Blush

1. Chapter 1

Title: Blush
Author: Granger
Author Email: ali_granger@yahoo.com
Category: Romance, Humour
Keywords: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Quidditch, Fifth Year
Spoilers: All four books
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry returns from a summer at Quidditch Camp to find his best friends... transfigured. Love, lust, magic, music, and ale abound. And we always knew Draco was a rock star.
Pairings: H/H, Ron/Other, maybe more...
Author's note: All music quoted in this story is highly recommended for listening while reading.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * * * *

Just want to spend eternity
Right where I am, on the sunny side of the street

-- "Sunny Side of the Street," The Pogues



Blush : Chapter One

The summer was winding its way into the last days of August, but for the first time in his life Harry Potter didn't want it to end.

It was the first summer Harry had ever really enjoyed. His days at Privet Drive had been blissfully short; Dudley had been away at a summer camp for "healthy eaters," as his Aunt Petunia had put it so tactfully, for most of the holiday. Though, Harry thought, Aunt Petunia must have certainly hindered Dudley's progress with all of the care packages she had been sending to camp, packed full of her Diddums' favorite treats. Without Dudley in the house to whine about Harry's every move, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were more than happy to completely ignore Harry, and he had been able to spend the days reading "Quidditch Through the Ages" and sending owls to Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius.

But Harry barely remembered the beginning of the summer, because every fiber of his being had been focused on one thing: Quidditch Camp. Harry had received a letter last spring informing him that he was eligible for a month at Ludo Bagman's training camp for talented young Quidditch players, and once Sirius had deemed it a safe enough activity, he had been overjoyed to accept. An entire month spent playing Quidditch, during a normally Quidditch-free summer, was a blessing Harry had never dreamed possible. He was to spend July in the company of some of the best Quidditch players in the country, rooming in an old estate somewhere in Yorkshire. Harry wasn't sure exactly where the estate had been; the Knight Bus had picked up all the campers and whisked them off to camp at two in the morning. This had provided Uncle Vernon with ample opportunity to harp on the wizard community -- "Blasted lunatics, waking up the whole neighborhood at all hours, can't they just use a bus like normal people?" -- but he had shut up quickly when Harry reminded him of some of the other methods wizards used for travel. Uncle Vernon had glanced nervously at his fireplace and turned a deep shade of scarlet.

Quidditch Camp had easily been one of the best times of Harry's life. He had badly missed Ron and Hermione, but he became fast friends with some of the other boys in his residence hall, and Oliver Wood, ex-captain of the Gryffindor team, had been their hall counselor. Oliver was now playing professional Quidditch for the Puddlemere United Reserve Team, and he told Harry fantastic stories about reaching the semifinals of last year's regional championships. He also told Harry about some of the parties they'd had after the championships, and based on Oliver's stories Harry was now gunning to play professional Quidditch himself. Or at least, get his name on the guest list for the Puddlemere post-game parties.

Camp had also been exhausting. They rose every morning at six to start their training, which consisted of running several miles around the estate before they even touched their broomsticks. Then they had morning drills, followed by a hearty breakfast, more drills, lunch, an hour lecture on Quidditch Strategy from Bagman, an hour of training in the weight room, and an afternoon scrimmage match which often lasted until supper. After supper, there was more running, stretching exercises, and another lecture, often a guest speaker from a local team.

Harry was often amazed that he didn't pass out the moment his head hit the pillow at night, but the late-night dormitory antics in his room were too fun to miss. They often stayed up until the wee hours pulling pranks and playing "Veritas Periculo," the Wizarding version of an old Muggle game Harry had known as "Truth or Dare." In the Wizard version, however, the choice fell between submitting to a very mild version of a Truth spell, or completing an often silly and risky task. Harry, afraid of what dangerous secrets a truth spell might reveal if cast upon him, was usually quite happy to accept a dare in its place.

However, Veritas Periculo did reveal rather a lot about some of the other boys Harry was rooming with. Harry was a bit abashed to discover that, at fifteen -- he had celebrated his birthday with a rowdy dormitory party this year -- he was one of the only ones who had never kissed a girl. Many of his roommates had in fact done quite a bit more than kissing girls, and Harry drank in their stories of opposite-sex encounters with a mixture of rapt interest and anxiety. Of course, he had once duelled the Dark Lord, but that seemed rather feeble in his mind when compared to Lucas Hamilton's tales of sneaking out to an empty Quidditch pitch with Sarah Grady.

Even Ron had managed to trump Harry in this regard. His letters this summer were full of news about a girl named Emma Bunting, a smart, funny Ravenclaw just one year below them at Hogwarts. Ron had run into her by chance during the Weasley's holiday in Morocco, where Emma had also been travelling with her family, and from the sound of Ron's letters the two of them had hit it off rather quickly. Harry always looked forward to hearing from Ron, but couldn't help feeling nasty pangs of jealousy whenever Ron wrote with a particularly juicy story about roaming famous Moroccan wizard castles at night with Emma.

But Quidditch Camp was too tiring to keep Harry worrying about anything for any length of time. As camp drew to a close, Harry marvelled that he could actually complete the morning run without feeling dizzy and breathless. He had even shown marked improvement in his Quidditch skills, which Harry guessed was a result of feeling so much stronger and quicker than he had ever felt before. As Harry was preparing to leave Ludo's camp, Oliver had approached him and thumped him on the back, beaming, declaring that this year Harry would certainly be the finest Seeker Gryffindor house had ever seen.

Harry had been dreading the end of camp, and when Hedwig had delivered the letter from Hogwarts containing the list of his fifth-year supplies, he felt a deep pit of fear lodge in his stomach. He was looking forward to the Quidditch season this year, to be sure, but his letter reminded him that he also had to take a round of O.W.L.'s at the end of this term. Exams had never been his specialty. Harry was almost more comfortable confronting large fire-breathing creatures in a dungeon than sitting in a classroom with parchment and a quill. It just wasn't his true element.

It was more Hermione's cup of tea. The thought of seeing Hermione again was one of the bright spots in Harry's anxious muddle of feelings about his fifth year at Hogwarts. They had sent each other plenty of owls during the summer; Hermione had been attending a summer program at Buonmagio, an Italian wizarding academy, and had been thoroughly enraptured with her studies of advanced forms of arithmancy and transfiguration. Harry somehow knew that once he got to Hogwarts and was settled cozily in the library with Hermione by his side, he wouldn't feel so nervous about O.W.L.'s, or anything else for that matter. He'd feel at home again.

As was now his tradition, Harry ended the summer with a trip to the Burrow to visit the Weasleys, which raised his spirits considerably. There was a lot of exclaiming over Harry's apparent spurt in size over the summer, though Harry couldn't see what all the fuss was about -- he still saw the same thin frame and unkempt hair whenever he glanced in the mirror. Moreover, Harry didn't see how anyone could exclaim about his growth when Ron seemed to have rocketed nearly a foot upwards during the summer. He was now easily a head taller than Harry, challenging his brother Bill's height and coming up fast on Mr.Weasley. All of the Weasleys were brown and freckled from their stay in Morocco, though Ginny still turned a faint shade of pink whenever she saw Harry. Harry couldn't help noticing that Ginny was much prettier than he'd remembered; her shiny red hair now hung most of the way down her back, and she had a very winning smile. Ron shook his head as he described all the boys that had followed Ginny around all summer.

"Honestly, it was mad," he told Harry with amazement. "Five or six blokes a day approaching my sister like -- like she was some kind of girl, or something. Couldn't believe it."

"Very odd," Harry mused, concealing a smile.

Mrs.Weasley took them to Diagon Alley to pick up their supplies, and herded both of them into Wimpole's Wizard Wear to buy new robes and a few other clothes as well. "Honestly, you two," she chided. "Did you really think you were going to go off to school with your pant legs six inches too short? Oblivious, that's what you are. And Ronald Weasley, I can't keep you in robes if you keep sprouting up like this. We'll have to buy you new ones." At this Harry and Ron grinned at each other while Mrs.Weasley busied herself hunting through a stack of navy blue shirts. Ron had never been very fond of his shabby hand-me-downs, and many of them had been repurposed as covers for Pigwidgeon's cage without Mrs.Weasley's knowledge.

Harry's last days at the Burrow whizzed by like a Seeker on the trail of a Snitch. Before he knew it he was wheeling his trunk and Hedwig's cage back to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station once more; his fifth year was upon him, O.W.L.'s and all. He had just finished loading his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express when he heard a voice behind him.

"Harry?"

It was Hermione. Harry turned, expecting to see the familiar face of his old friend. But the sight of the girl before him broadsided him with the force of a Ford Anglia hitting a Whomping Willow.

Hermione's skin was tanned from her summer in Italy, and her usually mouse-brown hair was streaked with gold and not at all the bushy mass that Harry knew so well. It was somehow tamed, and in long, wavy curls that swirled down her back. Her face looked older somehow, less rounded, more refined; her large brown eyes, framed by a heavy fringe of lashes, drew Harry's attention in a way he'd never remembered. Hermione was a bit taller as well, and wearing a tank top and a pair of jeans that revealed a delicate, softly curved figure, which also did not escape his attention in the least.

Harry blinked. He felt as though he had just eaten an entire box of Fizzing Whizbees. This was Hermione, for Merlin's sake. Was he looking at his best friend in -- that way? He had to get a grip on himself. It had been all that talk of girls at Quidditch Camp; that had surely done it. He suddenly realized he'd been forgetting to breathe. He flushed a deep red and felt his brain slip out of one ear and twirl up into the clouds of steam puffing out of the Hogwarts Express.

>From the look on Hermione's face, she was startled as well. She was looking him up and down, and then blushed when their eyes finally met and she saw that Harry was blushing too.

"Hermione!"

Harry, still reeling, managed to remember where he was; he gasped out the only word he could think to say at the moment, then stepped forward and hugged Hermione. This seemed to restore some feeling of normalcy, and Hermione squeezed him back and was smiling when they stepped apart again.

"I wasn't sure it was you, from the back," Hermione said excitedly, her brown eyes sparkling. "You're so tall! And you look -- different! I saw your hair, though, and then I knew."

It was getting easier to speak now. Harry ran a hand through his tousled hair and grinned.

"Yeah. Dead giveaway, this. But you -- what happened to your hair, Hermione? Is this more of that hair potion or something?"

"Oh! Sleekeasy's? No, I found something else in Italy! A friend of mine mixed it up for me in Advanced Conjuration. You just drink it once a month, and it tames all sorts of hair tangles. De-Frizzing Frappe, it's called. Ooh, they know all sorts of things like that at Buonmagio."

Harry couldn't help staring at Hermione again while she was talking. He was barely paying attention to the list of ingredients she had started to rattle off, when a yell snapped him swiftly out of his daze.

"Oi! Harry! Over here!"

Ron was hanging out of a window near the rear of the Hogwarts Express, beckoning him over. A blonde head popped out of the window next to Ron's, and this figure waved too. Must be Emma, thought Harry.

"It's Ron!" Hermione exclaimed happily, and Harry followed as she dashed through an open door on the train and made her way towards the compartment where Ron had been waving.

Ron was sitting in an empty compartment with a pretty blonde girl at his side, who beamed at them unreservedly when Harry and Hermione reached the doorway. She had thick, straight yellow-gold hair which was cut in a bob, and freckles just like Ron's all over her face. She had very blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and Harry noticed that she was wearing Ron's favorite Chudley Cannons t-shirt with her jeans and sandals.

"Hi Harry! Hi Hermione," she said, as Ron jumped up and gave Hermione a quick hug in greeting.

Ron looked back at Emma and smiled, flushing faintly. "You both know Emma, right?" he said, a bit abashed. "She's in Ravenclaw, fifth year?"

"Oh yes," said Hermione. "I think I've seen you in Arithmancy?"

Emma nodded. "Yes, I take that instead of Herbology."

"Hullo Emma," Harry said, sitting down across from Ron. He noticed Emma's eyes stray up to the scar on his forehead as he sat down. She looked away shyly when she saw him looking back. This was decidedly weird. Ron, with a girlfriend?

It was not at all bad weird, Harry decided, as the train chugged swiftly on towards Hogwarts while the sun dipped lower in the sky. True, it was very strange to have another person sitting in on what had been his tight trio of friends, but Emma was trying her best not to appear nervous and Harry felt a pang of sympathy for her. He imagined it must feel very awkward to be the new person stuck together with three old friends. Harry certainly knew what it was like to feel out of place somewhere, so he included Emma whenever he could in the conversation, asking her questions about her family and her friends in Ravenclaw. Emma looked grateful and even worked up the courage to ask Harry about his battle with the Hungarian Horntail during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which Harry, Ron and Hermione recounted with great enthusiasm. When the lunch trolley arrived and Emma surprised Ron with a six-pack of chocolate frogs, it was sealed. Harry definitely liked Emma, and he could tell Hermione approved as well.

"Hallo, you lot!" A round-faced boy slid open their compartment door soon after lunch and beamed at them. It was Neville Longbottom. He took a few seconds to notice the other person sitting in the compartment with them, but apparently he recognized Emma, because he blinked and stuttered, "Oh, hi -- Emma, right?" while Ron again looked slightly flustered.

"Hi, Neville. How's your grandmother?" said Harry.

"Oh, she's fine, thanks," said Neville quickly, apparently in a great rush to tell them something. He flopped onto the seat next to Hermione and leaned forward. "Have any of you seen Malfoy yet?"

"No, we haven't," said Harry.

"Well wait until you do," grinned Neville. "He's hit a new low. Thinks he's some kind of rock star, but he looks a right mess. He's buzzed his hair and bleached it! And he's pierced one eyebrow and gotten a TATTOO."

"A tattoo?" sputtered Ron.

"Yeah," said Neville. "Only -- it's not finished! He tried to get an -- an imitation of the Dark Mark, but they wouldn't finish it when they realized what his design was s'posed to be."

"So what does it look like?" Harry interrupted.

"It's -- half a snake!" crowed Neville. "The TAIL end!"

The compartment roared with laughter. "Draco doesn't know that I saw," Neville broke in. "I spotted him showing it off to Pansy Parkinson. It's on his left arm. She thought it was all right, but it sure looks like a flobberworm to me!"

Just then the compartment door slid open and a cool, drawling voice interrupted their laughter.

"What's that you were saying, Longbottom?"

It was Malfoy, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed to have gotten even more enormous over the summer. True to Neville's word, Draco's hair was cropped close to his head and bleached even whiter than his usual blonde. He raised one eyebrow as if to call attention to the small hoop now threaded through it. He was wearing a black t-shirt with one sleeve pushed up rather deliberately. Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing harder. The tattoo on Draco's arm, still slightly red around the edges, did bear a striking resemblance to a flobberworm.

Neville looked up. His round face turned red, but he was still smiling. "Shove off, Malfoy," said Ron cordially.

"Seen my tattoo then?" Malfoy drawled. "You're just jealous, Longbottom. It's not like you pansies would ever have the nerve to get one of these. Teaches you the real meaning of pain." He drew out the last word with a thin-lipped smile.

