work on while he and the rest of the Quidditch team did their drills. She could get immersed in reading, cross-referencing and drawing conclusions from the most abstract threads. He knew he could watch for hours as her face went from concentration, to lighting up with the thrill of a chase, to the triumph of putting it all together and making a scholarly declaration. Come to think about it – what she does in research is very similar to what I do in Quidditch. I ride a broom, she surfs ideas. Both are precarious perches. We each have a Snitch. Mine is a little golden ball with wings and hers is a hypothesis playing out the way she expected it too. That is what is worth a hundred and fifty points to her. That is her House Cup.

Coming up behind her was easy because she had never checked to see if there was anyone above her. Coming up behind her without making a sound was easier because brooms did not make any noise. Coming up with a wicked plan to get her attention was the easiest thing he had done all day…

Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

Sweaty, grimy and feeling like she had half of Hagrid’s garden imbedded in all of her cracks and creases, a quick jaunt to the lake to rinse off was exactly what she needed.

Taking off her shirt and tying it around her waist, the cool water she splashed on herself felt really good against her hot skin.

It might be late October, she thought, but working in the sun is working in the sun and today is a very warm day. A sudden thought sparked an impish grin.

Checking to make no one would see her being un-Head Girl-ish, her socks were quickly stuffed into her shoes, her feet were bare and she was enjoying the feeling of swishing water between her submerged toes. A full frost had yet to hit, but she was glad that the cooler night temperatures were slowly diminishing the mosquito population. The mental image of a pair of mosquitoes being seated at linen draped table while a tuxedo clad lightening bug presented the duo with a set of matching menus featuring ‘Haemoglobin of Hermione’ as the night’s special sprang to mind. Nonetheless, a few winged critters buzzed around her head and every now and then she would reach up and bat them away.

The quiet is nice, she mused. I don’t get a lot of that. Everything is so… much this year. It’s good – I like it – but there are a few things that, if I had known in advance, could have made time-management a little easier.

Picking up some bracken from between the rocks, she tossed one piece after the other into the lake. She found herself smiling as the ripples from the debris hitting the water started to over lap. Waving a hand near her ear to fend off some air-bound blood-sucker; her fingers touched and traced the smooth surfaces of some small stones.

Staring at the rocks and transferring them into her hand, she rolled them around in her palm as her thoughts collided, crashed and bloomed in her mind. Transferring the stones to her other hand, she could not help but think that that was the problem: her mind. She was an organizer, she functioned off of logic and lists and pragmatism. Yes, there was room for spontaneity in her life. Yes, there was room for a bit of recklessness. But even she had to admit that her recklessness had limitations. Probability had to be in her favour for her to do something brazen and spontaneity could only be doled out in measured quantities.

A moment’s worth of introspection had her dismissing those insecure thoughts. Sure she had a lot to do. And they were things she wanted to do because it was her choice to do them. Not things others expected her to do nor did she do things that she thought other people expected her to do. Staying organized was the only way to see all her projects come to fruition. No. That was not the problem.

Tossing the stones into the lake one at a time and enjoying the plunking sounds they made as they struck the lake’s surface, she turned her thoughts inward to see what it was she was really feeling.

It was not loneliness. She had true friends who made sure she returned to the world of Planet Hogwarts on a regular basis.

It was not boredom. Her projects were enough to keep her busy.

Fear of the future? Nope – that was not it either. The future was going to come regardless – nothing she could do about that. True, it was not every day the Department of Mysteries summoned a student to a closed-door meeting in London in order to discuss what it entailed if one became an Unspeakable but that would also come to a resolution – one way or another.

Waving her hand around her head to encourage whatever was buzzing around her ears to seek its afternoon ‘pick-me-up-snack’ elsewhere, she really focused on what was truly going on with her.

Well, if it is not a something – maybe it is a some one?

Ginny was the out-spoken, self-confident, ‘fun-fearless-female’ who always reminded Hermione that being athletic and a girl who only gave a passing glance at the odds was a potent combination and a force to be reckoned with. Granted, Ginny wasn’t the one she would run to if she felt like she was feeling over-loaded or stressed out over a situation. Ginny’s ‘take no prisoners unless they can be used for ransom and plied for a bigger prize’ and quick temper was great for immediate gratification and extracting retribution. But not so good if what she really needed were quiet validation and a sounding board to bounce off ideas and formulate potential solutions.

Ron. Merlin, she loved that man-boy. He was the first one to call her on something if he thought she was out of her mind and the first one to back her up and defend her in any situation. He lived in a world that consisted of two colours, two extremes: black and white, right and wrong. Similar to Ginny in personality, but he was infinitely more cunning. He is the ultimate strategist. He can size up a situation, see the best plan of action and see it through. And, he was funny. The way he blushed at off-colour comments, his ever-ready quips and his Don Juan de Weasley demeanour. Or how he thought he could get away with anything if he applied enough Weasley Charm had her smiling as the last of the stones were flung into the lake.

She was all for meeting her Prince Charming, but she did not need a knight mounted on a white horse to come and save her. As if! Let him come galloping up, but he had better be bringing a horse for her to ride on as well. As if she was going to sit meekly behind her Prince Charming, clutching his waist, and pressing her face against his back while he brandished his sword at whatever enemy they were facing. I don’t think so. Mounted side-by-side on separate horses meant that both of them could face whatever was in front of them – together. Yes, there were times she needed help and was grateful when it arrived. I learned my lesson, I know better than to take on certain things on by myself – like mountain trolls. And yes, she knew just how crushed Ron would feel if he felt like he couldn’t play the part of the Grand Protector of his Second Sister. But, she didn’t need someone to fight her battles for her. She didn’t like feeling that she was being pushed aside ‘for her own good’ while the ‘men’ took care of whatever was wrong. That was not her and that was not how she was going to live her life.

Draco. Draco was an enigma in every sense of the word. Smooth, polished, articulate, impervious to public opinion but at the same time, he held up his family’s name like a badge of honour and wielded carte blanche access to the entire Wizarding world. Nor was he above pulling a prank for the sake of pulling a prank or using coarse language if he chose. The way he played Quidditch with a level of loosely leashed ruthlessness was as beautiful to watch as it was to condemn when other players paid the price for crossing his air-space. His haughty behaviour about the school and how it was run did not correlate with the talent and pride he took in fulfilling his Head Boy duties. He kept her guessing – in a good way. He never fought her battles even when it seemed that she was on the verge of losing control of a situation. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the way she would go about solving whatever was going on around her. It would not surprise her if she found out he was behind half the things she had to solve. Whatever he set in motion, it was not to see her chase her own tail. She would put a bag of chocolate frogs on that. It almost looked like… like he was testing her. Like he wanted to see exactly what she was capable of accomplishing. Not to mention that he was in possession of two of her secrets and showed no sign of holding them over her head.

Well, he does a little – hence the deals we struck over Friday afternoon Head duties and one other matter.

Drawing intersecting infinity symbols in the water with her feet, she thought more about the handsome Slytherin. He challenges me on a level that very few are capable of achieving: he challenges the way I look at the world around me. Not in a bad way – but in a way that makes me see that the world was made of more than the ‘black-and-white’, ‘them versus us’ and ‘lines-drawn-in-the-sand’ perceptions which Ron and Harry carry. Shades of grey exist and Draco never ceases to remind me of that fact. But, believing in a latent ‘sense of goodness’ the blond-haired boy might possess was one thing she could not do. Trusting him to react in a predictable manner wouldn’t happen. She would have enough faith in what she had learned and, inadvertently, shared with him, to take him out of the ‘Most Likely to Kill Me in My Sleep’ column and permanently assign him to the ‘Eternally a Prat, Git and Most Likely to Drive Me Mental’ category.

Harry. Harry was more than ‘just Harry’. The person I fancy knowing the most about I am having the hardest time putting into words. Well, maybe words aren’t enough for someone like him. Surviving the cruelty dished out by the Durlsey’s, overcoming the horrors encountered every school year since his arrival at Hogwarts, thriving in an environment where everyone expected him to save them.

Don’t they know what they are doing to him every time they call him the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, Prophesy Boy? What about other titles he had earned? What about ‘Best Friend’? What about, ‘Most Likely to Succeed If the World Would Just Leave Him Alone for a While’?

What about the one person who, until today, believed in her enough to let her fight her own battles unless she asked for help? What about the one person who always let her say everything she wanted to say before offering what he thought of a situation? What about the person who she was convinced had learned his lesson about barging into a situation with a ‘rescue at all costs’ frame of mind? What had happened to Harry’s realization, after the Department of Mysteries, when he confessed that he should have listened to her and taken a moment to evaluate what was going on then that night might have played out differently?

Chewing on her bottom lip, she shook her head trying to get her thoughts in order and to knock whatever it was that was crawling on the back of her exposed neck off. Harry was the one person who knows about the compulsion too, not necessarily hide who you are, but not quite share everything you are with the world at large – or even your closest friends. Unlike Ron, who took it personally when she held back, Harry accepted her need to keep whatever secrets she deemed worthy of keeping without pressing her for disclosure. This allowed her to trust him all that much more. Fledgling feelings, trust and unconditional acceptance moved Harry from the Best Friend column to ‘Best Friend and Man-Boy Hermione Wants to Date the Most’ column. She wasn’t looking for a potential husband, or even Mr. Right, but she really did not want to think about the immediate future without him being a constant presence in her life – outside the parameters of friendship.

Her mental voice rose as a litany took shape and the first licks of anger touched her thoughts. He should have known better than to think that she would be vulnerable to someone like that Parkinson cow. He should have known better than to have traded one of the most special and mind-blowing kisses she had ever experienced for five more minutes of fame. He should have known better than to think she could not take care of herself. He should have known better than to take away her right to see the situation through on her own terms and not be reduced to piggy-backing on the heels of a public declaration.

He didn’t trust me.

Anger dissipated and a sense of… not quite betrayal, but near enough, spread from her thoughts to her fingers. That is what really stung and hurt. He knows me. He knows how I think. Reaching for a larger rock, she aimed for the middle of the lake and threw it as hard as she could. Watching it sail through the air, a bitter thought reverberated as the surface of the lake broke out in concentric circles when the stone fell into the water.

He knows better.

He let me down by not believing in me.

He is the one person who knows what it means to me to discover something new, to solve a particularly challenging puzzle. He is the one person who knows that sometimes all I need is to talk out a particularly difficult problem in order to come up with a solution. He didn’t know that he was the one person who added colours and landscapes to her black, white and grey, academic-immersed life.

The greens in her life came from the colour of his eyes and corresponded with the Quidditch Pitch where he played, had his drills and knew she was welcomed without recrimination despite her lack of flying skills. Blues were added when they went for the walks around the lake and every time he made sure she enjoyed a beautiful day underneath a cloudless sky. Blue was also the colour of her fourth year Yule Ball robes, the moment when he realized she was just as much a girl as Lavender and Pavarti. Reds were for him letting her be angry when she needed to be angry and in the same time frame, sit with her watching the sky blaze as the sun set, not saying a word as the fiery orb disappeared behind the mountains that flanked the castle. Gold came from the way she treasured of friendship she found in him.

Treasure, or is that what you are telling yourself so that what you are feeling won’t become anything more than a ‘fancying’? That was the question that slammed into her thoughts and scattered her musings to the four corners of her mind. Not because it was true – but because it was moot. Her friendship with Harry had changed, in her heart of hearts, three years ago when a fourteen year old boy took on, triumphed and was very nearly broken by events manipulated by others who only saw Harry Potter as a means to an end.

Her present self sent an accusation to her younger self. Why didn’t you do anything about it then? Retracting the accusation, her older self answered almost as quickly as her younger self defended herself. How could I? It was only recently I discovered the words that my thoughts and feelings kept secreted away. I was only fourteen. I was still unsure what I thought of boys in general, no where near ready to say, ‘this is what I want’.

Staring across the lake, all she saw was the past.

Viktor and I dated but it was a ‘romance’ that was fit in between prepping for fifth year O.W.L.S, my work load for Fourth Year, helping Harry, and S.P.E.W. – not to mention fighting with Ron and dealing with Ron and Harry fighting with each other. And Viktor had his own schedule to maintain: training for professional Quidditch, school work, being used and placed on a pedestal by a traitorous Death Eater, being a Champion in a life-or-death themed Tri-Wizard Tournament.

And since then: school, grades, juggling obligations in the Muggle and Magical worlds, prefects, parents, Crookshanks and everything else. Yeah – I’ve loads of time for activities that would make a convicted Scarlet Woman blush, she snorted ruefully.

Everything that happened the year when that horrible Umbridge woman became Headmistress only re-enforced her feelings for Harry. Why else would she buck the system, push him to be the leader she knew resided within? There was no one to blame for the scar she carried on her body from the skirmish she, Harry, Neville, Ron, Luna and Ginny fought in at the Department of Mysteries except the person who cast the spell that sent that purple flame straight at her. It was her choice to mount that Thestral that night. It was her choice to stand side-by-side McGonagall three hours ago and face her accusers.

It is going to have to be our choice as to what happened next.

That thought had her sitting up straight and stilling her legs in the water.

It was her choice to fling both hands around her head and shoulders to shoo away that blasted bug that just wouldn’t leave her alone. Not to have pair of hands thread themselves underneath her arms – as she was in mid-shoo – pull her off of her rock and hoist her onto a broom manned by a bespectacled green-eyed imp who was going to have his life expectancy cut short.

“By all that is Morgana, Harry – put me down this instant!” No sooner were the words out of her mouth was when Harry climbed higher.

“Not yet.” Harry’s face was resolute.

“This isn’t funny!” The higher they climbed, the stronger the buffering winds blew and the more precarious she felt her perch become as she said, her voice quivering with fear, “You’re scaring me!”

“Just hold on a second, Hermione.” Harry was talking to her but had his attention focused on flying through the turbulence.

A tremor ran the length of the broom as she felt Harry tack. With the wind at her back as she sat side-saddle, her terror level dropped to something just short of stroke inducing and hovered somewhere near heart-stopping. A hand twice the size of her own and attached to a well-muscled arm wound around her waist and pulled her until she was pressed snugly up against his school jumper. Squeaking as the broom suddenly shifted sideways, both of her arms wrapped around his solid warmth.

“Hold on if you want, but look at me,” Harry commanded. Locking her eyes on his bright green ones, the sky and clouds were reflected in the lens of his glasses. “You are only afraid because your eyes are telling you that this is not safe. You are also thinking of every Quidditch accident you have seen. We are not in a game and nothing is going to happen to either one of us.”

“You can’t promise me that.” Tears crowded her lashes. He doesn’t understand.

“Hermione, I know you do not like heights,” Harry’s eyes never left her face. “Don’t look down, don’t look up. Focus on me. It will be better in a minute. You just need a moment for your brain to tell your instincts that you are okay. Trust me.”

The winds buffeted the back of her head and she could feel sections of her hair being teased free. It had been a whole minute since the last tremor and nothing had happened since. Inhaling deeply, the smell of autumn and warm male was a wonderful balm on her nerves. Closing and opening her eyes, she noticed how close she was to Harry. A smile stole its way from her lips to her eyes when she heard him murmur a warming-charm over her.

Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx Xxx

He knew he was taking his life in his hands by ‘Diving and Dashing’ Hermione, but he couldn’t resist. She was sitting there so quietly and prettily – tossing stones into the lake and splashing her feet. At first, he thought he would scare her by blowing on her neck and ears like he was some sort of bug and then reveal himself. But, the visual image of her being so ‘surprised’ that she ended up IN the lake was enough of a deterrent for him to rethink his approach.

Plucking her off of her rock was easy enough, his broom’s momentum helped with that aspect of the manoeuvre. Putting her on the broom was a little more challenging, but he had all week to work out the logistics and was pleased that the transfer went as smoothly as it did.

Calming Hermione down enough to prevent her from inadvertently tipping them both off of his broom took a little longer than he thought. Pulling her close was something he didn’t know he did until her shoulder came to rest against his chest. Her arms around his waist felt comfortable and re-assuring – once her grip slackened to something just short of rib-cracking. Seeing the goose-pimples recede after he cast the warming charm made him feel slightly less guilty for her initial terror.

“What’s that for?” Harry asked, referring to the smile that crept across her face.

“Truth?” Hermione asked.

“Truth.” Harry replied in a way that told her that they always spoke the truth to one another.

“You smell nice.” Her answer brought a touch of pink to her skin and her eyelashes fluttering to her cheeks.