"Oh really?" said Emma. Ron suddenly grinned. The rest of them looked around, surprised; she'd been quiet so far, and Draco hadn't even noticed her. She stood up and turned around, lifting Ron's t-shirt to reveal the stunning outline of a raven, wings spread, etched with artful detail on the small of her back.

"No nerve then?" she said, turning around, eyes flashing. "Why don't you tell us the real reason that one's not finished? Couldn't handle the needle and made them stop?"

Ron looked as if he was about to burst with joy. Harry glanced at Hermione and Neville; the two of them were gaping at Emma, dumbfounded and impressed.

"Right then, Malfoy," said Ron, with barely suppressed glee. "Why don't you crawl back to the rest of the flobberworms. I mean -- Slytherins."

Malfoy closed his mouth. He had also been gaping at Emma. Sneering at all of them with a look of pure bile, he stepped back into the hall and slammed the compartment door.

Neville got up, still laughing. "I'll be seeing you all later then," he said triumphantly. "Got more, er, folks to greet around here." He slid the door open again and practically bounced into the hallway.

Ron slid an arm around Emma and gave her a squeeze. She blinked at him innocently. "Well really," she said. "Malfoy is SO obnoxious!"

"Knew there was a reason I liked you," Ron said. He pulled her closer and kissed her quickly on the forehead.

Harry was instantly aware of the sensation that he and Hermione were looking at Ron and Emma through an invisible wall. Ron and Emma seemed no longer aware that there were two other people sitting across from them in the compartment. And was this Ron Weasley? The same Ron Weasley who usually turned seven shades of purple and started stuttering when Fleur Delacour walked down the hall? Ron had seemed just like his old self at the Burrow. Harry's head was turning cartwheels. He glanced sideways at Hermione, who was clearly thinking along the same lines. She looked back at him with a smile on her face that was vaguely amused and embarrassed at the same time.

Hermione's smile was fairly spectacular now that her teeth were fixed, thought Harry. And her hair -- her eyes -- how had he never noticed --

Harry blinked and flushed red again. He averted his gaze to the window and watched the countryside slip swiftly past. The way this year is shaping up, he thought, I may as well paint my face scarlet and be done with it.



* * * * *

= the chapter has now ended =

2. Chapter 2

Title: Blush
Author: Granger
Author Email: ali_granger@yahoo.com
Category: Romance, Humour
Keywords: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Quidditch, Fifth Year
Spoilers: All four books
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry returns from a summer at Quidditch Camp to find his best friends... transfigured. Love, lust, magic, music, and ale abound. And we always knew Draco was a rock star.
Pairings: H/H, Ron/Other, maybe more...
Author's note: All music quoted in this story is highly recommended for listening while reading.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * * * *

What are you running from
Something you don't understand
Something you cannot command
That's how I know
She's got a new spell
Yeah, that's how I know
She's got a new spell

What's going down
Who's moved this room from round me
Where has it gone
I fear this night will drown me
So I lie awake all night
'Cos I can't sleep with something I can't fight

She's got a new spell
Yeah, that's how I know

-- "She's Got A New Spell," Billy Bragg



Blush : Chapter Two

The school year at Hogwarts whirled into action with reassuring familiarity. Once again, rows of tiny frightened first-years dissappeared under the Sorting Hat and emerged, relieved, to scuttle off to their house tables. Harry was feeling quite his usual self again after a delicious meal in the Great Hall surrounded by the rest of the Gryffindors, most of whom had thankfully not undergone startling changes in their appearance or love lives. By the end of supper he had even managed to curb his tendency to blush whenever Hermione spoke to him; she was sounding exactly like regular old Hermione at the beginning of any new term.

"I can't wait to see my new schedule," she was saying as the Gryffindors made their way back to their house common room after the feast. "I've tested into Advanced Transfiguration again, and Professor McGonagall has given me credit for some of my Bounmagio classes, so I have one free slot to take Muggle Studies again."

"How about using that one free slot to do my Potions homework for me?" said Ron with a wicked grin. "Haberdashery!"

"Hullo, dears! Welcome back!"

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who winked at them and swung open at the sound of Ron uttering the new password. "Thanks!" said Harry over his shoulder as they climbed through the portrait hole.

The common room was almost full, the returning Gryffindor students chattering excitedly, the first years staring around in awe at the enormous fireplace and wonderful squishy chairs. Harry noticed with something of a start that Ron was probably the tallest person in the room at the moment; in fact, the rest of the boys in their year were head and shoulders above many of the younger Gryffindors. The glassy-eyed first years looked as if they'd be more at home in a playground singing "Ring Around the Rosy." Though it seemed to Harry that just yesterday he'd been staring at this room for the first time.

It was quickly apparent, however, that this was not the case. As Harry made his way into the common room, faces turned in his direction, arms clapped him on the back. "Hallo, Harry!" "Alright, Harry?" "Hey Harry! How was your summer?"

Dennis Creevey had fought his way through the throng of eager well-wishers and attatched himself to a corner of Harry's robes before Harry could stop him.

"Harry! Did you hear? Katie Bell's resigned as Quidditch Captain! Got too much work this year, some special project in Norway, she's got to miss three games. I bet you'll be captain! You think they'll pick you, Harry? I'm sure -- "

"Katie's not Captain?" Harry blinked down at Dennis' eager face. If anything, Dennis seemed even smaller than he had before, his rosy face aglow with total admiration.

"Spilled the beans, did you, Dennis?" Katie Bell, a tall, pretty seventh-year with long sandy hair, had found Harry in the crowd. She put a comradely arm around Harry's shoulder and nudged him towards one corner of the common room. "Sorry, Harry, I was just planning on telling you the news. Can I have a word with you for a minute?"

Harry detatched his robes from Dennis Creevey's adoring grasp and followed Katie towards a cluster of chairs away from the crowd.

"Good summer, then?" said Katie as they both settled into armchairs. "Quidditch camp treat you well?" Harry nodded.

Katie smiled. "Looks that way. You're not nearly the tiny thing you were first year. I was always terrified the other Seeker would knock you six ways to Australia."

Harry blushed. The way everyone was talking these days, he was starting to believe he'd been roughly the size of a house elf when he started at Hogwarts. He didn't know what they were going on about. Last he checked, he was still the same old Harry.

"Dunno, I was the smallest Seeker at camp," Harry shrugged. "Some of the other players were huge blokes. Nice enough guys, though."

Katie grinned impishly. "Any nice girls?"

At the mention of "nice girls," Harry's eyes flicked across the room to Hermione as if drawn there by a magnet. Hermione was sitting in a chair by the fire across from Ron, her nose buried in a large, musty-looking book. She had just glanced up at Ron and was regarding him skeptically, one eyebrow raised -- a vintage Hermione look. Her long brown curls were glinting golden in the firelight.

"Ahh, I see," said Katie thoughtfully, startling Harry out of his reverie. He blinked; Katie was regarding him with a knowing smile.

He was getting altogether too much practice at this blushing business.

"Er -- " Harry began to stammer.

"Don't worry, Harry, I won't say anything," said Katie, her eyes twinkling. She raised her voice slightly. "I won't tell a soul that you've really got a thing for your best pal Herm -- "

"Shh!" Harry hissed, sinking low in his chair. His ears were burning.

"It's true then?" Katie's eyes widened in surprise. Harry turned an even more vivid shade of scarlet. He couldn't make his tongue work. The whole house was going to know. Did he really have a "thing" for Hermione? Was it that obvious?

Katie's face softened with regret at Harry's terror-stricken look. "All right, all right, I'm sorry Harry. I am. I won't tell a soul. It's just, you know -- Harry Potter, all grown up. You're like a -- little brother, or something."

Harry straightened up in his chair a bit and managed to find his voice again. It looked as if he might be blessedly spared the torment of having all of Gryffindor think he was lusting after his best friend. Which he was, he thought distractedly, but that was beside the point. He felt his stomach untangle itself from six twisted knots. "Um. Thanks."

Katie gave him an enormous sisterly smile.

Harry grinned rougishly back at her. "Just don't, you know, go around pinching my cheeks or anything." .

"Wouldn't dream of it." Katie reached out and mussed Harry's rumpled hair.

"Hey, geroff!" The two of them dissolved into laughter as Harry swatted Katie's arm away.

"Now seriously." Katie regarded him gravely for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Harry, you know this is the last thing I'd want to do, but I've had to give up Quidditch this year."

"But it's your last season!"

"I know, I know. And I wouldn't miss it for all the world, except -- well, over the summer I was working on a Glacier Transformation project in Norway with Professor Flitwick. And Harry -- it was the most fun I've ever had doing something that was work."

Harry nodded.

"The group of wizards in Norway that was working with us -- they want me back. They need me, Harry, and they want me to work with them after I finish at Hogwarts. Except I need to be there for some of this term, or I'll fall behind. I've arranged it so that I can do some of my other coursework in Norway, and still graduate in June.

"Harry, you're the best Seeker at Hogwarts, and the best flyer any of us have seen. I know you're awfully busy, but I've been talking with the rest of the team, and they've all asked me to ask you if you'd be Captain."

Harry couldn't quite believe his ears. Harry Potter, Captain of the Gryffindor Team? His brain went numb. He stared at Katie.

"You don't have to make up your mind right away," Katie amended. "I mean, I know this is rather sudden. If you'd like to look at your course schedule first and see if -- "

"I'll do it," Harry heard himself say. Katie's eyes lit up.

"You'll do it?"

"Course I'll do it," Harry grinned. His brain was beginning to function again, though he was still swimming in shock. He was going to be Quidditch Captain. "I -- um -- thanks, Katie!"

"Oh, thank YOU, Harry!" Katie launched herself out of her armchair and swept him up in a hug which almost sent Harry's glasses flying. He pushed them up his nose again with one hand and returned the hug. Katie put one arm around him and steered him back towards the crowd in the center of the common room, talking excitedly the entire time.

"Oh Harry -- this is going to be wonderful. You'll be a great Captain, I just know it. Now I've reserved the field already for our practices the entire season, and I'll leave you a copy of the schedule and the key to our locker area. Tomorrow we'll need to meet with Madame Hooch and Professor McGonagall." Katie stopped and beamed at Harry again. She cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, everyone," she shouted. Her voice was drowned in the din of the rowdy common room. Katie reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand, holding it high above her head. "Attentius," she said firmly. A shower of scarlet and gold sparks shot into the air with a loud bang, falling back to the ground with a quiet fizz. The room went silent as the rest of the Gryffindors turned to look at them.

"I have an announcement to make," Katie said as all eyes swivelled in their direction. "As many of you already know, I am studying in Norway this term, so I won't be able to play for our Quidditch team this year."

Loud groans from the Gryffindors. Worried mutterings and concerned looks rippled through the crowd.

"I do have some good news," Katie continued. "Without further ado, I'd like to present our new Gryffindor Quidditch Captain... Harry Potter!"

Katie grabbed Harry's hand in hers and thrust his arm high into the air.

The common room went completely berserk.

Harry was nearly smothered in congratulatory hugs. Fred and George Weasley lit half a dozen homemade Flambingo Fireworks which exploded above the crowd in a riot of screeching scarlet and gold parrots. Harry tried to fight his way through the crowd to Ron, whose red head was visible above the cheering throng; Ron looked as if he might explode with joy. When Harry finally reached him Ron lifted him clear off the ground in a bear hug, then realized what he was doing and dropped Harry hastily, clapping him on the back. It occurred to Harry as he finally caught his breath that Ron would make an excellent replacement for Katie as Chaser; his size would be a distinct advantage, and he wasn't a bad flyer either. He'd have to bring it up at their first practice.

Which he'd be leading.

Leading practice. Harry's stomach did a few somersaults and what felt like a back handspring.

"Whassamatter, Harry? Aren't you excited?" Ron had caught the panicked look on Harry's face.

"I -- well, it's a bit much," Harry admitted as another Flambingo shot past him, repeating "bit much! bit much!" as it flapped over the crowd.

"Don't worry, you'll be great," said Ron effusively. "Didn't you go to Quidditch Camp and everything? And Hermione and I will help you if you need it."

"Where is Hermione?" Harry suddenly realized that the one person he most wanted to see was noticeably absent from the riotous celebration.

"Dunno," said Ron. "She got a funny look on her face when she saw Katie drag you out here. Said she was going to bed early. She's probably just got first-day nerves, you know how Hermione is."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

The rest of the evening shot by like a Flambingo Firework. Harry tried to fixate on Quidditch, but he felt strangely distracted. I'm Quidditch Captain, his brain kept repeating, but there was another part of his mind that kept repeating something else. Hermione. Is Hermione all right? Is she unhappy that I'm Captain? What could be wrong?

Harry barely heard the Weasleys congratulate him hoarsely for the twenty-seventh time as he made his way up to the boys' dormitory at last. He paused at the top of the stairs to stare at the girls' door across the way, then closed the boys' door behind him and sought his familiar four-poster. His trunk was neatly set at the foot of his bed, and Hedwig was perched on the top of one of the bedposts. She hooted at him softly.

"What's wrong with me, Hedwig?" Harry muttered, flopping onto his bed and pulling the curtains closed. He lay staring into the dark for a long time before sleep finally overtook him.

* * * * *

= the chapter has now ended =

3. Chapter 3

Title: Blush
Author: Granger
Author Email: ali_granger@yahoo.com
Category: Romance, Humour
Keywords: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Quidditch, Fifth Year
Spoilers: All four books
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry returns from a summer at Quidditch Camp to find his best friends... transfigured. Love, lust, magic, music, and ale abound. And we always knew Draco was a rock star.
Pairings: H/H, Ron/Other, maybe more...
Author's note: All music quoted in this story is highly recommended for listening while reading. This story is dedicated to anyone who's ever fallen for their best friend.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * * * *

Imagine my surprise
all my life I've been so ordinary
had to rub my eyes
oh my mind was just a little blurry
and it seems so, I don't know
no I don't know if it's true
and it seems so, I don't know
no I don't know what to do

-- "Seems So," Apples in Stereo



Blush : Chapter Three

Hermione seemed like her usual self the next morning at breakfast, poring eagerly over her course schedule, organizing her new quills and rolls of parchment into neat stacks, and arranging the books in her bulging bag. Harry barely had the chance to say two words to her before she swept up all of her supplies, grabbed a handful of toast, and rushed out of the Great Hall, calling over her shoulder to them as she slung her heavy bag over one arm. "Arithmancy first, can't be late. See you at lunch!"

Harry was soon wishing for just one of Hermione's good habits as he dashed through the halls to his morning classes. His professors wasted no time in piling on the homework, and his bag was soon full of slips of paper with undecipherable scrawls: "HoM Essay Tuesday." "Div Astro Chart Six Rolls Monday." "Trans Homework Friday: Turn Bats." Turn bats what? Harry could barely remember the assignment and he'd just had Transfiguration two periods ago. He stumbled into the library as soon as the last bell had rung, determined to make some order out of his chaotic notes before his bag threatened to explode, and hoping desperately that Hermione would be there to offer advice.

Hermione was sitting at their usual spot; she raised an eyebrow as Harry unceremoniously dumped the contents of his bag onto the table and flopped into a chair next to her. He had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

"Rough day?" she inquired archly, her eyes widening at the sight of Harry's mountain of crumpled papers.

"No idea how you manage this." Harry raked a hand through his bangs in exasperation. "This is twice as much homework as we had during all of last year put together. I think they've given me twelve assignments in every class. And I've got to plan Quidditch practice for Saturday."

"Harry, calm down." Hermione pushed her book aside. "You just need a little organization, that's all. Look, try this." She took out her wand and waved it with an expert flick of her wrist. "Memorandus."

A little red book materalized on the table in front of Harry with a soft poof. Harry stared. Hermione took a quill from her bag and handed it to Harry.

"Read about this in Spells for Successful Students. I've used one for years. Just keep it with you at all times, and write your assignments in it. It does the rest. Here, watch."

Hermione produced an identical blue book from her own bag, opened it, tapped it once with her wand and said, "Wednesday, please."

The book quivered, then began to glow faintly. "Wednesday, September 4th," it said in a charmingly stuffy voice. "Transfiguration homework: Change paper hat into jewelled crown. Muggle studies: read thirty pages in Famous Muggles of the Nineteenth Century. Two days until your first Arithmancy quiz."

Harry gaped.

Hermione looked at him pointedly. "It's quite simple, really."

Harry looked back at her, his best friend, one of two people who knew all the things he'd gone through since he'd gotten to Hogwarts, the only person he knew who could fix his troubles with a wave of her wand or a quote from a book. She would spend seventeen straight hours in the library if she thought it would help him. He was overcome with a wave of joy and gratitude. He realized he'd been waiting all day to be right at this spot, at Hermione's side in the library. He realized he'd been waiting all summer to be here.

"Hermione. I, um..."

Harry suddenly felt a desperate need to tell her this, to give her an inkling of how it felt to be sitting here with her again, but he couldn't fathom how to do it. Hermione, I... like studying in the library with you? Thanks for the three hundred times you've saved my life in the past four years?

Hermione was looking at him expectantly, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Not this again, thought Harry. I must look like a complete numbskull. What kind of prat goes to pieces at the sight of an enchanted assignment notebook?

"I... missed you," he finished lamely. I'm such an idiot. Voldemort, come and get me now, it'd be quite all right, really.

But Hermione's face softened. She blushed and smiled. Harry smiled back, feeling a rush of color overcome his own face.

"Hey, either of you seen Emma?"

Ron's bag hit the table next to Harry's with a thud as he slid into the seat across from them. Hermione and Harry both jumped.

"Ron Weasley, this is a library, do you mind keeping it down?"

"Sorry, Herm. I'm s'posed to meet Emma here, dunno where she's gotten to -- " Ron looked up distractedly at just as a small group of Ravenclaw fifth-years appeared at the library entrance, Emma among them. She was looking anxiously around the room, and waved shyly when she spotted the three of them.

In one swift motion Ron had snatched his bag up and was pushing his chair back under the table. "There she is. See you at dinner!"

Harry watched as Ron walked quickly over to the cluster of girls, many of whom exchanged knowing looks as Emma stepped back to wait for him.

Hermione sighed. "Why does something tell me that's the most we'll be seeing of Ron this term?"

"I know." Harry watched as Ron and Emma disappeared behind the stacks of books, his arm around her shoulder. "Can't believe this is our Ron."

"Well, you know. Everyone is different this year."

"You think?"

"Yes, I mean, did you see how small the first years look?"

Harry nodded. "It's crazy."

"And you -- " Hermione stopped, as if about to say something else. "You're... Quidditch Captain now, and everything."

"I know." Overwhelming anxiety from his hectic day of classes suddenly swept over Harry again. He put his head down on the table. "Oh, I know."

"Harry, it'll be okay, really it will," Hermione began.

"No, no, it won't," Harry interrupted, raising his head to look at her. "What if Voldemort hatches some plan to kill me again? It's his favorite sport. He hasn't missed a year yet, and now he's even got his body back. What am I supposed to do, write him a note and say I've got too much homework to be killed this year?"

Hermione collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"Dear Dark Lord," she said, catching her breath. "Kindly excuse Harry Potter from your dastardly schemes this term. He has a Transfiguration final which he cannot be dead for."

Harry was almost laughing too hard to speak. "Attention All Death Eaters," he gasped. "I'm afraid I'll have to miss your weekly meetings. I'm leading Quidditch practice on Sundays."

"Will you kindly keep it down! This is a library, not a common room!" Madam Pince, the librarian, was glaring daggers at them from her perch behind the checkout desk.

"Sorry," Harry managed to croak. Hermione bit her lip; her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. Harry glanced at her. "Think we'd better get out of here before we cause a disturbance."

Hermione nodded emphatically, her face red, and started to gather her books, trying her best not to meet Harry's glance. They managed to hold themselves together until they finally reached the library door, at which point Hermione caught Harry's eye again and the two of them exploded into guffaws. Harry grabbed Hermione's sleeve and pulled her towards the stairwell and out of library earshot, not believing his tremendous luck at ever having met the girl by his side, whose face was glowing with happiness and streaked with tears of laughter.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Great Boggart Hunt of 1743 was interrupted by several unusual protests by an opposing group of wizards calling themselves the Boggart Rights Party. The BRP, as they were called by their supporters --

The Great Boggart Hunt of 1743 was interrupted by several unusual protests --

The Great Boggart Hunt --

Oh, bloody hell. Hermione slammed her book closed, inwardly cursing her ability to concentrate, which seemed to have flown straight out the window with the last Owl Post. She'd been trying to study for the past hour, but the only progress she'd made had been in setting a new world record for the number of times someone had read Page 67 of A Brief History of Magic.

I've gone mad, Hermione thought, as the vision of Harry's brilliant green eyes filled her senses for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. She could almost feel him next to her, collapsing with laughter onto the library table, pulling crumpled bits of paper from his bag with his funny uphill Harry scrawl on them, biting his lip in concentration while he bent over a scroll of parchment, running his hand through his hair so that a stubborn cowlick stood straight up in defiance of gravity.

If she could just bury herself in homework, things would be back to normal. Her heart would stop pounding when Harry slouched into the chair next to her at the library, when he grinned up at her as she settled into her usual squishy armchair in the common room, when they did any one of a thousand tiny little things they'd done together every day for the past four years. He's my best friend, and he needs me, and I have to stop thinking like this, Hermione thought resolutely. It won't do either of us any good if he comes to me with some terrible clue of Voldemort's and all I can think about is the way his eyes flash when he's trying to solve a problem, or the way his sweater smells when he leans over a book next to me, or --

St.Mungo's, thought Hermione, burying her head in her hands. I'm headed straight to St.Mungo's.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

September was flying by in a rush of classes, assigments, visits to Hagrid's, Quidditch practice, and late nights at the library. Harry's first Quidditch practice had started off somewhat shakily, but he'd felt confident as soon as he'd mounted his broom and kicked off to demonstrate a new manuever for the Beaters, and everything went swimmingly after that. The team unanimously voted Ron to be Katie's replacement -- which was unsurprising, considering the Weasley twins were one third of the vote -- and Ron was doing an admirable job in his first season. His new scarlet Quidditch robes seemed to add six inches to his already considerable height, probably because he stood up so proudly whenever he wore them. Emma and Hermione devotedly attended every practice, Hermione catching up on her reading during Harry's team lectures, Emma by her side watching Ron's every move with rapt admiration.

Quidditch practice was one of the only times Harry got to see Ron these days. Most of the time Ron was with Emma, in the library, by the lake, in the Astronomy Tower, or other places Harry was not too keen to imagine. He and Hermione continued to save Ron his usual seat in the common room and in the library, which was empty more often than not as the weeks went by. Though they'd never spoken about it, Harry got the feeling that Hermione shared his wish not to see anyone else in Ron's chair, and so it remained, often serving as a spot for their extra books or for a napping Crookshanks.

Harry couldn't believe it was possible to feel so alone while sitting next to the person he spent most of his waking hours daydreaming about. Hermione's presence was both comforting and nerve-wracking at the same time. Harry's head spun with confusion most days; he didn't think he could properly explain things to Sirius, who was the only other person he had remotely considered talking to about his feelings. Sirius was wonderfully sympathetic, but he didn't know Hermione the way Ron did.

Harry was starting to despair of ever being able to tell Ron anything again as it was. He imagined Ron would finally come to his senses sometime after their seventh year, when Harry arrived at Ron and Emma's wedding with his shoes on backwards, raving mad with confusion, with three new scars on his forehead from battles with the Dark Lord that Ron hadn't known about. He'd tried to catch Ron alone after Quidditch practice, after class, in the common room, and after meals, but if Emma wasn't with him, Hermione was. Harry relished the idea of pulling Ron aside in front of Hermione just about as much as he enjoyed Double Potions with Snape.

Harry was almost stunned to find Ron alone in the boy's dormitory one evening when he went upstairs to dig a spellbook out of his trunk.

"Ron." Harry breathed a vast sigh of relief. Ron was shuffling through the contents of his own trunk and looked up as Harry came into the room.

"Oh, hi Harry," he said distractedly. "What's up, you going to the library?"

"In a bit." Harry seized the opportunity as fast as he could. "Look Ron, can we talk? There's something I've really got to -- "

"I'm trying to find an essay I wrote last year," Ron said, flinging rolls of parchment out of his trunk and onto his bed. "Emma's having trouble with a History of Magic assignment, and I think I wrote something similar..."

"Ron." Harry tried again. "I'll help you find it, but can we just talk for a minute?"

"Can we do it later, Harry?" Three more rolls of parchment flew out of Ron's trunk and onto the floor. "I'm in kind of a rush, she's really freaked out. You know how Ravenclaws get about homework, they're even worse than Hermione."

Harry looked at the top of Ron's red head, partially obscured by piles of books and parchment in the depths of his trunk. He felt his stomach twist tight.

"Yeah, alright," he mumbled. "Sorry to bother you."

"See you later then!" Ron said cheerily. Two more books hit the floor with a thud.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry hardly had a chance to grapple with the confounding absence of his best friend when an added distraction sailed into his life with the force of a Bludger. At lunch the next day, Professor Dumbledore rose and cleared his throat as they were all sitting down before their empty golden plates.

"Attention, please. I regret to inform you that the Wyrd Sisters will be unavailable to perform at this year's Yule Ball."

A loud murmur of disappointment from the crowd. Dumbledore peered down at them from above his half-moon spectacles, and everyone was quiet again.

"This has given us the occasion to concoct a new sort of activity for the school. Our Music Department is not well known among many students, and it's time for that to change. This year the Department will be sponsoring a contest for students or groups of students who sing or perform music with enchanted instruments. The top contestants will play for the school at the Ball."

Gasps of surprise from the crowd. Harry felt Ron kick him hard underneath the table. He looked up; Ron was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He had the look in his eyes that Harry usually saw on those occasions right before the two of them found themselves inside a teacher's office with twenty points taken from Gryffindor.

"The contest will take place the day before our Halloween feast, so you have plenty of time to prepare. Contest rules will be posted on the board outside this room. The deadline for entries is one week from today."

The Great Hall erupted with noise as everyone began talking at once. Ron looked as if he might get up onto the Gryffindor table and break into song on the spot. He grabbed Harry's arm.

"Harry, you've GOT to do this with me!"

Harry's eyes went as wide as saucers. His eyebrows shot up into his messy bangs. "Ron, are you mental?"

Hermione was also goggling at Ron from her seat across the table. "Ron," she began, "why on earth -- "

"We can do this," urged Ron. "I can play guitar. Played for years, I inherited an old Muggle one from Charlie, he never used it much. My dad enchanted it so it sounds like it's 'lectric. I can have my folks send it here with Errol."

"But why -- " Harry was attempting to absorb what Ron was saying, but it was much like hearing Hagrid announce he'd been a professional ballet dancer before he came to Hogwarts.

"Because it'll be wicked fun, of course!" Ron was nearly flying out of his seat with excitement. "Please, Harry. Say you'll do this with me!"

"Ron." Harry fixed Ron with a meaningful stare. "Listen to me, Ron. You. Have. Gone. Mad. Completely crackers. I grew up at the Dursleys. I never played an instrument. I can't sing a note."

"Harry, you'll be fine, you're good at everything." said Ron dismissively. "We'll get you a bass, you'll play four notes over and over, Gregory Goyle could do it."

"Oh, thanks a lot," Harry said, a note of mock hurt in his voice.

"Hold on just a minute," Hermione interrupted. "Ron, you both have gobs of homework, you have Quidditch, Harry's Captain, you can't possibly start up something like this. Think of your marks. And we've got O.W.L.'s -- "

"Will you stop with the schoolwork thing," said Ron impatiently. "How often do we get the chance to stand in for a famous group like the Wyrd Sisters?"

"Ron, here's a news flash: you haven't even won the contest yet."

Harry broke in. "Hangon, hangon. Okay, Ron, let's hear it then. Exactly how are you planning on winning this contest with one other person who is most likely tone deaf?"

"Well we'll do it with more than me and you of course," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "I just need a bass player is all. I've already got the rest of the band."

Harry looked at Ron expectantly.

"Ginny," said Ron, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "You don't know Ginny plays drums?"

"Ginny does what?" Harry's eyebrows shot up again.

"Oh come on, you knew that," said Ron. "Haven't you seen them in our garage? She's really good."

Harry and Hermione both stared at Ron as if he'd started coughing up slugs, though he hadn't been prone to that affliction for a few years now.

"Look, it'll be great, just wait till you hear us," said Ron, giving Harry a pleading look. "I'll reserve a practice room for Sunday, just give it a chance."

Harry looked at Ron. It felt like ages since they'd hatched any kind of scheme together. Almost a month into the school year, and they hadn't even pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. He missed Ron so much it was painful. Maybe they'd finally get to talk.

But he could barely keep up with his schedule as it was.

Ron gave Harry a hopeful sideways smile.

Harry shook his head. He felt a deep pang of regret. "Ron, I just don't think -- "

Someone cleared their throat from above Ron's left shoulder. Harry looked up.

"Did I overhear you right, Weasley? You're going to be entering the contest?"

Draco Malfoy was standing over the Gryffindor table, arms crossed over his jet-black robes, one pierced eyebrow raised sharply in Ron's direction. Crabbe and Goyle, flanking Malfoy as usual, began to snigger as if on cue.

Ron stood up quickly. At his full height he now loomed over Malfoy.

"What's it to you?," he shot back. "Is your dad paying off the judges so you can win or something?"

Draco snorted. "Cute, Weasley, very cute. It's always about money with you, isn't it? Is that because you don't have any?"

Ron's face was turning red beneath his freckles. His lips were pressed into a thin line. Harry stood up and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Ron, no use stooping to his level, let's leave it, alright?" he muttered.

Ron ignored Harry. He was glaring furiously at Malfoy, who was smirking at him with a look of thorough enjoyment.

"When they're playing our band on the Wizard's Wireless, Malfoy, you'll be trying to pretend you know us."

Draco grinned. "Oh, this is rich. Keep going, Weasley, you're making my day. Your band? Did your parents teach you Weasleys to sing on the street for spare change or something?"