“Well, you know – hygiene is rumoured to be a good thing,” Harry teased.

“Put me down, Harry. Please.” Lifting her lashes, her expression was shuttered. He could not read what she was thinking.

“No. Not yet.” Feeling her stiffen and change her grip to something necessary rather than desired, he looked down and recaptured her eyes with his own. “Why?”

“I am still angry with you and I am not ready to talk to you yet.” Her truthful answer sacrificed her cool façade.

“Hermione,” Harry knew what he wanted to say but took a moment to make sure his words would come out in a way he needed them too. “Neither one of us gets a lot of privacy, not to mention free time – if we talk here we are guaranteed both.”

He watched as the truth of his words struck a chord with Hermione.

“You kissed me,” Hermione began.

“You kissed me back,” Harry replied. He was holding back. He needed to know where she was in her thoughts. “But, as I remember it, it was you who kissed me first.”

“It was amazing, Harry,” Hermione’s distant look told him she was re-visiting the moments they shared in the dark.

“For me too, Hermione,” Harry was emphatic. Alone, with her, he was free to be everything he was – whether they were exploring each other’s thoughts, feelings or mouths.

He was completely unprepared for what came next.

“Why did you do it, Harry?” Hermione’s voice became hard despite a sense of hurt that clung to the outer edges of her demand.

“Kiss you? I thought you would have figured that out by now.” Harry reined in his need to counter her accusation and made himself listen to whatever was going to come next.

“No – not that,” Hermione brushed off his comment. “How could you not trust me? Why didn’t you believe in me, Harry?”

Her accusation, seasoned with disappointment, was enough to have him stopping the broom they were riding on and shooting her a stunned look. “That is not what happened at all, Hermione.”

“Then why did you do it, Harry? Why did you toss one of the most thrilling experiences of my life to the Wolves of Hogwarts, Harry? Why did you thump your chest and announce to the WORLD that you snogged the Head Girl in a broom cupboard?” Hermione’s eyes were flaring with emotion.

“You are way off base, Hermione.”

“Why won’t you answer the question, Harry?”

Hermione’s eyes were glowing with banked cinders and his were sparking with indignation. If he – they – weren’t careful – they would set each other off.

“Hermione – Pansy had you cornered. When the Hall got quiet, all I could hear was that cow’s accusation hanging in the air. I reacted before I thought. I said the first thing that I thought would exonerate you.”

“Rubbish, Harry.” She wasn’t buying what he was saying. “That might be the excuse you are telling yourself, but – “

“– that is NOT what happened, Hermione.” Harry cut her off. “I wanted to protect you.”

“BOLLOCKS! You didn’t trust me, Harry. The only thing you were looking to protect – “

“– I trust you. It was that Slytherin witch I didn’t trust. Who knew what she was going to do next! I was protecting the piece of my heart that YOU have and that the Parkinson cow threatened to chew like cud!” The vehemence in his voice rose sharply as he interrupted her again. “Do you know what it is like to see someone, who you care about, singled out and the feelings of helplessness that swarm all over you when you realize that you can’t do a thing for them?”

Hermione pulled her right hand from behind his back and poked his chest several times as she countered, “I know EXACTLY how that feels! Have you ever had to stand in a spectator’s arena while your best friend battled a dragon? Have you ever seen someone who you care about walk into a room sporting scrapes, bruises, blood and soon-to-be-new-scars that you have every idea where they came from but were denied the chance to help –“

“Wanna compare notes? Let’s talk petrification. Let’s talk about watching his ‘friend’ cry out in pain while in the throes of a potion induced sleep and knowing there was nothing you could do but wait until the spasm passed!” Harry heard himself bite out the words as the memories of Hermione’s recuperation swam in vividly front of his eyes.

Why do you think I did not visit that much, Hermione? Why do you think I only came to the Hospital Wing a couple of times? Because I could not do anything for you!

Ruthlessly re-burying the memories of digging his nails into the palms of his hands as he sat, stood and paced at her bedside was the only way he could return to the present and the girl who was perched nearly underneath his chin. Shifting his feet until they were nestled deeper into the prongs at the base of his broom, he subtly pulled on the handle of the broom and resumed their flight.

“Let’s talk about being left high and dry by someone who should believe in his friend enough to know that if she got herself into a situation then she is capable of getting herself out of it!”

“So, let me understand this properly.” Harry kept his tone scathing as he locked his gaze with hers and refused to break contact. “If you were standing in front of a firing squad and you were about to be fired upon I am supposed to sit back and –“

“Yes! Let them fire!” Her vehemence echoed around every word. “More than likely I would be wearing a bullet proof vest!”

Hermione’s heated declaration had him snorting derisively and looking at her incredulously.

“More than likely?” Parroting her words, he scoffed at her metaphor. “That’s not good enough, Hermione – not nearly good enough. I would have to KNOW that you were wearing that blasted vest.”

“Wrong answer Harry,” Hermione tersely fired back. Changing tactics, she lobbed a Logic Bomb at him. “What if it was Ron - “

“- It wasn’t and don’t even go there.” Plucking the fuse from her Logic Bomb didn’t earn him any headway. If anything, he could see her thinking of an alternate means of making her point. Shaking his head as all his thoughts and feelings began to get all jumbled together, he blurted out, “Ron would never let it go that far. He would have figured out a way to get out BEFORE the firing squad was even assembled.”

“But what if were necessary? What if what happened had to happen because that was the way it was supposed to play out?” The look on her face was unreadable beyond the resolve that was etched into every part of her body.

“Hermione, don’t you get it?” Sighing deeply, he released all his locked muscles and looked squarely into Hermione’s flashing eyes. “If there was ever a possibility that you would not be a constant, everyday presence in my life, then I would do everything in my powers to minimize any threats levelled against you. It’s that plain and simple Hermione.”

“Then Harry, we have a problem.” Hermione’s eyes danced around his face as she shared the reason why she suddenly looked so sad and her demeanour switched from enthusiastic debate to pensive resignation.

Harry saw the unhappiness on her face and blew out a breath of frustration. He was getting nowhere fast. “You are right – I should have trusted you. For that, I will apologize for. I will not make amends for wanting to protect you.”

Hermione sighing in exasperation had him stamping down his temper and opting for patient explanation. “I am going to do this, Hermione. Protect you. It goes with the territory.”

“Harry – friends trust one another…” Hermione was shaking her head. He could see the wheels in her head turning as she put the flat of her hand on his chest. “I don’t need or want…”

“I’m not talking about friendship Hermione.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “We already have that for the rest of our lives. I am talking about the privilege someone is entitled to when they care about another person deeply.” Not hearing any interruptions, he seized the moment. “I will always be there to watch your back, Hermione.”

“I don’t know Harry. There is a world of difference between watching my back and being pushed behind you while you fend off whatever is coming.” Her crestfallen face showed just how much she was affected by their conversation. “There is a lot to think about.”

This is not where, or how, he wanted this conversation to take place or occur and this was definitely not the way he anticipated this conversation going. The moment was on him and – by extension – her. It was the crossroads, which he and Hermione had approached several times but had yet to cross. Now, it was their chance to do it together. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he knew his next question had the potential to go either way.

“Does this problem change the way you feel about me?” It was a fight to keep his voice as even as possible despite the heavy, deep, isolated thuds of his heart.

The world stopped as he waited for her answer.

“No.” Her lips trembled with the effort it took to make her confession. “No it doesn’t.”

Watching her eyes flit from his eyes, to his lips, back to his eyes before focusing on a distant point beyond his shoulder, he knew that what she shared was going to all he was going to get. Freeing one hand from the broom handle, he used it to gently pull out the hair sticks that secured the chignon to the back of her head. Watching her swivel her neck to look at him again, Harry felt his breath catch.

“That’s better.” He felt the corners of his eyes completely relax as his whole face softened. His turn for a confession, “I’ve been wanting do that for a while.”

She looked beautiful: her cascading curls swirling towards him, the ends rising and falling with the up-drafts as they flew across the grounds. The lighter glints burnished by the afternoon sun, matching her camisole shade for shade, eyes burning with emotion, her cheeks tinged with the fierceness she displayed just moments ago. Her lips parted to allow her tongue to replace the moisture the wind stole. Dean’s assessment of Ginny paled in comparison as to what was going through Harry’s mind about Hermione: brains, beauty, compassion, fire, loyalty, laughter and mystery are all in one place with this girl.

“Why did you do that?” Her confusion carried a hint of smile.

“So we can do this,” Harry whispered.

Time stopped.

The world fell away.

Even the sun slipped behind a cloud out of respect for what this girl felt for this boy and how much this boy felt for that girl.

Harry wasn’t kissing Hermione. Hermione wasn’t kissing Harry. They were kissing each other. Lips pressed against lips, neither vying for control nor trying to make a point. Hands caressed contours found on faces, necks, shoulders and arms. Tongues caressed teeth and half formed words were swallowed by the other. Nothing was urgent and since time stopped, it was no longer a factor. With the world falling away, the moment belonging only to them, they revelled in the emotions that flowed and ebbed between them.

Feet touching soft grass restarted time. Green eyes taking in the freely offered emotions floating around in a pair of brown eyes brought shy smiles to two sets of faces and a series of quick, sweet, closed-lipped kisses. A delicate feminine finger traced a path from the outermost corner of his eyeglasses, down along his cheekbone, the pad of her finger barely grazing the sensitive divot underneath his bottom lip had him slumping forward and his forehead inclining to connect to her brow.

“Hermione?”

“Yeah, Harry?”

A quirky smile stretched from his lips to his eyes. “What was it that Luna was supposed to give me?”

A delicate blush had Hermione turning her head into the wind to cool off her suddenly over-heated face.

Deepening his smile, Harry asked again, “Not going tell me?”

Turning back to look at him, she dropped her eyes to the grip he had on the broom handle before chancing a look at his face. “I bumped into Luna in the hallway. I was upset – she asked if she could do anything for me.”

“And?” Harry prompted, knowing her answer was going to be good – regardless of what she said.

Shifting almost imperceptively on her narrow perch, it was a moment before she took a deep breath and said in a rush, “She was supposed to give your ears a good boxing.” A wicked smile stole over her embarrassment. “I told her that if she saw you before I did, then the best thing she could do for me is box your ears because apparently you had lost the ability to hear in the first place and that no damage would be done by one of us clapping our respective hands simultaneously over your ears.”

“I am glad she opted not to give me my ‘present’ then,” Harry said with a sense of relief.

“I bet, Mr. Potter,” Hermione sniffed at his sense of self-preservation.

“Well, if she did then I would not be able to hear the answer to my next question because my ears would still be ringing,” Harry insinuated.

“Oh, really – and what might that be Harry?” Hermione teasingly challenged.

“Will you go to the dance with me?” Harry asked hopefully.

All teasing and mirth left her face as she realized his question was sincere and not a continuation of their play.

“No Harry, I can’t. I’m sorry, I have…” Her voice trailed off as sincere regret filled her eyes.

Snatching his hands off of her shoulders Harry jerked upright – like someone had pricked him with a hundred needles.

“What? Hermione! I don’t understand. Why? Why won’t you go with me?” Harry could not wrap his mind around the fact Hermione said no.

“Yes, Granger – I think we’d all like to hear the answer to that one.” Striking a casual pose – arms folded just under his chest and one ankle crossed against its mate – as he leaned the small of his back against his horizontally hovering broom, pausing long enough to form an evaluating smirk. “Come on now; don’t keep us waiting in suspense.”

Draco’s aristocratic drawl brought the world crashing back around him and Hermione with a round of applause, wolf whistles, and catcalls chasing his words.

Grouped around his broom was the entire Vectors class – complete with a narrow-eyed Madame Hooche and flabbergasted Lavender. Next to him, frozen in place, Hermione dragged a ragged breath over her teeth and spent her air on one phrase.

“Oh. Sacred. Morgana.”

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Ron knew that if he felt like crawling out of his skin because everything had gone to Hades in a hand-basket, then Hermione must be mentally begging for Hades himself to open up the ground and drag her down to Persephone’s side. For the second time in the span of a few hours, he saw Hermione become the centre of attention courtesy of his best mate. The irritation he felt towards Harry just before Divination began to simmer and churn in his chest.

Thinking about Hermione and what she must be feeling, a deep breath was all he needed to go from student-fly-boy to ‘Nobody-Messes-With-My- Second-Sister-So-Don’t-Even-Think-About-It-Unless-You-Want-To-Answer-To-Me’ persona. Using his size to elbow his way through the small group, he gruffly said, “Come on now, you lot. Make a hole; prefect coming through.”

Ron narrowed his eyes as he watched Harry dismount his broom as soon as Hermione’s bare feet balanced on solid ground. Watching her wince as she stepped on something sharp hidden in the grass had Ron shooting a nasty ‘What the hell were you thinking’ look at Harry. Getting only ‘this is none of your business’ scowl from his dorm-mate, Ron looked at Hermione and another flash of Protective Big Brother surged through him as he took in how beautiful she looked – despite her trembling like a deer-caught-in-wand-light.

“All right, Hermione?” Ron heard himself ask her quietly enough so that she could hear him. A terse nod and a subtle, darting look in Harry’s direction told him that all she wanted to do is get away from Harry and the group of ten people who were dissecting every unnecessary moment this scene lasted so that they could retell it later with all sorts of embellishments firmly attached.

Placing a steadying hand on the sleeve of his robe, Hermione had yet to answer Harry’s question or rise to Draco’s bait.

Shouldering his Firebolt, Harry reached for Hermione’s elbow and tried to spin her around. That is, he tried. Her grip on Ron’s robes kept her from being completely turned around – and the fact that she yanked her arm free of his fingers helped a bit as well. Catching the reassuring look she gave him, Ron saw her swivel her gaze back onto Harry’s face.

“Harry. Don’t do this.” The warning in her tone reverberated across the Vectors training area.

Ignoring the second ‘what-the-hell-gives-Harry?’ look Ron sent to his best mate, Harry still opened his mouth.

“Why, Hermione? After everything we talked about…” Harry could care less who was around or the fact that Hermione would now settle for Zeus splitting the sky with thunderbolts if it meant she could get away all that more quickly. Ron wished he could do something more, but the longer he stood there, just to the side of Hermione, the more he disliked the one possibility guaranteed to liberate Hermione and put an end to the un-necessary drama. “How can you say that?”

“Oh, Potter! Going to kiss and tell after all?” Draco taunted from his side of the clearing, which were only feet away from where everyone else was standing and staring. Sweeping the small group with his eyes, Ron saw Draco make sure everyone was focused on the melodrama unfolding between his two best friends. “Listen up everyone, this aught to be good. Potter is going to find out for all of us why Granger turned him down.”

Ron could not keep the look of shock out of his eyes when his head snapped in the direction to where the Slytherin Prince was holding court. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? Malfoy, in his own twisted, ‘I am a degenerate git’ way, try to warn Harry to shut up as well?

“Harry – stop.” Hermione words were icy. She knew where this was going – it was etched in every fibre of her stance – and did want to go there.

The crowd, their murmuring, and their collective side-show-attraction gawking skills were making it harder and harder for Ron to hear anything that was being said between his best friends.

“No. I won’t Hermione. Not until you tell me why.” Harry was adamant in his demand, which Ron knew would only push more of Hermione buttons.

“Oh, this should be rich everyone. Listen carefully – would not want to miss a syllable that’s for sure.” Draco egged the couple. “Anyone have a spare RememberAll to preserve this precious moment?”

“Ron? Get me out of here, please.” Hermione asking for help rarely happened. She was the most capable person, beyond his mother, he knew. Shrugging self-consciously back into her school shirt and pull the plackets tight against her body, Hermione’s quiet pleading was the equivalent of him dropping an armoured faceplate into place and donning a pair of gauntlets. Sir Ron of the Noble Order of Big Brothers was being hailed.

Falling in step with her as escort, Ron could feel his eyes snap open in astonishment when he saw Harry make another grab for Hermione and actually succeed in spinning her around and forcing her to face him. Ron did not miss how Hermione made a slight grimace of discomfort when Harry’s hand latched onto her arm, which earned Harry a patented Ron-Weasley-Look-of-Death.

“Hermione – tell me. I thought you…” Ron could see Harry ignoring everything and everyone around him – the lad only had eyes and ears for the brunette who was now fighting a case of the shakes as the level of emotion soared in his best girl-friend.