Ron was now turning slightly white. Crabbe and Goyle broke into oafish guffaws. "You ever thought of using those two as bookends, Malfoy?" Harry said dryly, attempting to steer Ron away again. "I mean, I know most bookends are more intelligent, but..."

"Shut it, wonder boy," snapped Draco dismissively. "I'm not talking to you. I want to hear more about this band of Weasel's here." He looked at Ron smugly. "What's it called, then?"

Ron was now looking deeply flustered and even more furious, which Harry had not thought possible. He sputtered incoherently at Draco.

"Well -- it's -- it's -- that would be -- "

Draco tapped his foot. He ran a hand through his cropped white-blond spikes, looked at his watch, and continued to watch Ron sputter. Ron stood as if rooted to the spot. His hands were balled tightly into fists. Draco started to turn away, sniggering.

"OUR band, you mean."

Harry stepped in front of Ron, his eyes narrowed in an unspoken challenge. Draco spun around slowly and arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"Your band, Potter?" he said, his mouth twitching.

"Yeah. The Marauders," said Harry. His wand hand slipped into his pocket. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron's mouth fall open.

"The Boy Who Sings," purred Draco, his lips curling into a smile. "This is going to be so much more fun than I'd even dreamed."

Draco's eyes strayed to Harry's wand hand, which was now closed around the wand in his pocket. He flashed Harry a wicked smile and swept out of the Great Hall in a blur of black robes.



* * * * *

= the chapter has now ended = Review!

4. Chapter 4

Title: Blush
Author: Granger
Author Email: ali_granger@yahoo.com
Category: Romance, Humour
Keywords: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Quidditch, Fifth Year
Spoilers: All four books
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry returns from a summer at Quidditch Camp to find his best friends... transfigured. Love, lust, magic, music, and ale abound. And we always knew Draco was a rock star.
Pairings: H/H, Ron/Other, maybe more...
Author's note: All music quoted in this story is highly recommended for listening while reading. This story is dedicated to anyone who's ever fallen for their best friend.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * * * *

She's got everything delightful
She's got everything i need
Takes the wheel when i'm seeing double
Pays my ticket when i speed

Sunshine daydream
Walk you in the tall trees
Going where the wind goes
Blooming like a red rose

-- "Sugar Magnolia," The Grateful Dead



Blush : Chapter Four

At first, no one spoke.

"Harry," Ron finally breathed, turning to face his friend, who was still flushed, green eyes glittering with fury at the receding backs of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Harry expelled a long breath. It was only by a sheer act of willpower that he had managed to refrain from hexing the Slytherins into a giant three-headed mass of bubotuber pus. He slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket, where it had been clenched tightly around his wand, and flexed it.

"You okay?" Ron was peering worriedly at him as if Harry had suddenly announced a plan to move to Romania and take up dragon farming.

"Yeah." Harry sat down heavily. Hermione was gaping at him also; he didn't even want to think about what she would say when they were finally alone.

"That bloody git." Ron glared at the spot by the doorway where Malfoy's black robes had finally vanished from view. He shook his head angrily. "Look, Harry, you don't have to do this just because Malfoy is a raging bastard --"

"That's not why I'm doing it," Harry said simply. Ron looked at him blankly.

Harry couldn't explain it. Ron might not be himself these days, but he was still Ron, and they'd be making snow angels in hell the day Harry let Draco Malfoy get the better of him.

Harry sighed and grinned ruefully. "Ron. This is us we're talking about. You'd do the same for me, you nitwit."

Ron's freckled face broke into a huge smile.

"Now go ask your sister to be in your band before half the fourth-years find out her hidden talent, will you?" Harry inclined his head in the direction of Ginny's, which was easily visible as the only red one among a group of fourth-years at the other end of the table.

Ron looked as if he was about to explode with gratitude. "You're the best, Harry, you know that?" he beamed, then grabbed his bag and dashed for the opposite end of the Gryffindor table.

Harry looked across the table at Hermione, bracing himself for what he might see when he finally met her gaze. A reproachful look at having given in to Ron's lunacy, maybe. Criticism at committing himself to yet another activity. Anger at watching him lose his temper at Draco Malfoy when he really should know better by now. He had a sudden vision of Hermione, in their first year, glaring after him as he mounted his broom to go after Draco and Neville's Remembrall. Her words floated into his mind with perfect clarity: "What an idiot."

He wasn't prepared for what he saw instead.

Hermione's eyes were shining with tears; she was smiling at him.

Harry blinked in astonishment. "You all right?"

Hermione looked abashed. She flushed pink and wiped her eyes. "Yes, I -- I'm sorry. That was -- so nice of you, Harry."

It was Harry's turn to go pink.

Voices were now chattering eagerly from Ginny's end of the table. Apparently Ron's proposal was causing quite a stir. Heads were beginning to swivel in Harry's direction. It was not often that Famous Harry Potter could do something without creating some kind of buzz.

"D'you want to get out of here?" Hermione said quietly.

"Yeah."

Harry had never been more grateful for Hermione's uncanny ability to read his mind.

Without another word the two of them gathered their books, Harry grabbing a few of the sandwiches which had appeared on the golden tableware, Hermione snatching up two apples and a handful of pumpkin cookies. Quietly, they slipped out of the Great Hall and into the afternoon sunlight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A buttery light was flooding the grassy lawn outside the castle as Harry and Hermione pushed open the vast oak front doors and made their way across the grounds. Harry knew where they were going without having to say anything. It was where he and Hermione often went when they had something important to talk about, but it was also where they went when they didn't want to talk at all.

A brisk fall breeze was blowing across the surface of the lake when they reached their usual spot, a smooth knoll sheltered from the wind by a pair of giant shade trees, neither of which bore any relation to a Whomping Willow. Dappled light fell through the trees and bathed the grass with bright splotches of sun; the giant squid was visible at the far end of the lake, sending the occasional jet of water high into the air. Harry took off his robe and laid it on the grass, set his bag down, and rummaged for the food in his pack while Hermione did the same. They were soon munching on ham and cheese, apples, and cookies, gazing contentedly at the giant squid and the deep green mass of forest far beyond the lake.

Though he had been seething with rage just half an hour before, Harry now felt oddly at peace. His heart fluttered in the familiar way that it did whenever he was alone with Hermione, but he didn't mind so much at the moment. He glanced over at Hermione, who was lying back on her elbows finishing an apple, her long brown-gold curls splayed across the grass. She was wearing her usual white blouse, grey uniform sweater and grey skirt, but had undone her Gryffindor house tie and kicked off her black school shoes. The sun was falling across her face and Harry noticed a faint dusting of freckles across her nose and the tops of her cheeks, which were rosy from the crisp breeze. She looked up at him, and he felt his heart thud hard against his sweater.

"Thanks for not being mad at me," said Harry.

Hermione averted her eyes briefly. "I was mad, at first. But I know why you did it."

Harry gave his finished apple core a lazy toss; they watched it drop into the shallows of the lake with a satisfying plunk. "I dunno why Ron wants me to do this band thing, really. But it's Ron, you know, and I -- we -- never get to see him anymore."

Hermione nodded. "I know. I just worry about you, is all. We have so much work this year, and you're smart, Harry, and you've been doing well in classes so far, and..." She trailed off apologetically. "Well you know how I am. I worry about that kind of thing."

"I do too," Harry admitted. "I was pretty freaked out about the O.W.L.'s all summer."

"Oh Harry, you don't need to be that worried!"

"Well exams don't come easily for me, like they do for you. If I could play Quidditch for my exams, I'd have no problem with them."

Hermione gave him an earnest smile. "Harry, you know I'll always help you with studying. We can work together all term if you like."

"That'd be really nice." Harry grinned back at her.

Hermione looked down, flushing slightly. "Want to know something, though?"

"What?" Harry dug around in Hermione's pack and brought out the last pumpkin cookie, then broke it in half and offered a piece to Hermione. She took it, then took a deep breath.

"I wish studying wasn't the only thing I was good at. I've always wanted to try Quidditch," Hermione said quietly. "It looks so exciting! I'm a hopeless chicken at flying, though."

Harry almost choked on his last half of pumpkin cookie. "Hermione! Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I -- I thought you'd laugh."

"I'm not laughing!"

"I think you're rubbing off on me, mostly." Hermione's eyes were bright. "You've shown me that there are other things in life besides books and classes."

"Shh! I won't tell anyone you said that."

Hermione rolled her eyes and punched him lightly on the arm.

"Ow." Harry grinned.

"Really," she said. "That's why I can't be mad at you for helping Ron. Friends are just more important than homework."

Harry's heart swelled. He wanted so badly to tell Hermione that her friendship was not like anything else he'd known, how being near her made him want to lose himself in every bit of her, down to the inkstains on her left index finger.

"Yeah," he said. "They are."

Their eyes locked for an infinite second. Harry's heart was pounding again, his head strangely light.

"I -- I have an idea," he managed.

Hermione blinked. "Oh?"

"Let me teach you Quidditch."

Hermione's eyes were shining. "Well I'd love to, but... Harry, I don't know, that's even more work for you."

"It won't be. I have to work out what I'll do for the team's Quidditch practice anyway, so I have to spend the time training. I can try out my ideas for practice on you. You can be my guinea pig."

"Your guinea pig?"

Harry grinned at her impishly. "Would you rather be my flobberworm?"

Hermione gave him a long, deadpan stare. "Only if you'll be my Blast-Ended Skrewt."

Both of them doubled over with laughter.

"Deal," said Harry finally, wiping his eyes and mopping his glasses with his sweater.

Hermione sat up again and hugged her knees to her chest. "I like the idea of knowing I won't have to go through this term cooped up alone in the library."

"Me too." Harry sighed. "Now, the only thing I'll be dreading will be the Ron Weasley Three-Ring Circus Act."

Hermione dissolved into giggles again, falling backwards onto the grass. "I can't believe it," she laughed. "You were brilliant. The Marauders!"

Harry was suddenly struck with the sheer ridiculousness of what had happened at lunch. He fell back onto the grass next to Hermione, helpless with laughter. They both lay under the trees for a few moments, giggling, the trees overhead nodding gently in the breeze. Harry turned his head to look at her and saw that she'd done the same, her face inches from his, her brown curls mingling with his messy black hair. Their laughter faded; he caught his breath. Time slid to a stop. Hermione lay still, her doelike brown eyes fixed on his, her long eyelashes tipped with gold in the sun.

Harry felt himself move imperceptibly closer and incline his face towards Hermione's. Her eyes were wide, unreadable. His entire body surged with a single thought. He could smell Hermione's hair, the fresh grass beneath them, a lingering trace of apples and pumpkin cookies.

What was he doing? Harry looked away quickly, the shade trees above them partially obscuring the bright robin's egg sky. He felt his cheeks burn with color.

Hermione sat up beside him and started to scramble to her feet. "It's time for class," she said breathlessly. Harry nodded, struggling to his knees, and began shaking out his robe. What was happening? He felt as though six hammers were pounding behind his ribs. His head was whirling. He had been half a breath from doing something completely unthinkable.

He had almost kissed his best friend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Right," said Ron, looking up as Ginny closed the door of the practice room. "Let's get started then!"

It was a bright Sunday morning, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were seated on folding chairs in a large room with shiny wood floors and one wall full of rickety cabinets and shelves. They were in an unfamiliar wing of the castle, the Southeast Turret, which housed the Hogwarts Music and Art departments, a few spare rooms for castle guests, and three rather dilapidated hallways that smelled suspiciously of butterbeer. The music department was headquartered in a long hallway that curved around one side of the turret, with many identical practice rooms radiating from it like slices of pie. Professor Trebble, the school's quiet, eccentric music professor, had an office at one end of the hallway. He was rarely seen by students outside the music department, but odd squeaks, warbles, and trills emanated from his office at all hours.

Hermione had insisted on going to the first band practice to cheer them on. She hadn't said anything to Harry about what had happened that afternoon by the lake, but Harry had found himself replaying those few breathless moments over again in his mind all week. Hermione was still acting perfectly normally towards him, however, and they had walked together to the Southeast Turret, chatting about their Care of Magical Creatures assignment. When Harry and Hermione had arrived, they found Ron already rummaging in the music room cabinets, a variety of strange-looking instruments spread out across the raised platform at the back of the room where a drum set was already assembled. They'd all sat down to wait for Ginny, Harry studying the display of instruments curiously. Most of them looked familiar, but some looked like odd half-cousins to Muggle instruments, as if someone had cut up an orchestra into pieces and stuck all the wrong bits together again.

Ginny entered and took a seat next to them, smiling shyly, and going a bit red as she always did when Harry smiled back at her. Harry looked from the drum set to Ginny and back again. Tiny, quiet little Ginny Weasley was about to accompany her brother by smacking very loud hollow objects with sticks?

"Okay." Ron stood up and opened a long case on the floor beside him. He pulled out what looked like a battered electric guitar, bright red with a white faceplate, similar to one Harry had once seen in his cousin's room before Dudley had smashed it into a television in imitation of a Muggle music video. Ron slung the guitar's strap over his shoulder and pulled his wand out of his pocket.

"Now you all know that when Muggles use these guitars, they plug them into electric amplificators."

"Amplifiers." Hermione couldn't help herself. Ron shot her a reproachful look.

"Right. Now my dad's quite interested in Muggle music, he showed me how wizards use enchantments to make their instruments sound like electric guitars and ampli-- " He checked himself. "Amps."

Ron cleared his throat authoritatively and continued. "So this is a muggle guitar I've got here, converted to act like a wizard instrument. It's a little beat up, 'cos it belonged to Charlie first, but it sounds okay. Here's how you use it."

He pointed his wand at the guitar and tapped once. "Amplificatus."

A few green sparks shot from the guitar with a loud crack; a wisp of acrid yellowish smoke curled from the spot where Ron's wand had been. There was an earsplitting buzz which made Harry and Hermione flinch abrubtly. The buzz immediately quieted to a faint hum.

Ron gave them an embarrassed grin. "It always does that. Works fine once you start it up." He grasped the neck of the guitar with his free hand. "Now, there are all kinds of spells you can cast on an enchanted instrument to make it sound different. My dad's got a great collection of Muggle music, so I happen to like this one."

Ron shook his wand once, gave a small flourish, tapped the guitar again, and muttered, "Psychodelectus Hendrixis."

A tiny jet of green lightning shot from the end of Ron's wand and onto the guitar strings. The lightning crackled up and down the strings, flared suddenly into a blinding green flash, and blinked out. The guitar was quiet again, still humming faintly.

"That one's named for a wizard who used to perform in the Muggle world under a fake name," explained Ron, ignoring the stunned looks on Harry and Hermione's faces. "It was a big controversy in the Ministry of Magic back then, a wizard performing at Muggle festivals -- "

"Just play something, Ron!"

Ginny seemed unruffled by this display of bizarre magic and was looking at Ron impatiently.

"All right, all right, I'm getting there, Gin!" Ron turned back to Harry and Hermione. Harry was rooted to his folding chair. He didn't think he could possibly be more shocked than he was already.

He was wrong.

"Here we go then." Ron sighed, put his wand back into his pocket, and started to play.

The noise that ripped out of Ron's guitar was like nothing Harry had ever heard in his life. It was like a violent electrical storm striking enormous waves on a beach, soaring up into an explosion of stars and comets and flaming golden hawks. Ron's fingers flew up and down the guitar's neck as if commanded by some alien force. His entire body was rocking in time with the beat he'd just conjured from nowhere, his face at first contorted with concentration, but then ecstatic and lost in the music. He sailed through the blistering melody twice, kicked into the riff a third time and began to sing along, his voice reedy and rough but a perfect fit for the barely controlled chaos erupting from the red guitar.

"Purple haze, all in my brain... Lately things don't seem the same. Acting funny, but I don't know why... 'Scuse me while I kiss this guy!"

Ginny broke into uncontrollable giggles. Ron's guitar made an undignified squawk and the wave of music stopped abruptly. Ron stared at Ginny. "What?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's kiss the sky."

"Oh. Er... right." Ron flushed scarlet.

Harry realized he hadn't been able to form a single coherent thought since Ron had picked up his guitar. He felt like his jaw was hanging so far open he'd never be able to close it again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Hermione was struck with a similar slack-jawed expression.

Ron shifted from one foot to another. "Well. So.... um. What do you think?"

Hermione gulped.

Harry blinked. He tried to say something, but the only noise that came out of his mouth was "Gaah."

Ron fidgeted with the guitar strap. "It's alright. You're my friends, you can tell me if I'm no good. I've never had lessons."

Harry found he had use of his voice again.

"For fuck's sake, Ron," he croaked. "That was bloody fantastic."

Ron's face lit up like one of Professor Flitwick's Christmas lights. "Honest?"

"Do I look like I'm putting you on? I'm trying to find where my brain's gone because it about blew through the top of my head when you started playing that thing."

Ron was beaming, heartily embarrassed. "It's just a hobby, really. Y'reckon Emma will think I'm any good?"

"Ron." Harry looked at him fixedly. "If Emma doesn't eat her own socks when she hears you play, I'll kiss Moaning Myrtle."

Ginny burst into giggles again. Hermione was still staring at Ron as if he'd just announced his own wedding to Professor Snape.

"One thing, though," Harry said gravely. "I might have to kill you before we go any further."

"What? Why?"

"For not telling me about this for five whole years, you ruddy git!" Harry thundered.

Ginny was still laughing; Ron turned even more red. "Er... Sorry about that. We've always been, you know, kind of... busy."

The practice room door flew open with a bang, and they all jumped. Ron stumbled backwards and looked around wildly for the intruder.

"Sorry, Ron, sorry, did I miss anything?"

It was Neville Longbottom. Ron broke into a grin as Neville's round face appeared in the doorway, flushed and breathing hard. Neville trotted into the practice room, a large, misshapen carrying case slung awkwardly over his shoulder which caused him to stumble several times on the way.

"I couldn't find the Southeast Turret," Neville panted, slinging his lumpy burden onto the floor and pulling up a folding chair. "I wound up in the Astronomy Tower, but Seamus was in there with some girl, and I think I startled them something awful. I hope he forgives me."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron. Neville, in the band? Harry wasn't aware Neville had any talents besides herbology and forgetting the Gryffindor passwords. Harry reminded himself never again to assume he knew everything about his friends after what had happened this morning.

"It's no problem, Neville, we were just getting started," said Ron. "Harry, Neville and I were talking about the contest last night, and it turns out he plays the Flanimus. I've asked him to join us."

"The what?" Harry was beginning to take these surprises in stride, but he goggled as Neville opened his carrying case and pulled out a truly bizarre object.

It looked like an old-fashioned electric guitar, made of wood, with a white faceplate and a yellow sunburst pattern on the body. All similarities to a regular guitar ended at the neck, however, which was twisted like a tuba into intricate loops. Neville picked up the instrument and Harry saw that the twisted neck was like a strange molded strap, which coiled around Neville's shoulders and waist. Neville patted the instrument, which Harry assumed was a Flanimus, pulled his wand out of his pocket, and looked around expectantly. "Are we starting then?"

"Just a minute, Neville," said Ron. "Let me get Harry set up. Why don't you and Ginny get ready? Hermione, you sure you don't want to try this?"

"Oh, quite sure," said Hermione quickly. "Happy to watch!"

Harry gave her a nervous grin as he followed Ron to the platform, where Ron had laid out the other instruments. Hermione gave him a tentative thumbs-up in return.

"Now these four here are bass guitars," said Ron as Harry leaned over to study the instruments lined up on the platform. "I took out these two Fatellos also, and this Robotuss, but I'm thinking you'll like the regular bass better, 'cos it's more like a Muggle instrument."

Harry nodded. "I'll trust you on this one."

"So just pick one you like, and I'll enchant it for you until you learn to do it yourself."

Harry studied the four bass guitars on the platform. Two of them were extremely heavy-looking, each almost the size of a first-year student; Harry couldn't imagine struggling under their weight in front of the whole school. The third was a horrendous pea green color and seemed to be the shape of a large daisy. Thankfully, the fourth was a very plain dark blue and nearly guitar-shaped, though a little larger. Harry reached for it without hesitation.

"Good choice," said Ron.

Harry picked up the bass and saw that it had a shoulder strap like Ron's guitar. He slung it over his head and adjusted it so that the bass hung at the right height for him to play the strings.

"But Ron," he muttered. "I can't read music or anything."

"You don't need to," Ron said breezily. "You just think what you want to play, and it sort of happens. It's part musical talent, but partly how strong you are at magic. Knowing you," he said, giving Harry a wry smile, "you'll do just fine at the second part."

Ron pulled out his wand. "Now, you see if you can turn that on yourself."

Harry pulled out his own wand, pointed it at the bass, and muttered, "Amplificatus." The instrument gave a relutcant twitch, then began humming imperceptibly.

"Good," said Ron approvingly. "Now, this next charm is a little harder, but I'm sure you can do it with practice. The trick is learning all the different charms to change the sound of your instrument and then switching them while you're playing. All the really great wizard musicians can do that. I'm workin' on it meself, requires attatching your wand to the instrument somehow. It's quite tricky, I shouldn't think you'll need to get that far."

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm just shooting for standing in front of the school without looking like an enormous idiot."

Ron grinned. "Okay then. Here's the charm I was thinking you could use." He waved his own wand at Harry's bass, then touched it and said clearly, "Thundarus Lesharat."

Glowing purple ooze spread from the tip of Ron's wand and seemed to engulf the bass. Harry moved his hand away quickly as the ooze spread over the instrument, but Ron chuckled. "It's alright. Just a spell, it's not real." The thick purple glow faded as he spoke and the bass rumbled contentedly before quieting again to a hum.

"I like that one," grinned Harry.

"Okay, now think about what you're going to play. Try this." Ron put away his wand, pulled a small guitar pick out of his pocket, and played a slow melody on his guitar. Harry concentrated, trying to memorize the melody as Ron was playing. Ron stopped abruptly and tossed him a pick. "Let's hear it then."

Harry slowly touched the pick to the strings of the bass. The bass gave a great intimidating rumble. Um, Harry thought. Right. What was that tune again? He closed his eyes and thought as hard as he could, trying to remember the notes Ron had played. The bass was quiet. Just as he was about to open his eyes and admit defeat, he heard Ron play the notes again. That's easy, said a voice in Harry's head, and before Harry knew what was happening, the bass was booming the same notes in accompaniment.

"Great!" beamed Ron. "That's really good, Harry, I knew you'd get it fast."

Harry looked down. His fingers were playing along with the notes he'd heard in his head. He wasn't quite sure how it had happened. "It was almost like I could hear someone in my head talk back to me," he said, puzzled, uncurling his fingers from the instrument.

"Oh yeah," said Ron. "That'll be the bass. You've got to work together with your instrument, of course. Playing with other people is sort of the same. Let's try something with Ginny and Neville."

Harry doggedly climbed up onto the platform after Ron, where Ginny and Neville were already setting up. Neville seemed to be hunting around for something on the ground.

"I've lost me pick," said Neville, peering at the floorboards.

"Don't worry, Neville, there's a whole jar of them over here," said Ginny, waving at a shelf with her drumstick.

Ron waited until Neville had found a new pick, then addressed the three of them. "Okay. Now to play together, we've just got to do a quick charm to get our instruments in tune. It's 'Harmonius,' Harry. We'll just say it together on the count of three. Ready? One, two, three."

"Harmonius," they chorused.

There was a melodic hum as a tiny golden stream of light instantly materialized and darted back and forth between the four of them, twining around Neville's Flanimus, bouncing across Ginny's drums, ricocheting from Harry's bass and finally curling itself around Ron's guitar, where it vanished.

"Ooo," Hermione said reverently from her seat across the room.

"I told you this would be fun," Ron mumbled to Harry.

"Let's do Sgt. Pepper," said Ginny, who was bouncing in her seat with excitement.

"I know that one," beamed Neville proudly. "That's one I haven't forgotten."

Harry knew it too. He had lived in the Muggle world for fifteen years, after all, and he was now quite thankful for all the times he'd rescued Dudley's discarded CD's and records from the trash. This album was one of his favorites, though it felt quite odd to be discussing it at Hogwarts.

"All right," said Harry. "One minute, let me think about how the first song goes."

"You won't need to think once we start," said Ron. "Ready? One, two, three, four."

A wave of noise exploded from Ron, Ginny, and Neville. It was tremendous. Ginny was pounding the drums like a whirlwind, her long red hair flying in all directions as her head bobbed in time to the music, the massive beat thundering somehow from her tiny form as her drumsticks flashed gold in her hands. Neville's instrument was blaring like a guitar and a horn section all at once, and looked nearly impossible to play. His face was red with concentration as he groped for different parts of the Flanimus, reaching for a long silver tube which hung from the neck and blowing into it every few seconds. And Ron was soaring again, making a fantastic noise which somehow merged with the other sounds and drove them forward together. Harry put his pick to his bass, his mind blank.

It's me again, he thought stupidly at the bass. And, er, I know this song. It goes like this.

He thought through the opening notes of the melody. Nothing happened.

Listen, said the voice in his head, which Harry now recognized as his bass. Listen to the others. Your magic is strong. It's too strong for me to hear anything through it.

Harry closed his eyes and listened, attempting to quiet his own thoughts. He felt the great noise in the room assaulting him like a solid wall of music. But it wasn't quite a wall, he thought. If he listened closely enough, he could hear what each person was playing. He could hear all the parts of the whole.

Now find your place, said the voice.

Harry could suddenly almost hear, through the distracting music, a noise that was missing. It was simple, but solid, like an anchor. And just as soon as he heard the noise, he realized it was coming from him. His eyes flew open.

Ron was grinning enormously at him. Harry was plunking a steady melody on the bass, almost afraid to move. He couldn't help himself and grinned back triumphantly. The sound they were producing sounded almost exactly like the song from the album Harry remembered. Harry could tell that what he was playing was nothing exciting compared to what the other three were doing, but he was doing his job nonetheless. He didn't want to lose his part now. Relax, said the voice in his mind.

Ron was dancing in place to the music, and to Harry's great delight, Neville was bobbing up and down as well. He felt his own knees loosen and his head start to bob back and forth. He almost couldn't help it. Ron turned to face them and began to sing roughly, "It was twenty years ago today..."

Now that Harry knew what enchanted instruments were like, he couldn't believe Ron could sing and play one at the same time. He was so involved in the music that he came to his senses with a painful jolt when the song came to an end.

Harry blinked and looked around. Ron, Neville, and Ginny were smiling jubilantly at each other. Hermione looked thunderstruck. She was beaming at him from her folding chair. Harry hopped off the platform and hurried over to her.

"That was amazing," she said excitedly as he reached her side. "You did it, Harry! I can see why Ron wanted to enter the contest!"

"I know," said Harry. "I can't believe it!"

"Oi, Harry!" called Ron. "Come on back up here, will you? We're going to try it again."

Hermione's eyes were shining. Harry looked at her, her soft curls in disarray, her face glowing with pride, and was suddenly overcome by the strange feeling he'd had just a few days ago by the lake. His stomach flopped over twice.

"Thanks for watching us, Hermione," he said quietly.

Hermione flushed. "Oh Harry," she murmured. "Don't be silly."

"Come on, Harry!" called Ginny, breaking into a quick drum fill with a flourish.

"Right," breathed Harry. He turned, his stomach still quivering, and walked back to the platform with his bass.

She's cute, said the now-familiar voice in his head.

Oh shut up, thought Harry, grinning and turning pink in spite of himself.



* * * * *

= the chapter has now ended =

Review!

5. Chapter 5

Title: Blush
Author: Granger
Author Email: ali_granger@yahoo.com
Category: Romance, Humour
Keywords: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Quidditch, Fifth Year
Spoilers: All four books
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry returns from a summer at Quidditch Camp to find his best friends... transfigured. Love, lust, magic, music, and ale abound. And we always knew Draco was a rock star.
Pairings: H/H, Ron/Other, maybe more...
Author's note: All music quoted in this story is highly recommended for listening while reading. This story is dedicated to anyone who's ever fallen for their best friend.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * * * *

and a long forgotten fairytale is in your eyes again
and i'm caught inside a dream world where the colors are too intense
and nothing is making sense

- "long forgotten fairytale," magnetic fields



Blush : Chapter Five

The rest of the rehearsal was decidedly more difficult. Harry, emboldened by his initial success, found that any overconfidence on his part usually resulted in his bass erupting in a loud "BWAAAA" and quitting right in the middle of the second verse. The other instruments, enchanted to play together with Harry's, would then emit similar noises and the song would shriek to a halt like a hippogriff in mating season.

Ron then attempted to teach Harry, Neville, and Ginny how to harmonize with him on the chorus of Sgt.Pepper. This was a resounding disaster. Ginny could sing rather well, and Neville's voice was quiet and pleasant enough, but Harry felt hopeless. His own voice wasn't too offensive, but as soon as he opened his mouth, any memory of the part he was supposed to sing flew right out of his head, usually to the great amusement of his bass. Ron had them try singing without the added distraction of playing their instruments, but the best Harry could manage was a low mumble, his face burning pink as Hermione looked on, biting her lip and trying not to giggle at their efforts.

"Alright, no singing for now then," said Ron at last, as Harry breathed a massive sigh of relief and ran a hand through his hair, which was now sticking up mutinously in all directions. He tried to ignore his bass, which he had shouldered again, as it was now chuckling softly in his head. "Once more from the top, and we'll break for lunch."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

One rosy morning a few days after rehearsal, Harry woke early and stumbled blearily out of bed on his way to Quidditch training. The sun was just rising, and the forest outside the dormitory window was awash in misty hues of pink and purple as Harry fumbled for his toothbrush and set off for the boys' bathroom down the hall. What he saw when he opened the dormitory door was something of a shock.

Hermione was already on her way downstairs, wearing not her usual uniform, but sweatpants, a longsleeved t-shirt, and tennis shoes, her long curls gathered into a messy ponytail. Harry blinked stupidly and pushed his glasses up his nose, making sure he hadn't hallucinated the scene in a fog of early morning grogginess. Hermione turned quickly at the sound of the door opening, and seemed both relieved and nervous to see that it was Harry.