Harry mate – you are treading on thin ice, Ron silently chastised as his own anger at Harry bubbled and frothed at how Harry was carrying on.

“Fine, Harry,” Hermione’s control snapped as she yanked her self free from his room-mate. The air all but crackled between them as she ground out, “I cannot go with you because I ALREADY HAVE A DATE! There – are you satisfied now?”

Surprise wrapped itself around the training area and Ron used it to propel Hermione away from the crowd and transfer her within his circle of safety, giving her the opportunity to walk away. Even Draco seemed torn between feeling sorry for Hermione, being angry on Hermione’s behalf now that her private affairs were dragged into public and amused at the way Harry stood there as if he had been Stupefied.

Seeing Harry start towards her one more time with a dark expression on his face, Ron bounced a determined look at Madame Hooche.

“Class is over, right Professor?”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley. Class has been over since these two landed,” Hooche clarified.

He’s going to make me do this. Stepping in Harry’s way, Ron put up a hand to stop him from chasing after Hermione. “Harry. Don’t make me do this.”

“Ron. Move,” Harry’s green eyes were almost black behind his glasses. “I gotta sort this out.”

Flashing a quick glance at Daphne, he asked, “Got your first aid spells handy, Greengrass?” Seeing her nod in puzzled affirmation, Ron used every part of the inch and a half of height he had over Harry to make his friend stop in his tracks and back down.

Harry only glowered when Ron stepped forward and blocked the path that led back to the castle.

“Get. Out. Of. – “

CRUNCH!!

Ron’s fist connected with Harry’s nose and Harry went flying backwards – not quite falling but everyone saw the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain as he was sent reeling backwards for several steps before recovering his balance – before Harry could finish his demand.

“Sorry, mate, but no body hurts Hermione.” Ron reminded Harry of their promise to one another regarding their other best friend and why the ‘Gentlemen Don’t Behave That Way’ Squad was formed in the first place. Giving his best friend a chance to wipe the blood from his nose, Ron added, “That is YOUR rule – remember? – that we and the rest of the boys swore to uphold.”

Wiping off his knuckles with a corner of his robe, Ron silenced the catty comment that was about to come out of Draco’s mouth with a blatant warning ground out from somewhere deep within his throat. “Don’t Malfoy. If you value walking upright, you won’t go there.”

Recalling one more detail, Ron swung his head towards thunderstruck Lavender. “That goes for you too, Lav.”

Turning back to Harry, Ron said, “Harry, go get cleaned up. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Grabbing his Cleansweep and giving a respectful nod to Madame Hooche, he turned himself around and trotted after a small figure delicately picking her way up the slope and making her way back to the castle.

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Author’s Note: Here it is! THE GRYFFINDORS ARE GOING DOWN!!!

SPECIAL THANKS TO EVERYONE!!!! ESPECIALLY PROFESSOR ROZ< KARLA>MC!!!

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Sunday, October 26^th – Late afternoon, about half-three, on the way to Gryffindor Tower…

“You hit me!”

“Yeah – I did. That was three days ago, for crying out loud. Get over it.”

“You. Hit. Me.”

“Yes. I. Did. Repeating yourself is not going to change my mind. I would do it again. You were being a world-class git.”

“Well, the next time you get rejected in front of an entire class, let’s see how you react – shall we Nonchalant Boy?”

“Waiter, can we get some whine to go with this cheese?” Ron snapped his fingers as if he were summoning someone. Pretending to listen to the imaginary waiter, Ron said, “Yes. That will be a table for one under the name of Harry’s Pity Party, Day Three.” Dismissing the imaginary waiter, Ron looked up the remaining four flights to stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower. It is going to be a long climb Weasley, he told himself. Switching back to talking to Harry, he griped. “For the record – I can top that – try getting shot down in front of the entire Ravenclaw common room.”

“Luna said no?”

“Luna said no.” Ron was dead pan in comparison to Harry’s shock.

“Did she say why?” Harry asked.

“Said she already had a date, but said she was looking forward to seeing me there – sound familiar?” Ron did not turn around to look at Harry when they reached the landing and started on another run of stairs.

“Mate – I am sorry.” Harry could identify with Ron’s disappointment.

“Yeah, me too.” Drawing a deep breath, Ron bit back what he thought about being ‘let down easy’.

“I figure it can only be one of two things.” Shrugging his shoulders as he breathed out, bounced back slightly. “One: we both waited until it was too late and our egos refused to let us believe that anyone else would ask our girls to the dance. Or two: it is a bloody virus going around school where girls are turning down invitations from blokes they like in lieu of mystery dates with whom the girls will not name. The first is more probable – but I have a sneaking suspicion that Snape was the one who cooked up that little nasty bug and is behind the epidemic.”

“What about Dean? He’s been kind of mopey lately,” Harry recalled.

“Like you haven’t been?” Ron pointed out.

“Haven’t been what?” Harry wasn’t sure what Ron was referring to.

“Mopey,” Ron clarified.

“Harh, harh, Mister I-Have-A-Room-At-The-Love-Lorn-Motel-And-I-Am-Not-Checking-Out-Anytime-Soon,” Harry smoothly retorted. Going back to their original topic, Harry asked, “No. Seriously, though Ron – have Ginny and Dean made up?”

Opting for the ‘Snape is behind everything that goes wrong at Hogwarts because he is a greasy git and a mean-ass professor who probably never had a date in his whole life’ theory, Harry put two and two together. “Assuming that you are right and Snape is behind our lack of love-lives, do you think that Snape could have somehow infected Ginny?”

“I talked to Ginny about it when she cornered me at dinner the other night. That little blighter held my dessert hostage. She threatened to feed it to Fluffy until I told her that YES, you asked Hermione to the dance in front of everyone, that YES, I really did punch you in the nose, and that YES, I really did threaten Draco and Lavender – within an inch of their lives – to keep their traps shut. Once I got my treacle tart back-“

“Ginny does not play fair – does she?” Harry smirked ruefully. Ginny could teach a successful seminar in interrogation tactics, Harry noted.

“No. She doesn’t. I think it is a survival tactic she picked up from having to live with Fred and George during her formative years. Anyway,” Ron continued. “I asked her about Dean. She said that as far as she was concerned, they were still a couple and still going out and that whatever problems they are having are his problems and that he should get over it even though there is nothing to get over.” Scrunching up his face, Ron looked taken back, “Whatever that is supposed to mean.” Switching back to the subject of their mutual room-mate, he stated, “But looking at Dean, I would say otherwise.”

“Does the Gossip Mill have anything to say?” Harry asked.

“Well, Lavender has cut me off – for obvious reasons. Big loss there, I’ll tell ya. I’m still mourning that blow.” Ron looked anything but crushed at Lavender refusing to even give him the time of day not to mention the latest scoop. “But, according to Padma, it all started on Friday when Dean tried to make nice after the row they had at lunch. It ended up with Dean getting antsy and pressing Ginny for details about what kind of costumes Ginny had picked out for them to wear,” Ron explained.

“Oh, Merlin – I forgot.” Harry’s eyes shot to his hairline. “We gotta dress up, don’t we?”

“Yes we do, my friend.” Shaking his head to clear the image of looking and smelling like his Great Aunt Tessie, Ron recounted more of what Padma had told him about the ‘Drama of Dean and Ginerva’, “Anyway – when Dean asked Ginny what they were wearing – Ginny told him he could dress as whatever he wanted as she already had a date for the Ball.”

Harry gave a low whistle. “That’s harsh “Tell me about it. A bloke’s nightmare, that is.”

“Think it’s true?” Harry asked, hoping that Dean could be spared some dignity and not be the recipient of the consolation prize: seeing Ginny at the Ball like Ron will be seeing Luna at Ball.

“What do you think?” Ron asked rhetorically. “Dean hardly leaving the Tower all weekend is proof enough for me.”

Recalling something else along the same lines, Harry asked, “Speaking of the Lovelorn and the Hopeless, have you notice Nearly Headless Neck mooning about?”

Caught unprepared at Harry’s question, it was a moment before Ron registered what Harry was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I saw him with a bouquet of dead flowers in his hand and fluffing his ruff the other day like he was going on the ultimate date of his undead life.” Harry said.

“Come to think of it, yeah Harry. I did see him the other day. He looked like he was talking to himself – kinda like he was practicing a speech or something. It was odd.”

“Wonder what that was all about?” Harry thought out loud.

“Not sure – but by the sounds of things – it seemed like he was working on a proposal.” Ron grimaced.

“A marriage proposal?” Harry needed to make sure he had heard Ron properly.

“Do you know another kind of proposal that needs practicing?” Ron asked.

Harry kept quiet. He answered Ron’s question silently, yeah – I do.

The sound of padding feet had both boys looking up at the top of the staircase. Stepping aside to let three pairs of house elves pass, all six were wearing socks on their ears. Both boys looked at each other and shrugged. “Must be making a delivery,” Harry guessed.

“Who knew Dobby was a fashion guru?” Ron popped both his eyebrows at the same time. It was not often he was impressed.

Laughing lightly, Harry said, “Who knew, indeed.” Sobering slightly, Harry shot Ron a shallow scowl. “I still cannot believe you hit me. I have a black eye from being popped on the nose.”

“Stop your whining already, will ya? It was a slightly glorified love tap and you are making it out to be the Punch of the Century.” Bantering with Harry like the brother he was, Ron stopped climbing long enough to turn to Harry and give him bolstering clap on the arm. “Chin up. It looks good on you. It matches your complexion and the purple brings out your eyes.”

“Flatterer,” Harry good naturedly accused.

“Charmer,” Ron corrected Harry.

“You don’t say. What’s the difference?” Rising to Ron’s bait, Harry had to hear the answer to this one.

“My devastating good looks and rapier wit,” Ron smoothly replied.

Groaning and rolling his eyes to the rafters, Harry conceded defeat and admitted that there was no possibility of firing off a come-back after a statement like that. “Of course – how could I been so thick.”

“Your thickness? I figure it has to be genetic – it’s the only way you would have survived hitting every branch when you fell from the top of the Stupid Tree. Don’t understand it myself; your parents were pretty cool. But hopefully – for your kid’s sakes – it will skip a generation.” Ron made sure he was the epitome sympathy. “But don’t worry Harry; I have learned to forgive you for your thick-headedness.”

“And this is coming from a kid who is the poster child warning people of the dangers from dipping their ladles in the shallow end of the gene pool?” Harry’s scoff was aimed at Ron’s pure-blooded status, not Molly and Arthur who he adopted as his surrogate parents just like he adopted Ron as his brother.

“Been saving that one long?” Ron asked, raising one eyebrow at his friend, mate and brother. Chortling in approval, Ron confessed, “That is a good one. Remind me to use on Malfoy sometime.”

Stepping onto the last set of stairs, Ron pulled the pin and tossed an Emotional Grenade at his mate. “Have you spoken to Hermione lately?”

Ron could hear Harry take a deep breath before he answered evasively, “Yeah.”

“And?” Ron was not about to let him off that easily.

“It was about school stuff.” Harry’s tone was reticent, “Nothing more.”

“Hate to say it Harry, but you deserve her cold shoulder.” Ron was far from sympathetic.

“Don’t Ron; I am really not in the mood.” Harry warned.

“Well, suck it up Potter because here it comes. When are you going to learn Harry, that Hermione hates the limelight?” Ron was not going to pull any punches – every pun intended, he snickered to himself.

“I know that, Ickle Ronnekins,” Harry cooed.

“I am going to let that slide, taking into account the level of your emotional distress and genetic frailty,” Ron upped the patronizing level in his voice for Harry’s benefit.

“Prat.”

“So? Like I said before, I have yet to make Hogwarts Most Wanted.” Ron shrugged off Harry’s half-hearted insult. “You and Hermione are two of the most private people I know. Neither one of you will offer up anything personal unless you want to.” Pausing on the landing, Ron levelled a matter-of-fact look at his friend. “You asking her to the Ball in public, on the heels of Parkinson’s accusation –“

“How many times do I have to say this – I did not know we had an audience at the time.” Harry interrupted Ron to defend himself, again.

“You did when you would not take ‘no’ for an answer, Harry.” Ron’s voice dropped and octave and all previous teasing were cast aside. “You do that again, Harry, and we will have more than a passing problem between us.”

Harry knew better than to contradict Ron when Ron was right. Even more so, Harry used one of his ‘get out of jail free card’ with Ron and those were in limited supply. Ron was quick to temper and could forgive, but he was slow to forget. Harry knew that he and Ron were brothers. That means that we will stand by each other and fight with each other like brothers.

“Don’t worry, Ron. If I do that again, I will punch my own lights out.” Harry’s easy smile belied the truth of his words.

Approaching the Fat Lady’s portrait, Harry and Ron exchanged a knowing look and kept walking down the corridor. Stopping in front of a picture depicting an opera singer, her back to the corridor, holding an audience enraptured, Ron brought his hand to his chin and began to stroke it as if he was considering the workmanship of the piece. Shifting to look at the artistry from another angle effectively blocked anyone from seeing Harry taking out his wand. Pointing his wand-tip at the oil-on-canvass and tapping the ornate frame Harry said quietly, “Reveal your secrets!”

The scene in the opera house shimmered and for a moment all the colours melded together and started to re-distribute themselves. A hazy figure took the shape of a familiar, stately, plump brunette. Then the image sharpened. Giving each of them an expectant gaze, it was the Fat Lady who asked the same thing she had asked for the past seven years, “Password?”

“I got this one, Harry.” Ron said.

“By all means Ron – age before beauty,” Harry jibed.

“Weak, Harry. That was weak,“ Ron countered. Looking at the pink-clad woman, Ron whispered, “Weird Sisters.”

The portrait swung open and both boys climbed through the now-revealed portal.

The Gryffindor common room was crowded. Everyone from First Year to Seventh Year was assembled. Some were playing Exploding Snap, quietly engaged in a bout Wizard’s Chess or a laughing hard during a variation of “I Have Never’. Others were sitting with their textbooks, quills and parchment spread out around them as they tackled homework assignments while some of the upperclassmen helped them to understand hard-to-grasp theories. All in all, it was a cosy, warm, friendly environment steeped in what made Gryffindors, Gryffindors: loyalty, bravery and the ability to look beyond oneself and help others.

Ron poked Harry with his elbow. “What time is it?”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Harry read, “About quarter of four.”

“Great. We’ve got a few minutes then.” Ron decided.

“For what?” Harry asked.

“For a little refreshment, Harry me lad,” Ron quipped.

He never ceases to surprise me, Harry thought. Watching Ron walk to towards the fireplace, Harry saw him crouch over Hermione’s knitting basket. It was a good-sized, deep-bowled wicker basket complete with a handle that spanned the length of the basket. Skeins of yarns in yellows, blues, greens, reds and silvers were piled on top of one another in haphazard patterns.

“Hey Ron – you mess with that and I won’t stop Hermione from twisting your wand into a knot!” Harry called out to Ron.

Ron flashed a devil-may-care smirk at Harry. “She hasn’t touched this thing all year. Which is why,” Ron’s right hand plunged into the rolls of yarn and started to rummage around. His smirk was traded for a grin as Harry saw his hand stop. Pulling his hand free, several balls of wool tumbled out of the basket and plopped silently onto the floor.

“That is the perfect hiding place for these!” Brandishing two butter beers, Ron looked extremely pleased with his cunning. Straightening out his legs and pushing himself upright, he propped his shoulder against the mantelpiece and offered one of the bottled delights to his best friend.

Accepting one of the beverages and twisting off the cap, Harry clinked his bottle to Ron’s and they both made silent toasts before taking a deep pulls on the well-hidden drinks. Settling his own weight against the bricked edges of the fireplace, Harry gave credit where credit was due. “Ron, you are brilliant.”

Knowing that not everyone had assembled as of yet, Harry scoped the room for one person in particular. Not seeing her helping the group of Sixth Years tackle their Astronomy star charts, Harry swallow what he had in his mouth before asking Ron, ‘Okay – fair is fair – let me ask you if you have seen Hermione lately.”

Swinging the hand that held his butter beer in Harry’s direction, Ron was blasé. “Of course I have. Who do you think had a second supper with a certain Head Girl in her office after I ate with you on Friday?” Bringing his butter beer back to his mouth to take another swig, Ron then propped his elbow on the mantelpiece. “You should see the piles of stuff she has confiscated so far this year! Harry – it’s amazing. Especially the amount of W.W.W. products; she says she sends boxes of un-opened contraband back to Fred and George on a regular basis. Apparently they had a conversation – Fred, George and Hermione – and they came to an understanding.”