"Oh, good morning!" she said briskly. "I was hoping you'd be up. Are you going to practice Quidditch?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said.

Hermione hesitated. "I was just -- going to ask, I mean, if it would be okay -- "

Harry blinked at her again, and suddenly it dawned on him. Hermione was really going to take him up on his offer to give her flying lessons.

"You want to come along today?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione looked down. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all," said Harry, grinning.

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione said, her face breaking into a grateful smile. Her eyes flicked over Harry as if she had only just noticed what he was wearing; her cheeks turned faintly pink. "Are you getting ready then?"

Harry was suddenly aware that he was clad only in his striped boxers.

"Uh, yeah," he said, feeling his ears burn.

"Okay. Could you -- hurry up a bit?"

"Er," began Harry, reddening.

"I just don't want to lose my nerve," Hermione said quickly.

Harry grinned again. "Right," he said, shuffling into the bathroom, where he promptly dunked his head under a faucet and tried not to think about why his heart was beating so fast.



The two of them set off across the dewy grass outside the castle just as the sun was beginning to creep over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Harry, in his dark crimson practice robes, had his Firebolt slung over one shoulder; Hermione kept glancing at it nervously as they walked to the field together, leaving twin sets of footprints in the dew. Harry was trying to review the parts of the week's practice that he could show Hermione, but his glance kept wandering to her as she walked by his side, shivering slightly in the morning chill, her eyes alight with excitement.

Harry led them to the Gryffindor locker room, where he rummaged in a storage locker to find a set of Angelina Johnson's old grey practice robes, a spare Nimbus 2000, and a case of Quidditch balls. He had initially thought of letting Hermione use his Firebolt, as it was very intuitive to fly; it was also frighteningly fast, however, and he decided a Nimbus might be less of a scare. Harry emerged from the messy locker and draped the practice robes around Hermione's shoulders; she blushed and murmured her thanks, hugging them tightly against the cold. He handed her the Nimbus, which she shouldered awkwardly, and then strode to the other end of the locker room, taking his wand from his pocket. "Alohomora," Harry muttered, and the double doors flew open to reveal the Quidditch pitch, completely deserted except for a few birds searching for their breakfast of worms among the short grass.

"Oooh," said Hermione.

Harry grinned. He shouldered his Firebolt again, picked up the case of balls, and led Hermione out onto the field, secretly thrilled at the look of awe on her face. She'd been on the Quidditch pitch many times, but always as a spectator, and she'd never walked out of the locker room. The view of the pitch and the bleachers from the locker room doors never failed to give Harry a surge of excitement, even though he'd seen it countless times by now; clearly Hermione was feeling something similar.

"Okay," Harry said as they reached the center of the field, his heart beating a bit faster than usual. "Now, you remember the basics from Madam Hooch's first class?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes wide. Harry set his own broom down on the grass. He'd have to show her proper form. His heart skipped once at the idea. He gestured at her to set down her broom.

Hermione lay her broom on the grass, put one hand over it, and said firmly, "Up." The broom flew into her hand. She gave Harry a proud smile.

"That's great," Harry smiled back. "Now climb on."

"This is the part I was never very good at," Hermione muttered, slinging one leg awkwardly over the hovering broomstick and fumbling with Angelina's long robes.

"Okay, I can help you here." Taking a deep breath, Harry walked behind Hermione, straddled the broom behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed them down gently. He reached around her, showing her how to hold her hands on the broom's handle, smelling her sweet gingery Hermione smell mingled with the scent of unfamiliar musty practice robes. He moved his hands down to her waist, making sure she was sitting straight on the broom, and felt her flinch slightly beneath the thick robes. Merlin's beard. Focus, Harry, focus. Harry felt like he'd swallowed twenty fluttering Snitches. He scrambled from Hermione's broom, where she was now seated in a perfect pose, looking as frozen as a suit of armor in the entrance hall, and six times more nervous. Where was his broom? He'd be able to think straight again if he was on his broom.

In half a minute Harry was straddling his Firebolt, his head clearing as he gripped the shiny handle. "Now watch me," he said, and kicked off slowly, soaring once around Hermione before landing gently on the field beside her.

After a few shaky starts, Hermione was airborne. Gripping the handle of her Nimbus so tightly that her knuckles were white, she was gliding slowly through the air six feet above the pitch, her forehead furrowed with concentration. She's got to do everything perfectly, Harry thought, grinning to himself as he flew alongside her, watching as she carefully turned her broom to circle the field. How totally Hermione.

"Good," he told her, matching her pace, then leading her in a series of slow turns. "You're doing really well."

"Am I?" Hermione said breathlessly. Her face was glowing, her cheeks rosy from the cold, and she beamed at him as if he'd told her she had just been named Head Girl. Harry's heart surged.

"Yeah, you're doing great."

"Do you know," breathed Hermione, guiding her broom in a figure eight, "this is fun!"

"I do know," Harry grinned.

Three laps later, Hermione was a dramatically transformed flyer. With each successive circle around the pitch, and with Harry's coaching, she had gained in confidence. She had gradually loosened her white-knuckled grip on the Nimbus and was beaming with pride as she urged the broom to a slightly faster speed each time around.

"I was too scared to do this before!" she told him excitedly as they flew higher to circle one of the goalposts.

"You're in Gryffindor for a reason," Harry said, leading them both towards the ground again. "You're braver than you think. Ready to try this with a few of the balls out?"

"Bludgers?" said Hermione anxiously.

"No, not yet. Quaffle and Snitch."

"All right then!"

Harry dropped to the ground and opened the case of Quidditch balls, releasing the tiny golden Snitch first, which flew once around his head like an affectionate pet bird before flashing off into the sky. He took out the Quaffle and kicked off again, matching Hermione's pace as she flew slowly above the field. Soon, they were gliding back and forth across the pitch, tossing the Quaffle back and forth; Hermione picked this up so aptly that Harry was able to show her some of the moves he had planned for the team's next practice, and some he'd learned in Quidditch camp, which she slowly and doggedly attempted. Both of them were grinning broadly as Hermione successfully demonstrated the the last of the practice moves after a third wobbly try.

Suddenly, Hermione gave a cry. She dropped the Quaffle as if it was on fire and pointed wordlessly to a spot somewhere behind Harry's left shoulder. He whirled around on his broom. The Snitch was hovering right above the goalpost closest to them, a tiny gold sparkle in the morning light. Hermione was staring at it fixedly, her eyes wide.

"Should we get it?" she said tentatively.

"You can try for it," Harry smiled. "Go on."

Hermione looked back at him, her face a mask of determination. "All right," she said gravely. Without warning she bent low over her broom, and in a burst of speed that almost knocked Harry sideways, she shot towards the Snitch like a bullet.

Harry goggled. This was the absolute last thing he'd expected; he'd thought she would go after the Snitch slowly so she could aim and have a chance at catching it. But it was so like Hermione to immerse herself in something completely, with a single-minded focus -- though he'd never imagined Quidditch would fall into that category. He watched in disbelief as she hurtled towards the Snitch like a rocket, weaving slightly as if unused to the great speed.

Harry shook himself. She'd never catch it at that pace; this was her first time flying so fast. He gunned his Firebolt forward, pelting towards the goalpost and the Snitch. What if she veered off course and crashed into the stands? He'd have to be there if she faltered.

The world sped into a blur as Harry flattened himself to the broom handle and urged the Firebolt towards Hermione, who was still zooming towards the Snitch. Suddenly, in a flutter of wings, the golden glint at the goalpost was gone. Harry blinked. Hermione must have seen it too, because she quickly changed course.

Straight down.

The bottom fell out of Harry's stomach. Hermione was going into a dive.

Harry could barely think. He shot towards the ground, his Firebolt gaining speed as he strained to see what Hermione could possibly be doing. And then he saw it. The Snitch was zipping quickly towards the grass, and Hermione was barely a foot away from it, her eyes focused on the tiny golden ball.

She's going to crash, Harry thought. His insides gave a sickening lurch. She can't see where she's going, she's just watching the Snitch, she doesn't know how to orient herself --

In a heartbeat he was alongside her, the ground hurtling towards them faster and faster, Hermione's eyes still fixed on the golden Snitch flitting tantalizingly out of reach.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, the wind whipping the words out of his mouth. "STOP!"

Harry's yell shook Hermione like a bolt of lightning. She blinked and seemed to realize for the first time that she was rocketing earthward. She gasped and clung to the Nimbus. "Harry!"

"Pull up!" Harry shouted, mentally counting the seconds before they hit the ground. He had to act fast. He drew closer to her, their brooms dangerously close to colliding.

"I can't!" Hermione gasped. She was now straining hard at the handle of her Nimbus, but the force of the fall was too great, and the Nimbus seemed locked into its path.

Harry lunged forward and grabbed Hermione with one arm. Gripping his Firebolt between his knees, he let go of his broom handle with his other hand and wrenched the Nimbus upward with all his strength. Hermione shrieked as the broom flew from her grasp and pitched her sideways into Harry; it shot away, riderless, tumbling end-over-end. Harry gripped Hermione tightly, swaying as her broom fell away, and grabbed his Firebolt again with his free hand. The ground was only feet away. Harry strained against the Firebolt's handle and pulled with everything he could muster. The grassy field suddenly gave a great lurch as the world righted itself. Harry had wrenched the Firebolt out of its nosedive half a breath before they would have slammed into the ground. They tumbled harmlessly onto the field in a tangle of limbs and Quidditch robes as Harry's arms suddenly gave out from the effort.

Harry opened his eyes. His vision was blurry; his glasses must have fallen off. He was still gripping Hermione tightly around her waist. He shifted his arms and legs gingerly; nothing seemed broken. Hermione's face was buried in his chest, her robes muddy with grass stains. Harry tried to speak but got a mouthful of brown curls; he brushed them aside and stroked her head gently.

"Hermione?" he said softly. Answer, please answer.

To his great relief Hermione moved, tilting her head up to his and blinking. One of her cheeks was red and streaked with dirt from the pitch, but the scrape wasn't bleeding. She was breathing in ragged gasps.

"You alright?" Harry said, not daring to move in case she was hurt.

Hermione wriggled her legs, then nodded. Harry's eyes stung; his entire body felt weak with relief. "Good," he said huskily.

"Oh Harry -- " Hermione began, her eyes filling with tears.

And then it happened.

Harry never knew what forces posessed him at that moment. All he knew was that his entire universe had become that Quidditch pitch, and his whole world had become the girl in his arms, his best friend, who was stubborn, and brave, and smart, and loyal, and unlike anyone else he'd ever known. And miraculously, she was not hurt, or dead, as Harry had anticipated with terror for the ten horrible seconds of their dive, and he had to show her how he felt somehow, he had to tell her everything, everything he'd been feeling since that first moment he saw her on Platform Nine and Three Quarters and his entire life had turned upside down.

Harry ran a hand gently through Hermione's tangled curls, tipped her face to his, and kissed her.

It was like nothing Harry had ever experienced in his life.

Hermione froze, shocked, and then, to his great astonishment, sank into the kiss, and his entire body was swept with waves that felt like fire and lightning, floo powder and fireworks, butterbeer and pink bubble bath. Harry was barely aware that they had rolled over and his Firebolt was now jammed into his knee and the grass was soaking through their tangle of robes and he heard a crunch that sounded suspiciously like his glasses, because he was somewhere else, he was home at last, he was kissing Hermione --

He was kissing Hermione.

His eyes flew open. Hermione had apparently heard the crunch of his glasses, because she was struggling upright, her hair pulled halfway out of her ponytail in a wild tangle, and fumbling through their practice robes. A few seconds later she pulled Harry's glasses from the grass near his left elbow. Harry's vision was blurred, but he could tell that both lenses were shattered. Hermione pulled her wand out of a pocket under her robes and touched it to the glasses.

"Oculus Repairo," she said softly.

There was a quiet "fwip" as Harry's glasses magically reassembled themselves. Harry was suddenly a frightened first-year on the Hogwarts Express, staring open-mouthed at Hermione as she pointed a wand right between his eyes and fixed his broken frames. That was the first time he'd ever met her.

Hermione handed Harry his glasses and he put them back on. Hermione was flushed and muddy, her eyes unnaturally bright as she then handed him his Firebolt, which looked unscathed but was plastered with wet grass.

There was a very long silence.

"You're -- you're okay then," said Harry. He felt numb, but his entire body was tingling. His brain kept repeating the same three little words. I kissed Hermione. I kissed Hermione. I kissed --

"I -- think so," said Hermione blankly.

There was another long silence.

"I'm s-sorry about the Snitch," Hermione said quietly.

"Oh no, no, it's okay," said Harry vaguely. Thoughts were creeping back into his head now, flashes of what had just happened, of Hermione darting after the Snitch, plummeting towards the ground -- "I just didn't expect you to really go after it, is all."

Hermione flushed scarlet. "I guess I just thought -- I mean, I've watched you so many times -- "

Harry was struck by a sudden realization that was funny and touching at the same time. Hermione had gone to all his games, and watched him fly, and she thought --

"You thought that's the only way to go for a Snitch?" he said slowly, his face breaking into a smile. "Take off like a rocket?"

Hermione started to laugh in spite of herself. She shifted again, as if to stand, and suddenly gasped, forcing one hand down her sleeve and pulling it out again quickly, something tiny and golden clutched in her fingers.

Harry caught his breath; Hermione opened her hand. The Snitch was balanced lightly on her palm, fluttering its wings.

"Well, it worked," Hermione said with a crooked smile.

The tension dissapated with a rush like air shooting from a punctured balloon. Both of them dissolved into laughter. Harry, still unable to think straight, climbed unsteadily to his feet and dusted off his robes, then offered a hand to Hermione, who took it and allowed him to help her up. I kissed Hermione, he thought again stupidly. Harry noticed with a start that his hand was shaking. Hermione's hand was shaking too.

"I suppose we'd better get cleaned up," Hermione said, a tremor still in her voice. "Where's my broom?"

"Oh, right," said Harry distractedly, taking his wand from his pocket. It had thankfully not been crushed. Harry often wondered whether wands were especially resilient to their owners' collisons and accidents; his own had certainly survived more violence than most. "Accio Nimbus!" he said firmly. They squinted across the field as a tiny object flew towards them, growing larger as it zoomed into view. It was the Nimbus, none the worse for wear except for a few bent twigs.

The two of them walked slowly back across the field with their broomsticks over their shoulders. Harry felt dizzy and bruised and elated and terrified, his arms beginning to ache sharply from his efforts, his lips still tingling with the afterglow of Hermione's, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. They talked on the way back to the castle, but when he thought about it later Harry couldn't say what they had talked about. He just knew neither of them spoke about what had happened. I was just relieved she was alive, Harry thought, it was instinct, it was a spontaneous reaction, she probably knows that's what happened --

But it wasn't true. Kissing Hermione felt more right than anything he'd done all year, almost anything he'd done in his life. Maybe only flying came close to the sensation.

Harry barely knew how he made it into the shower in the boys' dormitory. He stood for a long time under the steaming blast of water, face upturned to the spout, eyes closed, remembering.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A figure in dark green robes was staring out across the Quidditch pitch. In the cold dawn he'd walked across the grounds, silent as usual, noting with surprise the twin set of footprints leading the way to the Gryffindor locker room. At this hour, there was usually only one set.