“Yeah – she told me about that. There is no way she can stop the stuff from coming into the school, but there really is no need to destroy it either once it is confiscated. According to her, Fred and George believe that if a student gets caught with a banned product then they were not worthy of wielding it in first place. And, since their business is still growing, having their inventory returned to them clears up space in Hermione’s office and keeps the cost of goods down at W.W.W.” Harry remembered asking Hermione about the S.S.o.S. lozenges he saw on her desk the previous week and being impressed with her solution.

“Well – you are going to love this one, Harry – apparently she has acquired so much merchandise that she is now making Fred and George pay for shipping the stuff back to their warehouse!” Ron laughed at Hermione getting the upper-business-hand on the twins. Sobering, Ron took a fortifying swallow of his drink before levelling his gaze at the dark-haired boy leaning against the opposite side of the fireplace. “But to answer your real question Harry, she is escorting McGonagall to the House meeting.”

The sound of the password being given had everyone going quiet and looking at the door. After what happened to the Ravenclaws, every time the door opened, everyone was supposed to be on their guard as to who was coming into Gryffindor Tower.

Ron’s head turned and Harry followed his line of sight. The portal door swung open again and a few Third Years came in for Ron’s mandatory meeting. Everyone went back to what they were doing: laughing, playing, talking, and studying. A tell-tale thunk preceded one of the thirteen year olds from exclaiming that he has stubbed his toe on someone’s trunk. Hobbling away, Harry frowned in concentration. Who would leave their trunk in the middle of the floor? Taking another swig of butter beer and then resting the bottle on the mantle, he walked over to where the younger student hurt his foot. Ron followed close behind, his fingers still wrapped around his bottle of butter beer.

“What do you make of it, Harry?” Ron peered over Harry’s shoulder until he realized he didn’t have too. There were three trunks spread out between the back of the common room and the stairs that led to the dormitories. Each trunk had a different label. Two were hard to read, as their labels looked like they had been left out in the rain and the ink had run to the point of making the names illegible, but one was clear: Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“Hermione,” Harry breathed.

“Since when does Hermione care about Quidditch?” Ron questioned. Taking his eyes off the trunks and scanning now very crowded common room, he announced, “Ten minutes people.”

“Since I suggested that our class gift to the school should be a new, professional grade, Quidditch set.” Harry explained to Ron.

“Harry – that is a brilliant idea. The stuff we are playing with now will be pretty dodgy by this time next year. The Snitches will be out-dated and Beaters have to factor in the nicks in the bats every time they take a swipe at the bludgers as it is.” Ron’s eyes glowed with the prospect of giving Hogwarts such a great parting gift. Putting a couple of pieces together, Ron swiped Harry’s arm with the backside of his free hand. “Those house elves – they were making their delivery here.”

“Thanks. But it was Hermione’s idea to solicit different companies. That way, we can really consider which set we want to present at the House Championship game.” Running his hands along the buckles of the nearest trunk, Harry added, “Hermione thinks that if we phrase our letters of request properly, that these companies could actually donate a set rather than make the class buy it.”

“That’s my girl – always thinking!” Pride in having the Smartest Witch of their Age as a friend was spread from one freckled ear to the other.

Harry nodded, “Yup. She’s good.” Feelings of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve bloomed in his chest as he looked at each trunk in turn. Friday’s debacle still kept true laughter off of his face and out of his voice and out of his eyes.

Taking another pull on his butter beer, all but draining the bottle Ron sensed Harry about to don his hair shirt. Clapping him on the shoulder, Ron nodded to his friend and then at the three trunks lying on the floor. “What do you say, Captain? Wanna open these babies up and see if Miss Know-It-All knows how to order Quidditch supplies?”

Snapping out of his reverie, Harry grinned at Ron, “Only if you help, Keeper.”

“Done – but I think we could use another pair of hands – don’t ya think?” Ron turned away from Harry and scanned the room. Spying who he was looking for sitting on the edge of a workspace on the far side of the room, Ron bellowed. “Oye! Thomas! Give a mate a hand, will ya?”

Nodding in agreement at Ron’s choice, Harry never saw Ginny come up on his other side until she placed warm hand on his upper arm.

“Watcha’ got there, Harry?” Ginny inquired, all interested in the trunks.

“Hey Harry,” Dean said. Harry heard the drop in Dean’s enthusiasm as he saw Ginny standing nearby, “Hey Ginny.”

“Hey Dean,” Ginny said brightly.

“By Orion’s Eye, you two are acting like you hardly know each other! Enough, already, will ya? There are those of us who have to commence with some serious mischief making!” Ron’s frustration was apparent despite the deflection tactic.

“Ron, you take the one at this end. Ginny, you take the one in the middle. Dean, you take the one at the far end.” Harry laid out the battle plan. “On the count of three, flip up the buckles and throw back the lids – okay?”

Brother, sister and dorm-mate all nodded.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

The jangling and clanking of buckles being freed and lids being thrown open and bouncing on their hinges had more Gryffindors gathering around Harry, Ginny, Ron and Dean.

Three sets of gleaming, brand-new, top-of-the-line Quidditch equipment were revealed to everyone’s murmurs of approval. As usual, Hermione had done her homework and had really gotten the crème of the Quidditch supply crop sent to the school.

“They are beautiful.” Ginny breathed.

“They are so fabulous – can you imagine what a game would be like if we played with this level of equipment?” Ron was practically drooling at the sight of the bludgers, quaffles, beater bats and golden snitches that vibrated and rattled in their respective nests.

“The are so-“

Harry finished Dean’s sentence.

“TAKE COVER EVERYONE – NOTHING’S TIED DOWN!”

Squealing with delight at the sight, students dove for cover. Streaking from the trunks, six bludgers lifted off and started to scream around the edges of the room. Three snitches spread their delicate golden wings and soared across the common room.

Instinctively reaching for a bat, Harry tossed one to Ginny and four other outstretched hands without looking at who belonged to said hands. Grabbing a bat for himself, his other hand grasped a quaffle and lobbed it at Ron who caught it deftly and passed it onto someone else. Lurching for another quaffle that he tossed to someone back and to his right, the last quaffle landed squarely in Ron’s hands and stayed there.

The dorm was raucous scene; flying bludgers just out of reach of wildly flung bats and Gryffindors calling to one another.

“Swing to the right!”

“Duck!”

“BEHIND YOU!”

“DROP!”

“LOOK OUT!”

Fun and pandemonium ruled the Common Room.

Harry found his head whipping every which way whenever someone called out a direction. Sweat peppered his forehead and his glasses started to fog around the edges as he puffed hot breath through his teeth. Fighting the urge to go into Seeker mode and just focus on the Snitches flitting about and glinting in the afternoon sunlight that was streaming through windows, Harry swept the entire room with his Seeker eye and went into Captain Mode.

“Ginny – take the balcony! Dean, head over near the window seats.” Immediately Ginny and Dean took off towards their positions; Ginny climbing the stairs two at a time and Dean inserting his muscular bulk into the far corner of the room. “Ron – Ron! – set up an end zone and protect it.” Harry barked out orders as a runaway bludger whizzed by his right ear.

A high pitched shriek had him craning his neck to the balcony. It was Lavender and she was clutching onto Ginny’s jumper. Just coming down the stairs out of the girls’ dormitory, the bludger that had been hugging that far wall adjacent to the girls’ side of the Tower was just coming about for another careening sweep. Dropping to her knees and tugging a laughing Ginny down with her, the bludger nearly missed her head as it tacked to where Neville standing slack jawed and unarmed.

Harry, who had back away from the trunks was now closer to the portal door knew he was too far away to do anything but someone else was already in motion.

Vaulting over the balcony, Ginny nimbly landed inches from where Neville stood in the path of the on-coming bludger.

“I got it!” One handed, she pushed Neville aside. Raising her other hand and Stepping up, Ginny raise her bat and gave the accelerating bludger a solid smack with her championship grade beaters’ bat. Both the bat and the bludger exploded into globs and strings of sticky, slimy, seed-ridden orangey goo that coated Ginny’s face and hair and showered Neville’s shoulders with gooey nastiness.

Plucking a glob of orangey goop off of Ginny’s head and giving it a sniff, Neville started to laugh so hard, Harry thought the lad was going to piss himself.

On the far side of the room, Seamus had his arm around Pavarti’s waist and had her folded in half as he covered her back with his own. Side stepping Pavarti and Seamus, who were barrelling their way out of the path of another bludger, Dean hurried into position.

“Oh no you don’t” Dean was speaking to on-coming bludger even as he was setting himself up to be in a perfect position to know the rogue ball clear across campus. “You are mine.”

Ginny and Neville looked at each other just in time to see Dean square himself with the on-coming bludger. Hollering at the same time, Neville and Ginny waved their hands to try to get his attention. “Dean! No! Stop! It’s-“

Drowned out by everyone one else having a grand time, Dean never heard the first part of Ginny and Neville’s warning. Taking aim, Dean put all his might into connecting his bat to the zooming bludger.

A might thwack sounded across the room.

Dean hit the bludger all right – and spread the ooey, gooey goodness of-

“- PUMPKIN INNARDS!” Neville and Ginny finished their warning in a breath-stealing fit of giggles.

- in an outward spray that caught the Creevey brothers and a handful of Sixth Years, who had just gotten up off the floor when they saw Dean line up the bludger in his sights, square in the back and neck with the orangey goop.

At the same time, Harry saw Ron tuck his quaffle underneath his arm, duck, roll, and stand up. Gauging the speed and trajectory of the bludger that was closing in on him, Ron was out of evasive manoeuvres – save one. Holding up his quaffle, Harry could see Ron setting himself up for a classic deflection counter-measure. Taking a couple of stabilizing steps backward and adjusting his position, Ron kept his gaze steady of the on-coming bludger. At the last moment, Ron raised his quaffle deflected the smaller ball. That was his plan, until the bludger struck his quaffle and both balls exploded into a spectacular shower of pumpkin guts.

“GROSS!” Pushing globs of pumpkin innards off of his arm Ron was far from vexed. Along with everyone else, he loved every minute of it and it showed.

A movement behind him had Harry looking at the portal. The door swung open and Prof. McGonagall, Hermione and Draco stepped into the Gryffindor common room just in time to see a fourth year, her fingers barely touching one of the air-born snitches, get fitted for a coat of orange slimy goodness.

Somewhere in the Common Room, a voice cried out, “WE’VE BEEN PRANKED!”

Bludger Number Four was coming down from where it slipped behind one of the tapestries when it followed a group of Second Years when they tried to get away from the rogue ball. Swooping down with an audible hiss, Harry saw Hermione’s eyes go wide as she pivoted on her heel and placed both her palms on McGonagall chest.

“Sorry, Professor,” Hermione said hurriedly. McGonagall’s eyes went wide when her Head Girl’s apology preceded Hermione pushing the Deputy Headmistress out of the way of a loaded bludger that she was actually pushed out of the Tower!

Good show, Hermione, Harry thought.

A flash of blonde hair had Harry thinking two things at the same time. What is Malfoy doing here? WATCH OUT, MALFOY!

“I’ve got it!” Draco called as he dashed the around the backside of an arm chair as he pursued one of the two remaining snitches.

Harry inhaled sharply; the boy had gone into Seeker mode!

Turning around from having pushed McGonagall out of the way, Hermione took in the sight in front and all around her. Balls and snitches and bats were exploding left and right, leaving amazing amounts of pumpkin innards draped over furniture, Gryffindors and Gryffindors near furniture. Who ever didn’t get a blast of orangey sliminess first hand, those who did made sure they spread the wealth. Her eyes going wide, Hermione saw one of the Creevey brother scoop a handful of pumpkin guts from the back of his neck and fling it at a another Gryffindor who had yet to be ‘christened’ with the orange goop.

To her left, a different blonde blur caught her eye. Not to be out done by Dean and Ron, Seamus launched himself onto the couch and used the springs to propel himself into the air and catch Bludger Number Four in mid air. Falling and being cushioned by the carpeted floor, the bludger blew up and caught him square in the mouth as he was in mid laugh.

Feeling her hair spin around her shoulders, Draco’s shouting had her looking to her right. Hollering to the Slytherin, she cried out, “Watch out!”

There was an armchair between where she was and where she needed to be. Jumping onto and off of the armchair, it was a race to see who would get to the Head Boy first – her or the snitch. Draco’s fingers just brushed the smooth golden ball when her shoulder connected to his chest and knocked him over. Unable to stop, she fell as well – landing on top of Draco – taking the full brunt of the contents compressed inside the snitch.

“Thanks Granger,” Draco drawled, picking a string of pumpkin innards out of her hair and flicking it towards the wall.

“Don’t mention it, Malfoy.” Hermione said, meaning her words in the most literal sense.

“Granger, I guess I should thank you for the tackle as well,” Draco purred, his eyes lighting up with a dangerous glint.

Ignoring Malfoy for the moment, she saw Harry still in the fray. Something clicked in Hermione’s adrenaline infuse mind. The door was still ajar and there are still two bludgers in the air.

Oh, holy Morgana – McGonagall, she thought with a panic.

Sliding herself off of the lad, Hermione looked down at Draco. “Stay here.” Bracing herself on her knees, about to stand, Hermione shouted, “Harry – McGonagall!”

Kicking into action, Harry hefted his bat and looked at the door that led out of the common room. McGonagall was straightening her hat and patting down her robe. It was her eyes that gave her away. She loved what was going on as much as her house was enjoying what was taking place.

A stampede of girls, shrieking with laughter and false terror were coming down the stairs as fast as they could move while still holding onto one another. Bludger Number Five was right behind them and heading for the door. Harry knew he was holding the last bat. Putting himself between the on-coming bludger and where McGonagall stood, he took a deep breath, took aim and took one for the team. Loving every minute of it, he could not help but think, this was the way Quidditch should be played – once and a while.

Bludger Number Six screamed down out from its hiding place up near the rafters and zoomed around the room. Coming up on the fireplace, it changed course and headed back toward the balcony where Lavender was still hiding and where Pavarti had retreated. Squinting through the smears of pumpkin juices that spangled his glasses, he trotted the length of the common room and stopped just shy of being underneath the balcony.

From the back of the room, Harry heard Hermione call out, “Pavarti – your wand! Use your wand!”

A slender tanned arm plucked her wand from her back pocket and pointed it at the on-coming bludger.

“Immobulis!” Pavarti cast her spell. A flash of magic jetted from her wand-tip to the beautiful leather casing of the bludger that burst immediately upon contact of magic to bludger.

A final shower of pumpkin innards fell on an already completely covered Harry.

Shaking himself like Crookshanks shook his body after coming in from the rain; Harry looked up at the two girls – who were just moments ago cowering behind the balustrade – now laughing hysterically at him. Pulling fingerfulls of goop off of his glasses so he could see who he was questioning, Harry had to ask, “You know that those were booby trapped, right?”

“Finite Incantatem!” A jet of light from the far side of the room connected with a small golden ball that chose at that moment to hover over the two giggling girls. Giggles transcended into exclaims of falsely protested dismays. Each girl was trying to shake pumpkin innards and strings of seedy orange goo onto each other as much as they were trying to get it off of themselves.

Turning his head, a great glop of goop slid off his hair and landed in the carpet underneath his feet. A small smile spread across his face. Hermione was just re-sheathing her wand, the distant light that had been in her eyes for the past few days gone.

A warm feeling pooled in Harry’s chest. It unfurled and spread as he crossed the room and stood in front of the girl who had his heart.

Stopping just inches away from the pumpkin encrusted Head Girl; Harry stilled as her hands came up and pulled his glasses off of his face.

“I like you this way.” She said quietly.

“Oh yeah?” Harry felt giddy and nervous at the same time. “Why is that?”

“Because it means I can do this.” She said, as she wrapped her arms around his the back of his head and started to stroke the nape of his neck.

Closing his eyes and angling his head, Harry parted his lips and waited for Hermione to…

“YOU LITTLE MINX!” Harry sputtered to a wildly laughing Hermione, her hands only half full of the orange slime that was normally found inside a pumpkin. Her hands were only half full because she had smeared the other half across and into his mouth, nose and forehead – right where his glasses would have blocked – of which she had pulled off his shoulders and neck when he thought she was drawing him in for a kiss.

Dashing away, Harry and Hermione dashed away, playing chase with the rest of the dorm as McGonagall and a very amused Draco backed out of the dorm and shut the portal door.

July 2^nd, 2011

HOOLIGAN UPDATE!

Five years is entirely TOO LONG for a story to languish, unfinished.

I am working on Hooligan, at this very moment, and aim to have the story finished by the end of the summer.

I could tell you that the reason why this story has been so woefully neglected is because I've become a published author (Another Way, Prey for Closure, by Nancy J Gaffney, Eternal Press and on Amazon - Kindle and Print!). While that is a reason, it's no excuse for my lack of attention to Hooligan.

There should be three more chapters. There are two more pranks to reveal and then Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Ginny and everyone else will be off to the ball - and the Hooligan will be revealed!

Now, here's my way of saying `sorry' for being so horrible! How about an opportunity to win a free book? Identify 3 clues as to why you believe the Hooligan is a certain character. Leave your thoughts in the `review' box. I'll pick a winner! How fun is that?

Of course, for those who are just discovering/re-discovering this story, you've GOT to let me know what you think - typos, run-on sentences, and over-wordiness as well!

Happy Reading!

Island Girl

aka

Nancy J Gaffney, Hooligan and Writer and Novelist

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Chapter 14:

Wednesday Evening, October 28^th…

Harry knocked softly on Hermione's door. The door was open, and Wednesday night was her night to be the `Head On-call'; there's no where else she was supposed to be, but he didn't feel like he could just walk in, either. Granted he should've consulted the Map but he hadn't. Not everyone can think of everything one-hundred percent of the time.

Monday afternoon's Quidditch practice had been cut short once it had been determined that someone had jinxed all the saddles with Bat Bogies. Seeing as how all the players involved had already been pranked `by a professional', no points had been allotted. Harry could list a number of ways he'd rather pass a Monday evening other than washing sliminess out of his Quidditch cords.

Tuesday's prank, though, was funny. Professor Trelawney wrung her hands and bemoaned to anyone and everyone over the lack of connection to `the great beyond'. The points for that prank went to Hufflepuff; Susan Bones successfully proved that Hannah Abbott was the one who successfully switched the Divination professor's favorite tea leaves for coffee grounds.

Never would've thought of that one, Harry mused.

The leading `Hooligan' was the one who had successfully pranked every single House and a variety of Hogwarts professors.

Surprisingly enough, that particular Hooligan had been less then active as of late.

I suppose even an accomplished Hooligan deserves a day off.

Harry knocked again on the Head door.

Still no answer.

This time, he peeked around the edge of the door.

Now he knew why she hadn't answered him.

Curled underneath what he considered `their' blanket, was a completely asleep Hermione.

Books were strewn across the low-lying coffee table. Perfectly hewn rectangles - made out of something that looked like bone or antler - were neatly stacked in groups of three. Crumpled bits of parchment littered the floor. A well-chewed quill listed in her right hand. Her head was cushioned by a combination of her arm and the arm of the couch.

Guess Head Girls deserve down-time, too.

He turned on his heel. No need to wake her. He'd find some time tomorrow to speak with her.

His gaze flicked to the schedule mounted behind her desk.

Then again, maybe I won't.

According to her calendar, all her time between the end of lessons and dinner had been allotted to one thing: Ministry Meeting.

As long as I get to talk to her before the Fall Ball, that's all that matters.

Harry pulled the door shut behind him and headed for Gryffindor Tower.

*~*~*~*~

Thursday Morning…

Harry Potter ran around the lake in the morning. Draco Malfoy flew.

It was during the post-dawn hour that he worked on his Snitch-seeking skills. No distractions, no one to see him give himself up to the joy and thrill of streaking across the broad expanse of the Hogwarts grounds.

Sweaty but pleased with his morning work-out, Draco set a course for the Pitch. From there, he'd stow his gear, shower, and head to breakfast.

That was the plan.

A strange glow radiating from one of the more remote western turrets had him changing his flight path.

He smoothly navigated his way though one of the empty window casings. Draco dismounted from his broom and propped it against the nearest wall. Wand easily accessible, he set to climbing the stairs, and aimed for the source of the light he had seen.

Two flights later, a door stood ajar. With his palm and fingers spread wide, he gently pushed the door open while keeping himself as out-of-sight as possible. Carefully, he peered into the room.

A single female sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to the door. Her hair hung in a high ponytail. A shaft of morning light, from a smallish, east-facing window, fell squarely on her. Her arms were out-stretched, palms to the floor. Underneath one palm rested a piece of parchment. Under the other palm, well-carved rectangles were arranged in seven groups of three.

Fully extended fingers wriggled, flexed. A set of shoulders squared. From the movement of her jumper, she seemed to have taken a deep breath - and held it.

Draco felt his own breath hover in his chest as he watched.

Come on Granger - let's see if you're worth all the fuss.

Her back deflated, her pent breath released.

Golden energy flowed along one arm and connected to the parchment. Golden energy flowed her other arm and connected to the rectangles.

Draco knew that it was one thing to channel magicks, but could she create the necessary connections to transfer the summoned magicks to a place where they'd take on a magick of their own? Had she found a way imbed her perceived Runes, what he assumed were written on piece of parchment, into the medium she'd chosen, the rectangles?

The golden energy linked to the parchment twinkled and became rose-colored. The rose-color started to seep across to the golden energy that flowed to the rectangles. Slowly, the golden hue was pushed, pushed, pushed back. What looked like… letters… lifted from the parchment, drawn by the rosy tide, and drifted towards Granger's other hand.

She slowly tilted her fingers, like she was oh-so-gently shaking something from them and rotated her wrist. The letters floated down, down towards the rectangles.

Her head tipped back. He could see her brow, furrowed with concentration.

Her eyebrows twitched.

The first of the letters settled on the first grouping of rectangles.

Her eyebrows twitched again. The furrows on her brow deepened.

The rosy glow faltered; became more golden.

Granger tipped over, slumped to the floor. The power that once radiated from her - gone.

The runes that had oh-so-briefly appeared on the rectangles vanished and reappeared on her parchment.

Draco strode forward. Kneeling down, he pressed two fingers to the side of her neck. Her pulse was there, he didn't know any more than that.

There was nothing he could do to her. He could, though, do something for her.

He threaded one arm underneath her knees and the other he snaked along her upper back. Pushing with his legs, he stood.

Carefully, he treaded down the stairs. Wandlessly, he summoned his broom. Perched side-saddle, with Granger still unconscious, he made for Hospital.

*~*~*~*~

Ron, as usual, had devoured more than his fair share of kippers, eggs, and sausages at breakfast. Harry, though, had barely touched the food on his plate.

That was the only thing that seemed normal.

Dean and Ginny were still out-of-sorts. He was out-of-sorts with Hermione. Ron was out-of-sorts with Luna. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Malfoy, Snape, as well as a number of other professors, were absent from breakfast. There was a certain level of tension in the Hall; everyone was suspicious of everything. There was only today and tomorrow for any Hooligan to pull any last pranks. Everything and anyone was suspect.

Lee Jordan had been accused, and subsequently proven innocent. Harry hadn't even paid attention to that one, it was so preposterous. As if! Jordan was a nice enough bloke, but given the fact that he didn't exactly perform spectacularly on his O.W.L.s, how could anyone have thought he could've pulled off any kind of prank involving the Slytherin robes or Snape's sheep or the booby-trapped Quidditch equipment?

All he wanted to do was get to class - Charming the Charmed with Flitwick - early enough to speak with Hermione.

A gentle, but urgent, tug on his trousers had Harry looking down at his knee.

“Morning Dobby.”

“Harry Potter - you must come quickly.”

Instantly on the alert, Harry connected his hand with the sleeve of Ron's robe.

Ron's attention lifted from where he was walking and fixated on someone walking towards Harry.

McGonagall bustled up to where they stood. A tenseness pulled at the edges of her face and her hands were clasped together in front of her stomach.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, I need speak with you for a moment.”

*~*~*~*~

How he was expected to sit in class - two classes! - while Hermione lay in Hospital was beyond him.

Ron Weasley was a lot of things, but patient wasn't one of them. Especially when his `sister' was being diagnosed by a specialist floo-ed in from St Mungo's as some ghost droned on and on about stuff that happened ages ago.

The only reason why Malfoy possessed the ability to walk up-right was because Winky - via Dobby - confirmed that it was the Slytherin prat who had found Hermione and brought her to Madame Pomfrey.

Harry - Harry was another matter. The lad did what he did best - he sat in his seat and brooded.

Between morning classes, Ron had found a way to slip a note to Ginny, inviting her to join him to see if they could get in to visit Hermione after lunch.

For Ron, that time couldn't come soon enough.

~*~**~*~

“Hermione - you should have seen it!” Ginny leaned forward in her chair, trying to convey the hilarity of the moment to her very still friend. “Here we are, sitting down at lunch, and Nearly Headless Nick announces to everyone that he'd been pranked!”

Ron nodded, confirming Ginny's story. He glanced at Harry, who stood off to the side, backside propped against the nearest wall. Harry's eyes were on Hermione, his lips pursed into a thin line, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

This was the third time in seven years they'd been in Hospital, visiting Hermione. The first time, she'd been petrified. The second time, Dolohov had hit her with that spell. That had been a sketchy time. Ron knew for a fact that Madame Pomfrey had drafted a letter to Hermione's parents, sharing her condolences. Thankfully, that letter had never been sent. He didn't know how Hermione survived that one. Harry did, but he never told anyone the details. Ron was always convinced that the reason why he didn't was because his mate didn't want to relive that night. Fair enough. It wasn't like Ron ever shared the grisly details of their escape from the acromantulas. There are some things a bloke just doesn't want to revisit.

“Apparently, the Hooligan did something - somewhere - that prevents Nick from phasing though solid objects. You should have seen the way Nick - with all the dignity he could muster - ask Filch to open the door for him so that he could leave!” Ginny's laugh was genuine, but thin.

Ron straightened in his chair. “But that's not the best part!” He hated the forced joviality he heard in his voice but kept going. “Dumbledore, after acknowledging Nick's situation, tells the ghost that there's nothing he can do to help him. Why? Because his office had been turned upside down!

“Literally - upside down!" Ginny reached for Hermione's hand and gave it a squeeze, just as she would if Hermione weren't in a healing trance. “Talk about being able to hear an owl hoot in an empty barn! It was brilliant!”

Ron watched Ginny flick her gaze at Harry, ostensibly to give the lad a chance to join in on the conversation.

Which he didn't.

Nonplussed, Ginny blinked.

Ron finished where she left off. “And get this - Dumbledore wasn't miffed. In fact, as McGonagall tells it, he was impressed with the complexity of it all. He seems to think that the Hooligan instigated the need to change all the passwords just so that when the new passwords were put into effect, a `back door', so to speak, was created which the Hooligan used to invert everything in his office.” He drew a deep breath and let it out. “Wait until we owl Fred and George about this! They're going to go mental!”

The sound of multiple pairs of shoes approaching Hermione's bed made Ron's apprehension level grow.

He, Ginny and the still-silent Harry each turned and looked at the four people, Pomfrey, McGonagall, Dumbledore and the specialist from St. Mungos, now grouped around Hermione's bedside.

It was McGonagall who addressed them.

“Miss Granger would want you all to be in class.”

Ron stood and wiped his palms on his pants. “Rightly so.” Ron snapped a look at Harry and then checked with Pomfrey. “Until after dinner, then?”

The school nurse nodded. “But not too late.”

He tucked his chair back to its rightful spot. Ginny had already stepped around the bed. Harry had yet to move.

Ron shot Harry a look - come on, mate, snap out of it!

That got through to his friend. Barely.

“Right - later, then,” Harry murmured.

At least the lad remembered to use words, Ron thought.

Ron fell in-step with Ginny, Harry trailed behind them. He knew all three of them were straining to hear what was being discussed about Hermione's condition.

“… not in any danger.”

“… expect a full recovery.”

“Should be back in the dorms by tomorrow…”

“… never seen a case in someone so young where her core magic fed off her body to sustain itself.”

It was McGonagall's voice that carried the furthest.

“What could have caused this?”

That was something Ron knew he, and most definitely Harry, wanted to know.

*~*~*~*~

Late Thursday night, after curfew…

Harry knew he had a tendency to brood. Okay - more than a tendency. He did the `sullen' thing rather well.

That's why he was sitting in the dark, in the Common Room, staring at the slowly ebbing fire.

He'd been thinking about it all day, literally.

Some how, some way, for some reason, Hermione had landed herself in Hospital. No one had done anything to her. She hadn't been attacked. No one ambushed her. No one even laid a finger on her. Well, Malfoy did. But it was to help her, not hurt her.

It was eerily like what happened Third Year when she had that blasted Time-Turner. The girl nearly wore herself out, all because of a bloody secret. Only now, she did over do it. Spread herself so thin that her magic wore out her body. And she still didn't say anything to anyone about why she did it.

Not that she could, seeing as she's still in a healing trance.

Harry shifted deeper in to the cushions. He knew that if he went to bed now, all he'd do was huff, puff, and keep his room-mates awake with his tossing and turning.

The thing he learned about his brooding is that, generally, he ended up sussing out whatever it was that needed sussing. Granted Hermione helped with that - a lot - but seeing as how she was the source material, and given her current state, he couldn't exactly draw her at the moment.

He turned his thoughts outward.

His gaze fell on her knitting basket, still heaped with balls of yarn in silver, green, blue, black, yellow, gold and red. All the colors of all the Houses.

One thing was for certain. All those decisions he had to make, he had a specific window of time to act on them.

Halloween was coming. Once that past, open season on Harry Potter commenced. Every year for the past six years, the bulk of his yearly worries commenced at, around, or just after Halloween. Which was why he was grateful that this Hooligan competition occurred when it did. How could he appreciate the fact that someone silenced McGonagall when a very specific meglo-ego-maniac was out for blood? Or laugh with Ron over the state of Slytherins' robes when said friend had all his senses trained on watching his back? Let alone sit and just talk with Hermione about inane topics like Shakespeare's comedies and Ernie Macmillan's propensity for wanking when all of her attention would be turned to how to best keep them all alive?

He needed to think less morbid thoughts.

Like how to earn back the points that Snape had been taking away from Gryffindor since start-of-term. Even if his team won all their games this year, they'd still be hard-pressed to win the House Cup.

He reached down into her basket. His hand disappeared, as did his wrist. Most of his forearm followed. Then, he felt what he was searching for - a nice, tasty, butterbeer.

He popped the cap and sipped. His appreciation for magic never ceased to grow. Only Ron would hide something considered contraband inside Hermione's knitting supplies. It was a perfect cover.

Now, if Gryffindor could win the Hooligan's points, we'd have a fighting chance.

He sipped some more.

Fat chance, there, Potter - not without Hermione are you going to figure that one out.

He put down his bottle and harrumphed at himself.

Oh yeah - well just because she isn't here doesn't mean she can't help me.

From a nearby table, he reached for a stray length of parchment and an errant pencil.

Hermione makes lists, I'll make a list.

He started with the obvious: the pranks.

Hufflepuff

Dumbledore

Ravenclaw

Gryffindor

Slytherin

McGonagall

Trelawney

Nearly Headless Nick

Snape

He stared at what he'd written. Something was off.

He mentally clapped himself on the forehead.

That's right - Trelawney had been pranked by someone else.

He started again.

Hufflepuff

Dumbledore

Ravenclaw

Gryffindor

Slytherin

McGonagall

Nearly Headless Nick

Snape

He tapped his pencil against the names on his list.

Nothing.

Nothing came to mind.

Except that he knew he was looking at something. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

Not yet, anyway.

What if the order of the pranks is important?

He started again.

Hufflepuff

Snape

Ravenclaw

McGonagall

Slytherin

Gryffindor

Nearly Headless Nick

Dumbledore

Gah! Something was there - why couldn't he see it?

The butterbeer and the list-making worked on breaking his sullen mood. Now, he had a Snitch: find the Hooligan and claim those points for Gryffindor.

He tucked his list into his pocket.

In the morning, I'll show this to Ron. Maybe he'll see what I'm missing.

Friday, October 30^th

For the second time in two days, Draco found himself answering the same questions. This time, Potthead was the one doing the asking.

“Listen, Potter - I've already given a full accounting to Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and Pomfrey. Not to mention that specialist.”