He'd cracked open his own locker room door soundlessly. If he was quiet, he'd be able to watch his rival team's captain practicing new moves. He liked to pride himself in knowing every detail about his enemy.

But the scene that had met his eyes when he slid the door open was nothing he'd ever expected.

Potter was with Granger. Granger, that bushy-haired, bucktoothed, insufferable know-it-all. She'd returned this year as a lovely insufferable know-it-all, truth be told, but she was still... Granger.

And they were both flying. Draco stared as the Gryffindor captain, the best damn seeker in the school, probably one of the best seekers ever to hold a broom -- no use pretending -- glided alongside his friend patiently as if his broom had training wheels. This was not normal. Harry was usually flying hard at this time in the morning, gunning that Firebolt around the field as if attempting to break the sound barrier. Draco rubbed his eyes. He wasn't hallucinating.

And the look on their faces -- good lord, it was disgusting, but it was also -- Draco shuddered. It was sweet. Potter and Granger were beaming as if their lives depended on following each other around the blasted pitch. And knowing them, Draco thought wryly, they're too bloody clueless to realize anything. Draco noted with satisfaction that this would be excellent ammunition the next time he encountered the Terrible Trio in the halls. He knew what that look meant, that puppy-dog smile. He'd seen other people look at each other that way, but it was usually after a late night in a club, after ingesting certain pills, and those people most often ended up in a mess of sheets with clothing thrown all over the room, and -- well, he wouldn't know anything about that. Draco grinned.

But what -- Draco started. What in nine hells --

Granger had sped off towards one end of the field, clearly shaky on her broomstick, heading for one of the goalposts. And Potter had shot after her a few seconds later.

Draco watched in disbelief as the two robed figures neared the goalposts and then suddenly dove for the ground at a breakneck speed, one after the other. His heart stopped.

I mean, Draco thought absently as he gripped his own broom handle in terror, Potter's a complete ass, but it's not like I want him to die or anything. Life would be so much less fun.

Though it looked like Potter and Granger were giving death their best shot at the moment. Draco threw open the door of the Slytherin locker room as Harry and Hermione dove perilously towards the field, but it was too late. He'd never reach them in time. The two Gryffindors were half a breath from hitting the ground, but Harry --

Draco stared. Harry was grabbing Hermione, he had both hands off his Firebolt, he was flinging her broom away at an impossible angle, he had pulled her onto his broom --

Draco felt his knees go weak as the the two figures, so close to the ground, veered sickeningly upright on Harry's broom and then tumbled onto the field. Impossible. Only Potter, Draco thought, realizing he had broken into a cold sweat. Only Potter could have --

What happened next was even more shocking.

Draco stepped back into the dark locker room and closed the door, leaving it open a few inches. He ran a hand through his blonde spikes, grinning to himself.

Apparently Potter wasn't as clueless as he'd thought.



* * * * *

They did it! They did it! :) Acknowledgements, which I've been forgetting to add... Thanks, reviewers of Chapter 4! Your reviews have been great: Lily Vance, GoldenSnitch, Griffon, Cheddar, Carla, Lauren, Erin, Ashley, Sir Eric, Miuccia, Water-Lily, Dracella, Sylph, Aphrodite, and Avaka. Thanks also to all the folks on board the good ship H/H! Stay tuned...

= the chapter has now ended =

Review!

6. Chapter 6

Title: Blush
Author: Granger
Author Email: ali_granger@yahoo.com
Category: Romance, Humour
Keywords: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Quidditch, Fifth Year
Spoilers: All four books
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry returns from a summer at Quidditch Camp to find his best friends... transfigured. Love, lust, magic, and music abound. And we always knew Draco was a rock star.
Pairings: H/H, Ron/Other, maybe more...
Author's note:
Chapter 6: This was a very difficult chapter to write, which is why it took such a long time. Unfortunately I'm not too fond of it, but hopefully I have just been looking at it for too long. Please bear with me, I have no betas!
General Notes: All music quoted in this story is highly recommended for listening while reading. This story is dedicated to anyone who's ever fallen for their best friend. And to the folks aboard the HMS Pumpkin Pie.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * * * *

i keep falling over i keep passing out when i see a face like you
what am i coming to?
i'm gonna melt down

-- "Black Star," Radiohead



Blush : Chapter Five

Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff two hundred to zero that Saturday morning, but Harry hardly noticed.

Never mind that it was his first game as Captain, his first match since Quidditch Camp, his first time playing on the team with Ron. Harry didn't think he'd have cared if he was playing against a team of Death Eaters with a Hungarian Horntail as the opposing Seeker. For the past week he'd only been able to think about one thing, and one thing only.

Her name was Hermione.

And she was his best friend, and he'd kissed her after watching her almost dive to her death on a broomstick. It had been one hell of a dive. And, incidentally, it had been one hell of a kiss. Neither of which they had acknowledged since.

Instead, for all appearances their life had been perfectly normal, the two of them continuing their daily routine at the library, heads bent together over books and parchment, acting for all the world as if nothing had happened. Except that Harry felt anything but normal. The closest he'd come to feeling like this before had been during the third task of the Tri-Wizard tournament, when he'd walked through golden mist to find the world turned upside down. But in the Maze, that sensation had only lasted a few minutes, until he had managed to take a step forward. He felt like that all the time now, like he was floating through a waking dream where gravity was malfunctioning slightly, as if he was revolving on a slow and wobbly course around the distant sun that was Hermione.

Harry was vaguely aware that he'd left the locker room that morning, that he'd walked onto the field to shake hands with Justin Finch-Fletchley, that he'd called his team together, that he'd told them -- something -- and that Madam Hooch had blown the whistle. His life regained a few moments of brilliant clarity as he flew up into the air scouting for the Snitch, his mind focused for ten breathless minutes on the Snitch and the Snitch alone. In those ten minutes Alicia and Angelina scored twice each, and Ron managed to get three determined shots on goal before scoring his first points for Gryffindor.

Then Harry had spotted the Snitch, hovering dreamily in the morning sunshine near the Ravenclaw bleachers, and he had shot towards it without thinking. He caught the Snitch with a move that felt as easy as breathing, as instinctive as a sneeze. The game was over before it had really started, and Harry was touching down on the field again as his teammates piled onto him, barely noticing their yells as his life slipped back into its usual dreamlike state. He was searching the stands for one person, the only person whose cries of victory he needed to hear, and suddenly she was crushing him into a hug before he realized what was happening. Then she was breaking free to hug Ron, who gave a great whoop, picked her up, and swung her around.

"Did you see?" Ron beamed as he set a gasping Hermione back onto her feet.

"Y-yes," she panted, attempting to catch her breath. "That was marvelous, Ron. Your first goal! And Harry -- " She looked up at Harry, her eyes shining. "That was quite a move you made for the Snitch. I've never seen anyone catch it so fast."

Harry's heart did a flip. "Oh, um. Thanks," he said, attempting to wipe the sweat from his forehead with a faded Gryffindor team towel, and trying not to grin quite so broadly.

A blonde blur wearing a red and gold scarf and a blue Ravenclaw sweater suddenly shot from the crowd and wrapped her limbs completely around Ron.

"Oooh RON!" Emma shrieked, as Ron staggered slightly. "You were just amazing! Really, really amazing!" She flung her arms around Ron's neck with reckless abandon, stood on her tiptoes, and planted a deep kiss on his lips.

Harry glanced down at Hermione, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. She looked up at Harry and rolled her eyes.

Well, thought Harry with a note of mild wonderment, at least I'm not the only one who's grown a bit tired of the All-Emma, All-The-Time Show. He felt a sudden surge of affection for Hermione, at the way she always seemed to be tuned into the odd wavelength of his own thoughts -- and felt the color rising in his cheeks. Bloody hell, not again. Couldn't he just get used to his knees going weak every ten minutes in Hermione's presence? He could almost set his watch by it, and yet every single time his cheeks turned the color of overripe tomatoes.

"Oi! Harry! Ron!" Fred Weasley's red head could be seen through the crowd; he was beckoning to them. "Party in the common room, did you want to stand around on the field all day?" His expression changed when he saw what was occupying Ron. "Ron Weasley, lay off the Romeo act, you silly git!"

Ron turned red to the roots of his flaming hair and attempted to extract himself from Emma's embrace as Fred broke through the crowd to impatiently tug on his sleeve.

"But Ron," she protested. "We were going to have a party for you in the Ravenclaw common room."

Ron looked tremendously guilty; Harry's insides gave a squirm.

"The party won't last all day, Emma" he found himself saying. "Ron'll have time to come to Ravenclaw."

Ron shot Harry a grateful glance as Emma's face brightened. "Yeah, Emms, I'll see you in a few hours," he said quickly.

As Emma dashed back to her cluster of starry-eyed Ravenclaw girls, Harry found himself alone at last with Ron and Hermione. The three of them fell silent.

It seemed like years since they'd been alone together, just the three of them. Harry's stomach twisted painfully. He'd never have imagined that a moment alone with Ron and Hermione would become a precious rarity. And now, together at last with his two best friends in the world, he couldn't believe how little they knew about what was going through his head at the moment. He'd never imagined that there would be things he couldn't tell Hermione, that there would be a time Ron wouldn't know exactly what he was thinking.

There was so much Ron didn't know.

Ron shifted and shouldered his broom. Hermione looked up at him. Both of them looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

"Best get back to the common room," Ron said. "It's your first victory party as Captain, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry said. His voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away. "It's your first victory party as well, y'know."

Ron nodded and gave Harry a wistful half-smile. He stepped forward and put one arm around Harry's shoulders, and looped his other arm through Hermione's.

"Well then, boss," he said, "I think it's time to celebrate."

And the three of them moved slowly across the field, Harry's mind whirling, feeling a bit like he'd stepped into the green flames of the Floo network and forgotten to stop at his destination.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Sirius, I hope you're doing well. My scar hasn't hurt yet this term, and no one's tried to kill me yet, which has to be some sort of new record. I can only assume it's because of the work you're doing with the Aurors -- Dumbledore hasn't told me much, but I know you must be involved. Anyway, I hope this isn't a bother, but I have something I need to ask you --

Dear Sirius, How's it going? I was wondering if I could ask --

Dear Sirius, I have a quick question. You see, I have this friend, and he may be in love with his best friend, and I was hoping to get your opinion --

Dear Sirius, I --

Harry scowled, crumpled his piece of parchment, and tossed it into his open trunk, which was already littered with the discarded beginnings of at least a dozen letters. Hedwig, perched atop his four-poster bed, hooted in annoyance, sensing that she would once again be deprived of a delivery.

Harry had attempted to Owl his godfather countless times in the past few weeks, but writing down his feelings had never been his strong suit, to put it mildly. Sirius was travelling the continent with a small force of Aurors fighting against the newly risen Dark Lord, and Harry couldn't bring himself to bother Sirius with such a seemingly insignificant problem as a kiss.

On top of that, it looked as if talking with Ron was near hopeless. It may have been dawning on Ron that his presence at Harry and Hermione's side was sorely missed, but it didn't seem that Ron himself had any power to change things. Whenever Harry was alone with Ron after a class, after Quidditch practice or after band rehearsal, Emma would mysteriously appear within a matter of moments with the uncanny punctuality of a barn owl delivering the morning's Daily Prophet. She seemed to know every minute of Ron's haphazard schedule by heart, right down to the routes he took from class to class, and his preferred choice of restroom (third floor, next to a portrait of a wizard in hunting robes and his two spotted dogs who wagged their tails at passers-by). Harry knew Ravenclaw girls were smart, but he couldn't quite believe Emma's aptitude for second-guessing Ron, who always seemed both pleased and bewildered to see her.

Tonight was the Yule Ball contest, the night before the Halloween Feast, and the fading light outside the dormitory window meant that the contest would soon be starting. Harry abandoned his latest attempt at a letter (Dear Sirius, I kissed my best friend -- no, it wasn't Ron --) and muttered an apology to Hedwig, who settled on his shoulder and nipped his ear affectionately before taking flight into the darkening sky. Shrugging off his school robes, Harry groped for a clean shirt and jeans underneath the pile of crumpled letters in his trunk and quickly pulled them on. He'd brought his bass down from the music wing after their practice that morning, and he slung the case over his shoulder, glancing in the hall mirror as he headed for the spiral staircase to the common room. His jet-black hair was as untidy as ever, and the green eyes that looked back at him from behind round glasses were ringed in dark circles. "Get some sleep, will you?" scolded the mirror.

Harry had been too preoccupied with other things -- well, Hermione, really -- to be nervous about the contest, but as he entered the Great Hall he felt a sharp pang of anxiety settle in his stomach. The house tables were gone, replaced by row upon row of purple folding chairs. A golden stage stood where the faculty table usually did, at the far end of the hall, and a long table was in front of the first row of seats. A few professors were already seated at the long table; most of the school was filing in and milling about amongst the purple chairs. A banner hung above the stage which read in flowing gold script, "Hogwarts First Annual Yule Music Contest." As Harry stared, the gold script began to rewrite itself until the banner now read, "Contestants Please Report to the Gold Door."

Harry blinked. The door at the back of the Great Hall, which lead to the room he'd seen after his name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, was now a shimmering golden color. He shouldered his bass, which gave him a muffled mental "ouch!" and began to push his way through the crowd and towards the golden door at the back of the hall.

When Harry opened the golden door he almost slammed it shut again. A wave of chaotic noise assaulted him like a blast from the end of a Skrewt. The room behind the Great Hall, so elegant and quiet when he'd last seen it as a Tri-Wizard Champion, was packed to bursting with students and bizarre-looking instruments. Trails of random spells were flying everywhere as the contestants warmed up, tuning their instruments and casting last-minute musical incantations. Harry ducked to avoid a stray blast of pink sparks from the end of a Hufflepuff girl's tuba and scanned the room for Ron, Neville, and Ginny. He finally spotted them huddled together in chairs on one side of the room's ornate fireplace and made his way over to them.

Neville looked a wreck. He was fidgeting distractedly with a polishing cloth, not seeming to notice that he was no longer shining his Flanimus, but was now rubbing a hole in the knee of his trousers. Ginny looked distinctly pale under her bright hair and was twirling her drumsticks nervously. Ron was -- Harry couldn't quite believe it. Ron Weasley, who Harry had always assumed would rather hang upside down over a cage of spiders than get up in front of the school, seemed perfectly relaxed. In fact, thought Harry, Ron seemed even happier than usual, as if the thought of a public performance was a pleasant thing, not, as Harry imagined, a humiliation to be endured.

It's not humiliating, said a dry voice in his head. Now, you want humiliating, I'll see if I can arrange something --

Thanks, but I'm quite all right, Harry thought quickly. He and his bass were on more familiar terms now; Harry wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not.

I've gotten up in front of this school far too many times already, thought Harry. Doesn't make it any easier.

I don't know why you young wizards insist on making everything such a struggle, said the bass. Take that girl, for instance. Your friend. Hermione. Now, if you'd only realize --

I do not want to talk about Hermione right now!