“I don't care, Malfoy. Tell me again.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I was the one who found her. No, I have no idea what happened. To me, it looked like she was doing her Runes. Something went wrong. I took her to Hospital.”

Weasley crossed his arms and tried to glare at him. It really was a pathetic attempt. The red-haired Gryff might be a smidge taller, but lacked the finesse that came with brains, beauty and breeding.

“Careful Weasley - hate to see you burst a blood-vessel or something.” Draco drawled.

Harry put out a hand in an attempt to make Ron stand down.

“Malfoy-“ Harry started.

“I know what you're going to say.” Draco felt very, very, bored. Pothead never asked the more interesting questions. He doubted if the Boy Who Lacked even knew what those were. “I'd say that Granger enjoy herself more on my broom than yours.”

He couldn't resist - he had to see if Weasle-bee could actually turn purple.

He rolled his eyes again. Leave it to Weasle-bee to only turn a deeper shade of red.

“Look - I don't know why she did it. She should've known better. School's been in session for how long? She wouldn't even be close to attempting a Rune transfer, regardless of how much research she did.”

He should've known that Potter couldn't put the pieces together. Why he even tried to attempt to impart anything on the dark-haired boy was beyond him.

Draco waved at the space between him and Pothead. “We're done here.”

He couldn't, though, resist one last remark.

“Weasley - please tell me those spiffy, ruffled, maroon dress robes still fit. I never know when I might need a handkerchief or something to dry my hands.”

*~*~*~*~

Harry and Ron watched Malfoy saunter away.

Ron clenched his fist in an attempt to keep them from wrapping around Malfoy's neck. “Mate, next time you're on the Pitch…”

Harry nodded in complete agreement. “I'll definitely make sure that I ram him into the stands.”

That settled, they walked towards the Quad. As usual, the place was full of students. None of whom paid any attention to them.

“Do you think he was telling the truth - about Hermione?” Ron squinted due to the sun suddenly breaking though the cloud-cover.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno. Maybe. Probably. I can't see what he'd gain by lying.”

They stopped when they reached the balustrade. Each swung their legs over and balanced their backsides on the stone ledge, their feet dangling free.

Ron tugged at his tie and grimaced. “Man, did I hate those blasted dress robes.”

Harry had to laugh. “Mate - you looked horrendous.”

Ron was in full agreement. “And how!” His feet bounced against the stone railing. “Thank Merlin those days are behind me.”

“Got yourself new robes?”

“Yep - the twins took me shopping before school started.” He clearly liked what he bought. Then he pulled a face. “Kinda odd, shopping with your brothers.”

Harry looked pointedly at Ron. “I dunno about that… I kinda don't mind it so much.”

Each grew quiet for a moment, each caught up in memories. So much had happened that year, and every year before and since. A lot of ground lay between them, brothers indeed, and Hermione.

Harry spoke first. “I saw Hermione this morning.”

Ron shot Harry a side-ways glance. “Me, too. She's going to be in classes this afternoon. Then she has a meeting.” A corner of Ron's mouth quirked. “What's that about?”

Harry paused, not sure how to answer. He opted for the most honest answer he knew. “That's for Hermione to say, I suppose.”

Ron obviously didn't like not knowing, but what could he do about it?

“Guess that's fair enough.”

They both went quiet.

This time, it was Ron who spoke first.

“You know this is all going to change, right?”

Harry knew exactly what Ron meant. He had the same exact thoughts the night before.

“Yeah - I know.” He resisted the urge to sigh. “The calm before the storm, as it were.”

“You're right, there.” Ron ran a hand through his ginger hair. A wry smile spread his cheeks. His tone abruptly changed to that of optimism. “Might as well enjoy this while it lasts - right?”

“Fair enough.” Harry matched Ron's grin. “Speaking of which…”

Harry delved into his pocket and pulled out his list from the night before.

“You know how Snape's been-“

“-an absolute git? Siphoning off points from us every chance he gets?”

Harry scowled. “Yeah - that.” He unfolded the bit of parchment and passed it to Ron. “I say we find out who this Hooligan is, bust them, and take their points. That way, Snape won't single-handedly cost us the Cup.”

“Wicked!” Ron's grin grew conspiratorial. He took the paper from Harry's hand and read it. “Gah - still can't believe that the Hooligan had the stones to get Dumbledore!”

“I know- right?”

“It's kind of ironic, you know. Dumbledore turned your world upside down - literally - and the Hooligan turned Dumbledore's world upside down - literally.”

Harry never thought of it like that.

“You think that the secret to finding the Hooligan is in this list?”

Harry didn't need to nod to tell Ron he was right.

“Makes sense.” Ron fingered the paper. “Everyone has a signature - something that identifies them, whether they know it or not. Someone like this, their gonna want some sort of recognition. Just the way it goes, even if they don't mean to.” He carried his train of thought further. “Like me and my chess-playing. Or Fred and George with their pranks. You and your `I-fancy-her-but-I'm-not-going-to-do-anything-about-it-but-everything-I-do-has-something-to-do-with-her.”

Harry grumped. But not too loudly; there was some truth to what Ron had said.

“All we have to do is figure it out.” Ron flicked the paper. “Shouldn't be too hard. Not for two dashing blokes such as ourselves.”

Harry fed off of Ron's confidence. “Absolutely.”

Ron leveled a warning look at Harry. “Gotta keep one thing in mind.”

Harry grimaced as Ron jutted his chin at the crowded Quad.

“We're not gonna be the only ones with our eyes set on the Hooligan.”

-->

HELLO ALL!

THANK YOU SO SO SO SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE, SUPPORT, REVIEWS and FAVORITING.

I know this chapter isn't as long as it could've been, but nonetheless - I IMPLORE you - please let me know what you think!

With so much gratefulness and excited anticipation over the prospect of reading YOUR thoughts,

All the Best,

Island Girl

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 15: The Accusation of the Year

Saturday Afternoon, October 31^st…

“I don't believe it.” Ron slashed his arms at the air in front of his mid-section. “There's no way.”

Ron's long legs pushed him across the Common Room, away from the six other people who'd reached the same conclusion. He was stunned, upset, and agitated. Why did Hermione and Ginny have to slink off to get ready for their mystery dates right when he really needed them?

Lavender empathized, but the proof was in front of them. “Ron - you're the one that made the connections.”

Ron stopped, turned, and wished his process-of-elimination was flawed. “Maybe we've made some kind of mistake?”

Harry stayed silent. Seamus, however, didn't.

“It's there, mate.” Seamus looked pointedly at the item on the coffee table, “in parchment-and-ink.”

“I'm afraid that you're right after all, Ron.” Neville didn't want to believe it either.

“I'm with you all; completely caught off guard.” Pavarti looked to Lavender before she looked at Ron. “Who'd would have thought that-“

“That the Hooligan would turn out to be-“ Dean shook his head, just as surprised as everyone else.

Ron silenced Dean with another slashing motion. He wasn't going to let Dean say `that' name. If the name was said out loud, then it made it just that much more true. Right now, it was all speculation. Even if all the `evidence' pointed to…

This time, Harry spoke. He spoke for everyone.

“Ron - we'll leave this up to you, mate.”

Ron continued to pace. He appreciated all the consideration being winged his way, but it wasn't making his decision any easier.

Pavarti looked at Neville. “How many additional points do you think we can score before the Christmas hols?”

“Not enough - not at the rate Snape's going.” Ron groused. He paused long enough from his pacing to kick a wadded up piece of parchment into the fireplace. He didn't feel any satisfaction in watching it burn.

It was all up to him. The future of the House Cup hinged on his decision. Granted he was making the situation sound more melodramatic then it actually was, but no one had to say what each of his friends were thinking: what choice did they have?

Ron ran a hand through his hair. Twice.

He looked to Harry, scanned his friend's face for some hint of a sudden realization that could change what lay in front of him. “What do you think?”

“I think that we're gonna do whatever it is you decide, Ron.”

Like that helped, Harry.

Seamus thumped his thighs with closed fists. “I hate that greasy-haired git! It's his fault we're even talkin' about all this!”

Dean shook his head at the situation and Seamus. “I'm not a Snape fan, but we can't blame him for this.” He nodded at the now much-folded-and-creased piece of parchment that contained the list of the Hooligan's accomplishments. “There's more to it, people. If we figured it out…”

“Then you gotta believe that someone else has, as well,” Neville reasoned.

They were right, of course. Ron felt the skin on the backs of his hands prickle.

Lavender, hair already done in anticipation of the Ball, smoothed an invisible wrinkle in her skirt. “Well - do we do we pull the trigger, so to speak, or do we let someone else do it?”

Ron shot her a look. He didn't like the mental image Lavender conjured, complete with him holding the handle of that particular gun. “Who appointed you Devil's Advocate all the sudden?”

Harry spoke evenly as to not to provoke an already tenuous moment. “I hate to say it, Ron, but Lavender has a point.”

Ron felt deflated. This was one scenario he never contemplated. Nice - the master chessman backed into a kill-or-be-killed position without any other countermeasure available.

“I suppose…” He threw himself into the nearest chair and lifted his head to the ceiling. “When do we do this?”

Neville glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, it's just gone three. Our only chance'll be at the Ball.” He paused, looked at Ron. “Want me to go make the arrangements with McGonagall?”

Ron waved a hand in Neville's direction. He appreciated his friend's offer. “Nah - I'll do it.”

Seamus gave a low whistle. “Talk about being careful for what you wish for…”

Ron commiserated. “My sentiments exactly.”

Concern and empathy radiated from Harry. But not last minute epiphany.

“No - really. It's okay. I know you'd do it for me in a heartbeat.” Ron made himself sit a bit higher in the chair, as if to gird himself for the task and reassure his best mate that he was sincere. “I'll take care of it.”

Dean looked at everyone, pensive.

“Then it's settled then?” Harry quirked an eyebrow in his direction, as if to give him one more chance to back out

Ron let out a deep, pent-up, breath. Talk about doing something he should've - by all rights - been looking forward to doing. Instead, it was the last thing he wanted to do.

There's nothing for it… Everyone knows that the key to any good plan is the getaway. Too bad this one didn't do it as neatly as they should have.

“Yep. It's on. We expose the Hooligan - tonight.”

*~*~*~*~

The Fall Ball Begins…

Three cloaked figures stood huddled together. The entryway to the Ball lay just ahead. Each had a hood pulled up close around their head and the plackets drawn together tightly.

“Are you ready?”

“I was told that I'd truly enjoy this experience.”

“I can't wait to see their faces!”

*~*~*~*~

Harry, Ron, and Dean stood together, near to where the other Gryffindors had gathered. Each looked impressive in their dress robes. None looked like they were eager to party.

Dean's ivory damask cravat and waistcoat contrasted beautifully with the rich black tone of his robes.

The twins had chose wisely. Ron's deeply hued walnut-black robes and palest-beige shirt and cravat offset his coloring splendidly. The expert tailoring played to his height and the breadth of his shoulders.

Harry clearly had his robes made by the same talented tailor. The deep black-blue dyed velvet robes only accentuated his green eyes and black hair. The contrasting white silk shirt and matching jacquard cravat and waistcoat only served to make his physique more defined.

The three of them were dressed as Regency-era rakes.

Harry heartily agreed when Ron `fessed to wanting to pull at the seat of his trousers in attempt to make them more comfortable. He now knew why Regency-era men were so afflicted with such social restraint. How could a bloke exude the necessary confidence when his bits felt positively strangled?

Nearby, Neville, Seamus, Lavender and Pavarti each stood with their respective dates. Off to the left, with the other Hufflepuffs, Ernie Macmillan, with Hannah Abbot at his side, sporting what appeared to be formal gloves and some sort of get-up Harry couldn't quite figure out, glowered at the assembled Gryffindors.

Off the right, Draco Malfoy, dressed to perfection - complete with a formal sash, gloves, and tails - as the Malfoy-Heir, was every bit the Slytherin Prince he proposed himself to be. His date, Daphne Greengrass, cut quite the sight in her custom-fitted Chudley Cannons beater costume. Blaise Zabini, equally elegant in his domino, looked like he'd rather be anywhere than at Pansy Parkinson's side.

Just another reason why the Cannons are my favorite team. Ron definitely approved of Greengrass's choice.

Harry nudged Ron and jutted his chin in Macmillan's direction. “Think he knows?”

“That we're the reason why he could've taken first prize in the `Most Looks Like a Walking Afghan Competition'?” Sobering slightly, Ron popped an eyebrow as he thought out loud. “Maybe. Dunno how, though.”

“Could be that your brothers are infamous pranksters?” Harry teased. “So it'd be natural that you'd follow in their footsteps?”

Ron looked down at Harry, clearly looking to lay the blame elsewhere.

“Or he could've found out that the hex has been around since the days of the Marauders and that the heir to such knowledge is alive and well and living in Gryffindor Tower?”

“Fair enough,” Harry nodded. No sense in denying the truth. Padfoot, Prongs and Moony had earned their own footnote in Hogwarts, A History for a reason.

Dean leaned in. “Wanna keep an eye on him?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “Probably a good idea. Never know what's going on in that kid's head.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Ron gave into the urge to shiver with distaste. “Anyone who can't keep his hands off himself long enough to stop growin' fur is a bona-fide nutter.”

Harry knew he was being a little obvious in his attempt to get Ron to take his mind off things. Ron didn't blame him; Ron'd done the same thing many times.

With that thought in mind, Harry took in the sights around them.

The house elves really had worked wonders with the Hall.

The long benches were pushed to the walls, areas of respite for those with aching feet or those wanting a quieter place to sit and chat. The entryway and windows were adorned with garlands of artfully arranged greenery. The floating candles seemed to be glowing at half-capacity, which lent to subtle shadows throughout the Hall and made the stonework appear softer and less angular. One table was laden with refreshments while another was reserved for professors. Up on the wall, coffers - filled to various extents with Hooligans' points - gleamed in the low candlelight. In the corner, magically amplified, a quartet of stringed instruments played wonderful renditions of instrumental versions of the Top 100 from Wizardly Weekly's music list.

Friends stood in small groups. Those with dates danced and enjoyed each other's company. All in all, the night couldn't be anything but a rousing success.

Harry's elbow connected with Ron's side.

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yep.” He wasn't going to back out now. “It's not like you haven't had to do something you didn't want to do.”

“Lots of times I didn't have a choice.” Harry laid out the difference. But not for any other reason than to give his friend one last chance to change his mind.

Ron swallowed, mustered as much confidence as he could. “All we gotta do is wait for her to get here. McGonagall's ready to go; got that all set up ahead of time.”

“Fair enough.”

He scanned the crowd again. He took in the sights and sounds of the night even as he chatted with Susan Bones, who was dressed as a quill and carried an over-size ink-pot.

He didn't miss Malfoy's nudge to Blaise and that each Slytherin boy had their gaze casually fixed on the door.

The over-sized doors opened wide. Three cloaked and hooded figures walked in, side by side. As one, they threw back their hoods and shed their cloaks.

Hermione, Luna and Ginny had arrived at the Fall Ball.

Each wore Grecian-style, shoulder-baring, dresses which fell to mid-thigh. Intricate golden embroidery adorned the hemlines and necklines. Arm-bands gleamed in the low light and the muted glow reflected off of their subtly jeweled head pieces. Low-heeled shoes that laced to their knees only added to their ensembles.

Luna tapped her wand to the slender belt wrapped around her waist. Instantly, beautifully opalescent sea-shell, spanning her entire back, materialized. She looked every bit the part of Aphrodite that she intended to convey.

Ginny tapped her wand to the broach affixed to the front of her bodice. It was instantly transfigured into a quiver full of arrows and a bow. Artemis had clearly entered the room.

Hermione touched her wand to the bracelet that circled her wrist. It lengthened and broadened into a marvelous shield etched with the likeness of Medusa. With the exception of the color of her eyes, she personified the goddess Athena.

More students entered the hall. The entrance the girls made was quickly swallowed by those with equally, or more so, stunning costumes.

Harry, though, only had eyes for the girls. As did a lot of the male population.

He ferverently prayed that he hadn't spilled anything on his shirt.

He also understood why Hermione turned down his invitation. And why Ginny and Luna had said `no' to Ron and Dean. They were each other's dates.

“If I had a date like that, I'd have said no to me too,” Ron murmured.

Dean agreed. “You said it, mate.”

The three man-boys owed the three girls an apology for moping the way they had.

He waited for the girls to walk over to where he, Ron and Dean stood. He enjoyed the Cheshire-cat grin that pulled at the corner's of Hermione's mouth. He could tell that Dean had every appreciation for the way Ginny had her gaze locked onto the dark-eyed Londoner. Even Ron kept quiet as Luna made her way across the floor.

Harry made an attempt to recover. He bumped Ron, again.

“Cut it out, Harry. Poke me again and I'll…” Ron whispered a warning.

Harry shot him and Dean a look.

As a threesome, they walked towards the girls.

Ron didn't even try to be funny as he approached Luna. “You look… wonderful.”

Dean only did marginally better. “You are beautiful, Ginny.”

“Ladies.” Harry acknowledged the other girls but he held out his hand to Hermione.

Who stood as she was.

That made him smile.

Of course she would. She's a goddess - literally and figuratively.

He bowed, as he should, nonetheless. As did Dean and Ron. After all, they were dashing-men-about-town - literally and figuratively.

A hint of playfulness flitted about Hermione's attempt at an aloof expression. She gave him, Ron and Dean a nod. “Gentlemen.”

Whatever Luna and Ginny said to him, his friends and each other was regulated to background noise. Between Hermione and the way that Malfoy kept trying to catch Hermione's eye, whom she was clearly ignoring, his attention was full.

All he knew was that as much as he appreciated the way the girls entered the Hall, he equally appreciated the way they moved away from him and his friends. It was the backwards glance that Hermione shot his way as the three girlfriends made their way to talk to others that made his chest fill with more than just air.

Ron shook his head. He was evidently pleasantly rocked. “Offer to fetch a girl a beverage and get turned down. I'll never understand girls.”

Dean understood completely. “Don't know if I ever want to, though. If there's one thing I've learned from Trelawney, it's this: sometimes enigmas are good things.”

Harry only agreed with that assessment to a certain extent. In his experience, people did things for reasons; behavior was directly related to life experiences and personal choices and measured against an individual's personality. The true mystery lie in exactly what one would discover as one spent more and more time in that person's company.

He knew without a doubt he could spend a life-time exploring everything that made up Hermione and that he'd spend a life-time contributing to her life.

Granted he wasn't `so enlightened' that he didn't feel jealousy and possessiveness swell inside him when he watched Malfoy's and Hermione's paths cross, speak briefly, and, as she moved away, Malfoy's gaze linger longer than it should have. Crikey, he was seventeen years old, not a hundred and seventeen.

A blur of evergreen robes interrupted re-directed all of their thoughts.

“Mr. Weasley - if you're ready.”

It was McGonagall. It was time.

Harry clapped Ron on the back. “It'll be okay, Ron.”

“Doesn't matter.” Ron sounded so resigned. He squared his shoulders and looked to McGonagall. “Let's do this, Professor, before someone else does.”

The tall red-head and his professor-escort blended into the crowd. Only once they reached Dumbledore did the music cease.

For a long moment, the time it took for Dumbledore to step onto the dais, conversations from hundreds of different students rose to the rafters.

The headmaster raised his hands, and called for everyone's attention.

Harry flicked his gaze to where Hermione, Ginny, and Luna stood near several other Ravenclaw girls. Each had a smile in her eyes and was clearly enjoying herself as they pivoted where they stood and exclaimed over each other's costumes.

“It's been called to my attention that Gryffindor House would like to make an Accusation.” Dumbledore explained.

Half the crowd groaned while the other half cheered.

A glance from Lavender to Pavarti, from Pavarti to Padma, from Padma to Dean, from Dean to Seamus, from Seamus to Neville, from Neville to Ron, and from Ron, where he stood just to the left of McGonagall's shoulder, to Harry, caused a frown to flicker across Hermione's face and a contemplative expression from Malfoy.

Dumbledore waved a hand in Ron's direction. “Prefect - you understand what you're about to do? Should you fail to substantiate your allegation, you forfeit any and all claims to the Hooligan's points.”

No could say that Ronald Weasley lacked Gryffindor courage.

“I do, Headmaster.”

“Does your House stand behind you?”

If McGonagall felt any nervousness or apprehension, she didn't show it. “It does, Headmaster.”

“Who do you accuse of Hooliganism, Mr. Weasley?”

“I accuse Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley of being the Hooligan of Hogwarts!”

Ron's voice rose. Everyone else's fell silent. Anyone who hadn't been paying attention was now riveted like the rest.

How could those two speak when all eyes turned on Artemis and Aphrodite? Athena might have been standing right next to them, but no one saw her.

A red flush flooded Ginny's face. Harry could feel her embarrassment from across the room. Luna, accustomed as she was to being viewed as slightly different from everyone else, fidgeted self-consciously.

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

Harry felt for all four of them, McGonagall, Ron, Luna and Ginny. The uproar was worse than when he admitted to everyone that he had kissed Hermione in that broom closet.

Dumbledore's commanding presence brought the Hall back to order.

“Why do you believe this is so, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron soldiered on. “It was the prank that was pulled on the Hufflepuffs, the one that involved the Knights, sir. Only a Ravenclaw can call on the Knights, and Luna Lovegood is a Ravenclaw. The Won-Shot Wands are a product made by my brothers, which is still in the experimental stage. Only Ginny, or myself, would've had access to those. They had to have done this together.”

Dumbledore didn't give any indication as to whether he believed Lovegood and the youngest Weasley were guilty or innocent.

“Any other convictions, Mr. Weasley?”

“The Ravenclaw prank, sir. The stuff that made all the bubbles is something my sister sells and only a Ravenclaw could have smuggled it into that dorm.”

A chorus of `that's right' and, `never would've thought', and alike filled Harry's ears.

He pursed his lips. He didn't envy the position Ron had put himself in but then again, if they didn't expose Ginny and Luna, someone else would've.

“And?” Dumbledore looked at Ron expectantly.

“Luna's really funny, Sir. She's quite clever, as well.”

Harry agreed with that. His experience with her always resulted in something unexpected.

“She's in Ravenclaw for a reason. Too many people underestimate her, I think.” Admiration echoed. Ron flicked his gaze down to where Luna stood. Then he looked at Ginny. “My sister is quite capable, too. Especially considering Fred and George. Between the two of them, they could have Silenced McGonagall, sheeped Snape-“

“That's Professor Snape, Mr. Weasley.” Snape sniped from where he stood.

“-Professor Snape.” Ron blushed, squirmed slightly under the glare the Potions Master sent his way. “The Slytherins' robes, the prank on Nick, and you, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard. He then looked at the two girls pinned under the proverbial spot-light and spoke carefully.

“Can either of you two explain why Mr. Weasley wouldn't make such allegations?”

It was a long moment before either of the girls could speak.

To say that Ginny recovered first would be a gross overstatement.

“I can't, Headmaster.”

Luna wasn't any more collected then Ginny.

“Nor can I.”

Dumbledore paused, then made his decision.

To the entire Hall he spoke.

“Mr. Weasley's accusation stands. I declare that all the Hooligan's points are to be awarded to Gryffindor!”

The sound of points flowing from the Hooligan's coffer to the severely depleted Gryffindor House coffer could barely be heard over the rush of comments between those at the Ball.

Dumbledore called for attention one more time.

“Miss Lovegood, and, by extension, her House, will be awarded twenty-five points for facing Mr. Weasley's accusation and for,” Dumbledore sought the exact words he wanted to use, “facilitating such cleverness.”

A burst of applause came from all the Ravenclaws.

“Mr. Weasley, Professor McGonagall, you're excused.” A bemused smile graced his face. He gave each of them a nod. “Thank you for your service.”

“Thank Merlin for that.” Ron muttered, before he stepped down and away from the dais.

Harry could have sworn he saw McGonagall mutter something similar.

He didn't feel triumphant, though. None of them did. Who likes singling someone out? He totally understood why Ginny's eyes shimmered with restrained tears. It was only because Luna and Ginny were immediately surrounded by those looking to congratulate them, and pepper them with questions, exclamations, and pleads for sharing the details on how they did their pranks, that both of them hadn't fled the Hall.

There was one person who looked like she wanted to leave the Hall.

Malfoy, of all people, actually left the Hall. But not before he gave Hermione a look that was something between a smug smirk and a summons to follow him.

As much as he wanted to dwell on that, Ron needed him more. After all, it's not every day a bloke exposes, in front of the whole school no less, a girl that he has feelings for as one of the two biggest pranksters in recent Hogwarts history. It's definitely not everyday that a bloke professes his feeling for a girl in front of the whole school, either.

Unless one happened to be friends with me, Harry mentally groaned.

He'd done the same thing eight days ago.

Ron's admissions about Luna carried just as much weight as his did when he stood up and tried to `save' Hermione when Parkinson accused her of Hooliganism. They might have said it differently, but they each said it just the same.

He'd figure out what was going on between Hermione and Malfoy later.

Harry knew how it felt to have noble - albeit misplaced - intentions misconstrued.

If Luna didn't hex Ron into next week, the lad'd be damn lucky.

*~*~*~*~*~

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Oh, my goodness! Such a lot of favoriting and WONDERFUL reviews! Thank you, Thank You, THANK YOU!!

This is it, folks - the last chapter in this story. Can't believe it's finally over!

Although, if ANYONE has any ideas on how it should continue, PLEASE share them with me!! Who knows - maybe there's more to this story than I thought!!

Please - PLEASE! - let me know what you think!!

With so much gratitude, fondness, and eager anticipation,

Island Girl,

A.k.a.

Nancy

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Last Chapter….

All Good Things Come to an End…

And Yet, Some Things Have Only Just Begun…

Some time later that night…

In the far distance, beyond the outer edges of the lake, lightening flashed. The thunderstorm was still too far away to be heard.

She kept her face to the on-coming breeze generated by the storm. She liked the way the wind buffeted the bridge of her nose, the skin underneath her eyes, and fluffed the fine hairs that framed her cheeks and jaw.

She had come there to wait for someone.

It wasn't the lad currently walking towards her.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

With every clap, he came one step closer to her.

Lucky prat - every stride of his equals two of my own.

Her Fall Ball costume hadn't left a lot of room to secret away anything, but the inside of her shield was a suitable place to affix her want.

Too bad she'd left it against the wall, a good twenty feet from where she rested her forearms on the cut-stone railing of the Astronomy Tower. Granted she could've Accio'ed it wandlessly. But as of yet, it could stay where it was. The time would come - soon enough, too - when she'd have it permanently in her grip.

“Proud of yourself?”

She didn't turn to speak to him. Her gaze stayed where it was, on the constellation Orion. “Don't know what you're talking about.”

He harrumphed at her denial.

“You'd've made a good Slytherin, Granger.”

It was her turn to harrumph. “Yeah - it's terrible when things like integrity, loyalty, and courage get in the way of something as wonderful as that.”

Malfoy rested a hip against the railing. He was close enough that she could smell his expensive cologne but not so close as she could feel any of his body heat. She didn't meet his eye but she could see that he still wore his elegant evening clothes.

“Slytherins have courage, integrity, honor, and our loyalty runs deep. We're also smart enough to know when to cut our losses instead of flinging ourselves needlessly onward despite the most probable outcome.”

She guessed at his subtext, which had nothing to do with Sorting and everything to do with the looming final showdown between Harry and Voldemort.

“Are you trying to explain why you're going to do what you're about to do or are you using that to hide behind the things that you've done?”

How he managed to make a derisive snort sound polished was a talent all his own. “My father's, how shall I put this?, `choices' aren't mine, but they affect me. Can't do anything about that.”

“I don't believe that.” Her nose lifted fractionally. “Voldemort has made `choices' about Harry his whole life and, somehow, he's always been able to walk his own path.” Her subtext was crystal clear as was the way she looked at, what she knew to be, his unmarked forearm. “Your life is your own, Draco, until you do something that can't be undone.”

She didn't like the way Malfoy's dark chuckle insinuated that she was utterly naïve. Or the way he scoffed, “Is that what you think?”

He earned the glare she sent his way.

“Potter's danced to his tune for years.” Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned towards her slightly. “One day, before the year's out, Granger, the music's going to stop. Then we'll see who's still standing.”

She peered into his face and shifted her stance into one more contemplative than defensive.

“Are you hoping he'll win or that he'll self-destruct?”

She'd taken a chance at cracking Malfoy's rah-rah-Voldemort-façade, and won, even if it had been for the smallest of moments.

“Plan for the worst, hope for the best, and above all else, have an exit strategy - it's the secondary Malfoy Family creed.” He tilted his head, glanced out at the school grounds and at the still distant lightening, before refocusing on her. “Let's just say that rose-tinted glasses clash horribly with someone of my unique coloring.”

Hermione continued with their game of semantics. She didn't bother to hide her surprise at his use of that particular Muggle phrase. “How do you know that?”

Malfoy was too poised to do something like shrug his shoulders. “I had an aunt who was - how shall I say this? - a little more `Muggle-friendly' than her sisters.”

Ahhh - Andromeda, Tonks's mother. That makes sense.

“You could learn a lot from her, Draco.”

“Her seminar on familial banishment is always the talk at the Malfoy/Black Family reunions.”

Well, there's that too, Hermione conceded.

An awkward silence stretched between them. She felt uncomfortable. They both had made assumptions about the other, and each of them was a little right and a little wrong.

She gave up on her watch on the storm. She leveled her gaze at the tall Slytherin who still hadn't moved closer or further away from her.

The light breeze lifted his bangs and the lapel of his robe.

“What do you want, Draco?”

He looked down at her, for no other reason than their difference in height. “To let you know that our deal still stands.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that.” She mimicked his pose. “I'll continue to take all your Friday afternoon Head duties until we return from the hols; you'll go to Vectors and come January, you'll take over.”

If Malfoy were to ever grin, this would be the time. As it was, she'd settle for the closest approximation: his wolfishness.

“Always the clever one.” His wolfishness deepened; not sinister but definitely more predatory. “And yet, not as clever as she thinks she is.”

She fought the urge to stiffen. It was an effort, though, to appear nonchalant. “And here I was thinking that we were getting along so well, Draco.”

“Oh, we are. Don't mistake that.” The corners of his mouth pulled back, revealing the tops of his gleaming white teeth. “I wasn't speaking of the deal we made at start-of-term.”

“Then what are you going on about?”

“I'm referring to me not telling anyone about your not-so-little pet project.”

That made her stiffen.

What caught her by surprise was that Draco Malfoy tapped the underside of her chin with a crooked finger. His expression held no malice. There was no warmth, but there definitely wasn't any malice.

“Like I said; you'd have made an excellent Slytherin, Granger.”

With that, he stepped away, and made for the door.

She turned, faced Malfoy. And, he made sure he had the last word.

“By the way… You may want to tell Weasle-bee and Pott-head that McMillan knows what they did to him and he's not going to let this go.”

With that, Malfoy gave her a very deep, very telling, bow before he sauntered through the door and, ostensibly, down the stairs.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out in one burst.

Draco Malfoy is so frustrating! One minute, he makes like he's grown up at least a little bit, and in the next, literally, he's back to being the same miserable prat he's been since First year.

She turned and faced the lake. Not even the promise of bad weather or the memories of a lovely night could distract her thoughts.

No, that's not entirely true. She chided herself. He didn't stop me from using his first name nor did he attack me in any way. Maybe there's a glimmer of hope for him afterall?

A pair of strong arms circled her waist. The point of a chin rested just above one of her ears. A wall of masculinely fragrant body heat spanned the length of her back.

She relaxed into the warmth generated by Harry. She shifted her arms so that she could pull him even closer to her.

She didn't look up at him. She didn't have to. “Malfoy figured it out.”

“Someone was bound too.”

She felt the rumble of his restrained emotions. She didn't think there'd ever be a time where Draco and Harry would call a truce or cease to antagonize each other.

“By the sounds of it, he figured out a couple of things.”

She let the wind carry that ambiguous comment away. She didn't want to talk about what Harry thought of her complicated relationship with Malfoy. Instead, she rubbed her palms on the sleeves of his robe. She knew that Harry couldn't've liked watching Malfoy confront her, nor the way their conversation ended.

“Thanks for trusting me enough not to interfere.”

He harrumphed.

What is it with guys and harrumphing?

“Let's just say that I learned my lesson well, Hermione.”

She knew he was referring to the row they had last week.

She also knew what he was going to add a caveat.

“But just so you know - I trust them, `them' being anyone and anything that could, can, or will hurt you, to do everything in `their' power to do whatever it is `they' intend to do. Which is why I hold the right to protect you.”

There was no getting around that. “I know, Harry.” She had a caveat of her own. “Protection is a two-way street, Mister Potter. You best be aware of that fact.”

“Oh, believe me, Miss Granger - I am.”

The first peel of thunder reached their ears. Hermione felt herself respond to it with a certain sense of thrill even though the storm was still some ways off.

“You and storms, who'd have thought?” He nuzzled her hair and gave her a squeeze. “Who'd have thought a lot of things about you?”

She smiled and gave his arms a squeeze as well. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

She could feel his chuckle at her half-hearted denial. “For years, you've been listening to Fred, George, me, Ron, not to mention all our escapades, and took the phrase, `the getaway is the crux of any good plan' to heart.”

“Did I?”

“She said oh-so-innocently.” Harry shifted his feet slightly more apart as he encouraged her to settle against him more completely. “It took me a while, but I figured it out.”

“And what did you figure out?” She still pretended not know what he was talking about

“Actually, it was a lot of small things. Things you counted on people over looking.” His admiration for her accomplishments and his deductions showed. “The key was something Ron said, something that didn't register until just a little while ago, once Ron and Luna walked off together and Dean and Ginny stayed glued to each other's sides.”

She rocked slightly on the balls of her feet. “How's Luna?”

He loosened his grip, enough for the two of them to shuffle forward a couple of steps. He didn't let her go, though.

“Now? Better than she's ever been. Ron's little outburst embarrassed her thoroughly, as it did Ginny. The general consensus is that her dreaminess is deliberate rather than an innate personality trait.”

She fought the urge to snort but gave into the impulse to chuckle. If there was ever a walking, talking, enigma, it was Luna Lovegood.

“Ron's totally gone on her. Not because everyone believes she's the Hooligan, but I'm sure that has something to do with it. I think it was a wake up call for Ron to hear his own voice saying out loud everything he didn't have the guts to say to Luna herself.” He tickled her side lightly, and she squirmed slightly. “But I think you know - knew - that would happen.”

She was a little breathless from his tickling. “I would? What am I, some sort of master puppeteer?”

“Honestly? Sometimes.”

She could feel the nod of his head.

“Now, where were we before you attempted to distract me?”

She stayed mum. She was enjoying his attentions and the fact that he hadn't let her go.

It had taken Harry little more than six years to have Hermione in his arms like this. He wasn't going to let her go just yet.

He shifted his arms and rubbed his palms up and down her chilled arms. He liked the way she relaxed just a little bit more and settle more deeply against him. He tilted his head closer to her ear.

“Ron made a comment about the prank on Dumbledore, how it was apropos that Dumbledore's office had been turned upside down just like my life had been turned upside down by Dumbledore.” He let go of her long enough to spread the folds of her robe out and round Hermione. “That got me to thinking… Who would do such a thing? Then I thought… Why would someone do such a thing?”

“That's a lot of thinking, Harry Potter.”

He chuckled at her half-hearted admonishment. “Don't I know it.”

He gaze was on the approaching thunderstorm, his body was fully aware of the girl in his embrace, and his memory dwelled on the span of time between when he found her on the Astronomy Tower and after he made sure Ron was okay.

“That led to more thinking… Whoever that someone was, they'd have to feel a bit of anger at Dumbledore, don't you think? I mean, that level of protectiveness could only have come from-“

“Someone who felt that Dumbledore might have failed you, on more than one occasion?” Hermione guessed.

“That, too. Not to mention that the prank would have given this person some sort of a means to vent his - or her - frustration at some of Dumbledore's decisions pertaining to me.”

“Been nicking psychology books from the Muggle Studies classroom?”

“Hardly. Just had to think about things, that's all.”

In his mind, he remembered events from the past six years. How Hermione had threatened the Dursley's. How Hermione had fretted over his nightmares. How she'd been outraged at his treatment by Umbridge. How she'd gone to every length to back him up even when she counseled him to do things differently. The fact that the only person she'd ever been physically demonstrative with was him and that she was the only person, aside from Molly Weasley, he'd ever accepted any type of physical emotional connection.

“Then, it all came together. Again, got Ron to thank for that.” He felt her jerk slightly in surprise. “He said that every one has a signature; a tell. Something that says `hey, it's me, I did this'.”

“Did he, now?” Her skepticism was blatant.

“Yep. Took me a while, but I eventually got it.” He slipped one hand free and withdrew his wand from the inside pocket of his robe. “What took a while was figuring out just how literal your signature was, Hermione.”

He whispered a charm and the tip of his wand glowed with a gentle golden light. With it, he drew words on the air in front of them.

Hufflepuff

Snape

Ravenclaw

McGonagall

Slytherin

Gryffindor

Nearly Headless Nick

Dumbledore

Then, he shifted the words so that certain letters glowed more brightly than others.

Hufflepuff

SnapE

Ravenclaw

McGonagall

SlytherIn

GryffindOr

Nearly Headless Nick

DumbledorE

“It was brilliant to stagger the victims the way you did, but not even you could get away from your need for symmetry.”

“You learned a new word, didn't you?” She teased and didn't deny what he spelled out for her.

He ignored her good-natured jibe. “What was also brilliant was the fact that you successfully `framed' two of your closest friends which, in turn, preserved your anonymity while at the same time benefiting the House. Not to mention how I know you hate the lime-light.”

He did, though, frown. “You know, now that I know this, it's a good thing that there's so much trust between us. From anyone else, this could give room for doubt.”

He could tell she didn't like what he said, which was why he let her go when she started to wriggle away from him. He did, though, keep her at arms' reach by placing his hands on her shoulders and making sure she didn't turn her face away from his.

“Hermione, I trust you. Totally.” He meant it. He also meant what he added, “But this level of manipulation is a little scary. Granted everything turned out all right in the end; your plan worked brilliantly. But to know that you could plan all this with this much accuracy, well… it's a little un-nerving, even for those who know you and for someone who really cares about you.”

He hated the way he saw different emotions, ones not entirely happy, pool in and around her eyes.

“There's going to come a time when we're - I'm - going to need everything you have in order to have a chance at winning.” The future loomed darkly. He couldn't imagine Hermione not at his side, either in battle or quieter times. “But you know how I feel about secrets. The last thing I want to do is keep something from you, even when I want to.”

She didn't resist when he gently tugged her towards him. The fact that she wrapped her arms around him told him she didn't hate him for telling her what he did. His palm rose of its own volition and cupped the back of her head when she pressed her cheek to his chest.

Merlin, this is wonderful.

“That's why I did this, Harry. I wanted to do something fun, and different.”

He tightened his arms. Enough with the heavy conversation; those will happen soon enough. “How'd you pull the prank on the Hufflepuffs?”

“You mean the Knights?” Her laugh was contained by his evening wear. “I was, for a briefest of moments, Sorted in Ravenclaw. It was enough to call on them.”

“And the Won Shot Wands?” Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Ron said that…”

“Since when do the twins tell Ron everything? I swear, Harry, I've talked to Fred and George more in the past weeks than Ron has in the past year!”

She wasn't saying that Ron was out-of-touch with his own brothers. Between running a successful business and Ron still being in school, distance and the differences in their respective lives had taken their toll.

“So that's how you Silenced McGonagall?”

Her quiet laughter warmed him. “That? Those lozenges were sent to me from Madam Pomfrey to send back to the twins when the twins, somehow, slipped it into her start-of-term supplies. They'd hoped she wouldn't know the difference between those lozenges and her medicinal lozenges.”

Harry conceded to letting her go as she straightened. The storm was growing closer, and she wanted to see it. He settled for standing next to her, much, much closer than Malfoy ever had.

“Snape?”

She shrugged. “That happened just like everyone said.”

He bumped her gently. “I know about the Ravenclaw prank.”

“You do, do you?”

He rose to her good-natured challenge. “Yep. It might've been Ginny's name on the box, and me and Ron might've delivered it, but those things came from your office. Who'd have thought that the Head Girl would prank?”

She didn't say anything. Her border-line smug grin spoke volumes.

He shifted so that he could see more of her. She did the same.

“Here's what I don't fully understand.”

“What's that?” The vagueness of her question could've meant that she was referring to his question or any question he'd ever asked in his entire life.

“I get the whole robe prank on the Slytherins. I even get how you did it, I think. What I don't get is how you got away with it, when Parkinson made her Accusation.”

She looked at him for a moment, then he felt her hand on his arm. “Think about what Dumbledore asked me.”

Harry remembered everything about that disastrous afternoon. Including the question put to Hermione about the dragon's bones.

“Miss Granger, are you guilty of casting a Repercussion Spell on the bones of dearly departed Guilford?”

She shot his a mischievous smile. “Professor Dumbledore asked about the dragon's bones, Harry. Not it's preserved wings.”

The girl has a love affair with semantics.

“And when Parkinson pressed me about where I was when Hufflepuff was hit…”

“You cut her off and deflected.” Harry snorted, not with disapproval but with marvel with which Hermione walked between truth and perceived truth. “Man, too bad you don't have the same skill with a Beater's bat that you do with words.”

Her expression darkened slightly. She never did like the fact that there was something she didn't excel at.

Harry had to know about Nearly Headless Nick. “How did you prevent him from being able to float through walls and stuff?”

She gave up any last shreds of maintaining her `innocence'. “Harry - I've spent HOURS patrolling the castle, by myself, when I've only had my shadow for company. If anyone had seen me, muttering to myself and tapping my wand at various expanses of walls, at doors, and such, what would they have thought?”

She was right; anyone would have thought she was reciting lessons or something.

“And in the Common Room, when you pushed McGonagall and tackled Malfoy?”

“Couldn't risk breaking the rules Dumbledore set,” she admitted. “Professor McGonagall had already been pranked, as had Malfoy.”

The mention of Malfoy reminded Harry that the Slytherin had been the one to find Hermione unconscious and had taken her to hospital.

“You know you had me worried.” He pressed his lips together, to keep himself from saying more than he was ready to admit.

She nodded in understanding. “I'll admit that I didn't fully anticipate how much it energy it would take to do a full class work load and to do everything I'd planned.”

He scowled. “That's why you nearly fainted at lunch that day.”

She met his eyes, owned up to not telling him the truth about her dizzy spell.

“That's why, when I went to your office, I found you dead asleep?” He didn't like her pushing herself to the brink of exhaustion.

Her chin dipped up and down. “That morning, when I did Dumbledore's office… I'd taken my Rune work with me, so that's what it'd look like that's what I was doing, in case something went wrong.”

“So Malfoy was right when he said that it was too early for you do what everyone thought you did.” Harry hated giving the Slytherin any kind of credit.

She nearly guffawed. “I'm ambitious and all, but can you imagine what could've happened if I tried that at this stage?”

He glowered at her. His memory of her lying inert and unresponsive was entirely too fresh for his liking. “I know exactly what happened, Hermione. I stood by your bedside.'

She didn't like his connotations. “Harry, I understand that I scared you. For that, I'm sorry. I don't tell you what you can and can't do.”

“Yes, you do! You do it all the time!”

“I remind you to do your homework, Harry. There's a big difference.”

“I'm not going to debate semantics with you, Hermione.”

Her hands bracketed her hips. “I'll do what I have to do.”

Her tone hit home. It matched his view of his impending showdown with Voldemort.

He needed her to truly understand. For that to happen, he had to truly understand. He wasn't anywhere ready for that. He was seventeen, not a hundred and seventeen.

“Hermione. What about this?” He could, though, make her a deal. “Things seem to happen when we don't tell the other what the other is up to.”

No longer defensive, she cocked her head to the side and turned out her hip. “Is this your way of asking, `I'll show you mine if you show me yours'?”

He thought about it for a second, then smiled. Leave it to her to say what he meant. “Yeah - I guess so.”

This time, the silence between them was comfortable. Harry could feel a hint of anticipation bubbling up inside him. As much as he trusted Hermione, and by extension Ron, he'd been waiting for the chance to really open up to someone. Trust, for him, came in layers. He trusted people to behave in certain ways based on his experience with them. Like the Dursleys. He could trust them to treat him like dirt. He could trust Dumbledore to do things in Dumbledore's time. He could trust Voldemort to do everything in his power to kill him. He could trust Ron to be his brother, including the loyalty and sibling rivalry that came with that relationship.

He trusted Hermione as more than a sister, more than a best friend. He had always hoped for the chance to trust someone, and have them trust him, in a way that his mother and father had in each other.

This was hard for Hermione. He knew that. Even Ron knew that Hermione gave her loyalty to a select few, and allowed those she gave her loyalty to trust her. Her trusting someone back, though, was something she did in layers as well.

It made sense why he'd fallen for her. They were so much alike, but shared enough differences as to make sure they weren't each other's clones.

Her nervous laugh broke into his thoughts.

“We've certainly run a full gamut of topics, haven't we?”

Harry fidgeted. He could feel her on the cusp; he wanted her to cross her emotional barrier without his prompting.

She turned, looked back at the length of the lake and valley.

He did the same. He could wait for her, all night if need be.

Amazing how someone as bright, and clever, and self-assured on so many levels had trouble with this. He wanted a Time Turner so that he could prevent who ever it was from hurting her so badly. If there was more than, then so be it.

“There was a reason why I didn't travel with you and Ron to see Bill in Turkey this past summer.”

He stayed silent, mentally cheering her on. Physically, he wanted to reach out and draw her hands from where she had them clamped by her arms.

“I received an owl from the Ministry.” She took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “At first I thought it had something to do with you.” She quirked a rueful smile. “Let me tell you, I wasn't going to stand for that.”

He knew she wouldn't, either.

Less riled, she only tightened the grip she had on herself. “As it turns out, it was the Department of Mysteries that wanted to see me.” Her voice became quieter. “They told me that my name had come up, along with a handful of others, as a potential Unspeakable.”

Harry had to really work as to not to say anything.

“Do you know that Unspeakables have to give up everything, Harry? Their names, their families, everything. All for the sake of being one of the guiding hands of the Wizarding world.” She let out a sigh, her way of conveying just how much of an honor, responsibility, and sacrifice such a position would hold. “Think of it…”

He couldn't wrap his head around it completely, but he understood enough.

“All the professors know as they'd been contacted at the end of last term by the Department of Mysteries, before they sent me that owl.” Hermione kept her gaze on the approaching thunderhead. “That's why Professor Snape has been giving me an extra-hard time in class.”

She withdrew her hands from underneath her arms. She laced her fingers and leaned forward, until she rested her weight on the stone railing.

“That's not the real reason why I pranked everyone.”

Her honesty brought a mist to his eyes.

“I haven't given the Department of Mysteries any commitment. How could I? Things are going to become very complicated very quickly…” Her allusion to the significance of the arrival of Halloween matched Ron's.

She looked up at his, her eyes shined with emotion. “I wanted to have some fun memories to buffer the not-so-fun memories I know that will be coming.”

The first time Harry Potter kissed Hermione Granger was in a broom closet. The first time Hermione Granger kissed Harry Potter, it was prove a point.

The first time Harry kissed Hermione and Hermione kissed Harry was in the small hours in the morning, on top of the Astronomy Tower, and it was because neither could do anything else.

There wasn't anything to say. There wasn't anything to do. There wasn't anything… but emotion, connection, and the manifestation of that emotional connection.

Their lips separated. Harry's hand stayed where it was, on her cheek, his thumb softly stroking her skin. He leaned into the palm she rested against his cheek. “We're both going to need to get started on that, won't we?”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He needed no second invitation. Or a third.

When he re-opened his eyes, he was slightly out of breath. Her hands had twined through his hair and he had her thoroughly pressed against the length of his body. Happiness bubbled up inside him; both he and Hermione giggled.

Sobering slightly, he tucked his head until his forehead touched hers. Her hands moved from his head and rested lightly his shoulders.

The first drops of rain started to fall. Lightening flashed. Several seconds later, a peel of thunder sounded.

Yes, there was a storm coming. It had already begun to brew. Yes, there was going to be forces beyond their control at work. But it hadn't arrived in full-force - yet. There was still time.

As he watched Hermione turn her face to the sky, and cheer for the thunder, lightening, and rain. Somewhere deep inside him, a kernel of true hope planted itself. He couldn't help but believe that, someway, somehow, there were going to be a lot kisses in the rain, kisses in broom closets, kisses under a sun-filled sky, and, hopefully, a deeply symbolic kiss in front of friends and family, in his future.

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