"Harry, you made it!" Ron was standing to clap Harry on the back before Harry had a chance to further reprimand his bass.

"Yeah," said Harry. We'll finish this later, he thought. "Quite a scene, really. I wasn't expecting -- "

"Isn't it great? Look at this!" Ron motioned to the huge mirror that hung over the fireplace. Harry had noticed it before, but had never really given it a second glance. Now, craning his neck to look into it, Harry was startled to see that his own image wasn't staring back at him. In fact, the mirror didn't seem to be reflecting anyone or anything in the crowded chamber; instead, in its glassy depths, Harry could see a vast, empty floor -- and a single golden door.

"Is that -- the Great Hall?" said Harry, flabbergasted.

"The mirror's enchanted to show us the stage," grinned Ron. "So we can watch the contest while we wait to be called."

"Nice bit of magic," Neville squeaked, twisting his polishing rag into a tight knot. "Hullo Harry!"

"Hi, Neville," said Harry. "Doing all right?"

"I think so," said Neville, his voice breaking slightly.

Harry started as a hand squeezed his shoulder from behind.

"Hello everyone," said Hermione breathlessly, emerging from the crowd to stand beside Harry. Harry's knees went weak. He was simultaneously overcome by a sense of relief and an attack of the all too familiar Good-Lord-It's-Hermione butterflies.

"'Lo, Hermione," Harry managed. Ginny was beaming at Hermione happily.

Oh, this is so silly, said the dry voice. If you'd just listen --

Will you shut it? Harry was rapidly losing patience. I'm a wizard. You're a piece of wood. Does the word Incendio mean anything to you?

"Something wrong?" Hermione was peering up at Harry with a look of concern. Harry realized he was scowling and quickly shook his head.

"No, no, I'm fine. Just a bit distracted."

Just trying to help, said the dry voice. It sounded miffed.

Sorry, Harry thought, feeling an immediate pang of regret. I'm just sort of... It's kind of complicated.

S'alright, said the voice. I like you. You're not the most musical wizard I've ever encountered, but you're honest.

Thanks.

'Course, it does help that you've got enough magic in you to power a large orchestra.

Harry grinned.

"How'd you get back here, Hermione?" Ginny had moved to Hermione's other side and hooked an arm through hers. "I thought this was supposed to be contestants only."

Ron looked up from his guitar, which he was testing with last-minute tuning spells, and seemed to notice Hermione for the first time.

"Admit it," he smiled. "All these years of hanging out with me and Harry -- you're a regular rule-breaker these days."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh honestly," she said. "Professor McGonagall told me I could come back here. I couldn't sit and watch you all from the Great Hall, I was too nervous."

Ron's face cracked into a grin. "Feeling a bit out of sorts that you couldn't help us by going to the library?"

Hermione turned bright pink with indigation. "You may not understand this, Ron Weasley," she began haughtily, "but there's a thing called friendship -- "

Ron's expression softened. "I know, I know, I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. He took a breath. "I -- I've been meaning to tell you something -- "

But at that moment a voice issued from somewhere above them, magnified as if by one of Ludo Bagman's "Sonorus" spells. Harry realized with a start that it was coming from the mirror, and quickly found a seat between Ron and Hermione.

"Good evening, students, faculty, and contestants," said the voice, which Harry immediately recognized as Dumbledore's. He looked into the mirror to see the headmaster standing in the center of the stage, his arms open in welcome.

"Welcome to the Hogwarts Yule Music Contest," he said. "This is the first of what I hope will be many musical events at Hogwarts for years to come. With the aid of Professor Trebble, we have provided enchanted instruments for many of you and assembled a panel of judges for the event. In the spirit of fair play, we hope all contest entries will be... appropriate."

Guffaws from the back of the room. Harry knew the voices at once: Crabbe and Goyle. He turned and saw that Draco Malfoy was standing with them near the back of the room, leaning lazily against a wall. Draco looked -- well, wicked, Harry thought, in every sense of the word. His bleached white hair, pale eyes, and pale skin stood out in stark contrast to his black sleeveless t-shirt, black leather pants, and black combat boots. He had a gleaming black electric guitar slung casually over one shoulder which looked as if it might be worth the price of a small car. Harry, on the other hand, had pulled on the only clothes he owned that were not filthy from Quidditch practice -- a pair of faded jeans, a blue long-sleeved t-shirt, and his striped Adidas. And his bass, of course, was proudly emblazoned with the words, "Property of Hogwarts Music Dept." Draco caught Harry's glance and shot him a simpering smile. Harry glowered at him.

"The contestants will be judged on musical talent, creativity, technical merit, and in the case of a group of students, their... synchronicity." A small smile played around the corner of Dumbledore's mouth. "One musical number per contest entry, please. And though you can see that I have provided seats, there is no rule against audience members standing up to dance."

Laughter and cheers from the crowd. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"And now," he said when the cheers had died down, "I shall turn over the spotlight to Professor Trebble."

Harry watched as a slim, long-nosed man with glasses and sandy hair took Dumbledore's place at the center of the stage as the crowd applauded. "Without further ado, let's bring out our first contestants," Professor Trebble said in a high, melodic voice. "From Ravenclaw House... Bell, Book, and Candle."

Harry glimpsed the banner far above the stage rewrite itself to read "Bell, Book and Candle," in gold script letters as three nervous-looking Ravenclaw sixth-years, two boys and a girl, approached the stage toting folding chairs and acoustic guitars. The girl was carrying what looked like a long blue-silver flute. The trio looked around apprehensively, unfolded their chairs, and sat down. Harry recognized the effects of a Harmonius spell as a tiny golden glow swam between the three instruments. The Ravenclaws glanced at each other and began to play.

Harry noticed immediately that their style of music was different from anything he'd heard before. One of the boys was singing quietly, his voice thin and oddly accented, and the words of his song was even stranger: "Make a new cult every day to suit your affairs... Kissing girls in English at the back of the stairs..." The group was swaying together, looking quite serious, their sound a mix of jangly acoustic guitars and carefully blended vocal harmonies. At the song's bridge, the girl pulled out her flute and began to play; it sounded more like a trumpet than a flute, an eerie, refined melody. "Stars of track and field are beau-ti-ful people..." crooned the singer as the song drew to a close.

Harry glanced over at Ron and almost burst out laughing. Ron was staring at the mirror, eyebrows raised, forehead crinkled in a look of distate and pure bewilderment. As the band exited the stage, the contestants' waiting room broke into polite applause.

Hermione was smiling and clapping. "Lovely," she whispered to Ron and Harry. "Did you hear the words? Very poetic. Reminds me of a novel I read while on holiday in France -- "

"Hermione," Ron whispered. "That wasn't rock and roll. That was snivelling, set to music."

"Well really," hissed Hermione. "Did you expect every entry in this contest to be a tuneless howling racket?"

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. He realized with a pang that he hadn't heard Ron and Hermione snipe at each other in far too long.

Ron's face was pink under his freckles. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Professor Trebble's voice.

"Thank you. Next, we have the... ah... Kneazles. From Hufflepuff."

The Kneazles turned out to be a group of five fresh-faced Hufflepuff second-years who played the opening notes of "Eight Days a Week" four times before finally managing to start the song. Their enthusiasm was so infectuous, however, that the hall cheered wildly when they finished, and Harry heard the shuffling of many people taking their seats again as if they'd been dancing, prompting Neville and Ginny to exchange nervous looks. "Pitiful," drawled Draco Malfoy over the applause in the waiting room. Harry tried not to turn around. He was afraid of what he might do if he caught a glimpse of Malfoy's smug face.

Next came a painfully lovely Slytherin first-year girl, Victoria Langstrom, who seated herself on a folding chair with great authority, tossed back her glossy dark brown hair, and played the violin so expertly that Ron began to slump in his chair.

"You can't dance to that, Ron," muttered Harry as Victoria rose and bowed to thunderous applause. "This contest is for the Yule Ball, not the London Philharmonic."

"The Philhar-what?" said Ron. But before Harry could explain, Professor Trebble cleared his throat and announced, "The, ah... The next entry goes by the name of... Zonko."

"Isn't that the name of the joke shop -- " began Harry, but he was cut short as Hermione and Ron each grabbed one of his arms.

"Oh no," said Hermione.

"Uh-oh," said Ron.

Ginny was clutching Ron's other arm, her eyes now tightly closed. "No explosions," she whispered fervently. "No explosions, please no explosions..."

"Why didn't they tell me..." Ron was muttering.

Harry looked up, bewildered, and suddenly realized why Ginny, Hermione, and Ron looked ready to crawl under their chairs. Fred and George Weasley, who had somehow escaped attention in the waiting room, were taking the stage with their best friend Lee Jordan. Harry didn't understand why he hadn't spotted them earlier; all three of them were wearing the most outrageous outfits Harry had ever seen.

Fred and George had somehow enchanted their hair so that it was standing straight up as if they had stuck their fingers into one of the electric sockets Arthur Weasley kept in his garage. Lee Jordan's dreadlocks were not their usual brown, but a garish shade of blue; he was wearing a bright green track suit and six-inch platform boots. George was wearing red vinyl pants, a yellow and blue striped shirt with enormous lapels, and a purple bandana around his forehead. And Fred -- Harry rubbed his eyes. Fred Weasley was wearing a dress. A long, matronly, silver-sequined dress, something that Harry's Aunt Petunia might wear to Uncle Vernon's annual company Christmas party. With a jolt of fear Harry suddenly wondered whether Fred had gotten into Petunia's closet when he'd come to pick up Harry this past summer at Privet Drive.

As Harry gaped at the waiting room mirror, Fred and George strapped on school-issue electric guitars, and Lee took his seat at a set of drums that had magically slid onto the stage as if on casters. The members of Zonko grinned maniacally at the crowd as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny cringed lower and lower in their seats.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman, wizards and witches, and... Professor Snape," said Fred jovially. "This is George Weasley on guitar, Lee Jordan on drums, and I'm Fred Weasley. We are..." He paused dramatically. "ZONKO."

At Fred's words, the Great Hall went completely dark. A huge blast of purple light exploded above his head, showering sparks everywhere, just as the stage blazed into life with noise. Fred, George, and Lee were thrashing around to the thunderous racket, Fred and George leaping wildly into the air and windmilling their arms as they assailed their guitars. "And we're stupid, and contagious! Here we are now, entertain us!" hollered George.

"Smells Like Teen Spirit?" whispered Hermione in disbelief.

This was too much for Ron. He began to laugh hysterically. Ginny, who had been staring dumbstruck at the mirror, blinked at Ron in surprise. She looked back up at Fred, leaping about the stage in his silver ballgown, his red hair standing on end, and gave a helpless giggle.

Her giggles were completely contagious. Soon Harry, Hermione, and Neville were doubled over. By the time "Zonko" ended their song with an ear-splitting screech and a riotous shower of fireworks, the entire waiting room was roaring with laughter. Fred, George, and Lee left the stage to resounding hoots of applause and an icy glare from Professor Trebble, whose fingers were jammed into his ears as he walked back onto the stage to announce the next contestants.

"I suppose if you've got no talent, you've got to go for laughs," came a coldly derisive voice from the back of the room.

"Shut it, Malfoy," said Harry and Ron together.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The waiting room was beginning to empty; Harry guessed that more than half of the contestants had played by now. The hilarity caused by the Weasley twins was beginning to die down, and Harry was getting increasingly nervous, thinking that any moment he might be called onto the stage. He was getting too nervous to enjoy most of the music, some of which had been surprisingly good, despite Draco Malfoy's constant stream of snide insults. Harry's bass was humming what was supposed to be a soothing little melody in his head. It wasn't helping. Harry appreciated the sentiment, but the tune sounded like a funeral march, and it was setting him a bit on edge.

Two tiny Gryffindor first-years had just fumbled their way through an earnest yet mistake-prone performance when Harry heard Draco's voice drift over the crowd for the upteenth time that evening. "Poor little gits, wouldn't know a tune if it bit them on their fat Mudblood arses," he began.

And suddenly, that was the last straw.

Harry felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. All the nervous irritation he'd been feeling exploded into a blinding rage. He couldn't help it. He shot out of his chair and faced Draco, nerves jangling, blood pounding in his temples.

"What's that you said, Malfoy?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Draco was still leaning against the wall, watching the giant mirror; a slow smile spread across his face when he saw the reaction he'd provoked in Harry. He'd clearly been hoping for this response all evening.

"Defending your ickle housemates, Potty Wee Potter?" Draco leered. "How sweet. Don't waste your breath, though, I'm sure you'll need it to foul up your own performance."

Harry felt Hermione place a hand on his arm to restrain him. "Ignore him," she hummed in the familiar lilt that Harry had come to know as her Don't-Be-Stupid-It's-Only-Malfoy voice.

But Harry couldn't ignore him. Weeks of anxiety and pent-up confusion were boiling into a furious storm that was making his head feel as if it were about to explode. His wand was already in his hand; he had no memory of reaching for it.

"Take it back, Malfoy," Harry said through gritted teeth. Another band had just started playing onstage, but no one was watching the mirror now. All eyes in the waiting room were on Harry and Draco.

Ron was getting to his feet, clearly surprised at the level of Harry's anger, but glaring at Malfoy nonetheless.

"You heard what he said, Malfoy," Ron said.

"Aren't you Gryffindors cute," said Draco silkily. "So brave and loyal. So honest and true to each other. Well..." He paused dramatically, clearly enjoying himself, and turned to Ron. "I'd bet I could tell you a few things about your supposed true-blue friends here, Weasley, that you don't know. Some things they've been hiding from you."

Harry's stomach gave an odd twist. What was Malfoy talking about? Could he possibly know --

But no one knew. Not Ron, not Sirius, not Hagrid. That was impossible.

"Harry," hissed Hermione, tugging on his arm again. "Leave it alone." There was a note of urgency in her voice. Harry wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. He squeezed her hand distractedly.

"Not interested," said Ron airily. "Whatever you have to say about my friends would be a lie. Why would I listen to you?"

"Oh, I think," drawled Draco, "that you'll be most interested to hear what I have to say. Especially since you've been too busy with your little leech of a girlfriend to have caught on to anything, anyway."

"What would you know about friends, Malfoy?" Harry interrupted. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, icy cold, bitter with fury. "You've never had any. Just two dim toadies who are too sod-all stupid to realize what a wretched self-serving git you are."

Crabbe and Goyle blinked vacantly until a violent nudge from Malfoy told each of them that Harry had just insulted them. They began to glower at Harry like two angry gorillas. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed into slits.

"I wouldn't be calling anyone self-serving if I were you, Potter," he hissed. "You were just waiting for Weasley here to get out of the picture so you could play your stupid shagging games with Granger. You know she's the only girl at this school desperate enough to let you have your way with her."

Ron's eyes were wide. "What?" he sputtered.

Harry could barely see. His eyes seemed to be covered with a red film of rage. His hands were clenched into fists. He raised his wand slowly to the level of Malfoy's pale eyes.

"Not another word," he whispered. "Not another word, you fucking bastard."

"Is this true?" said Ron incredulously, wheeling to face Harry and Hermione, who was still seated, clutching Harry's hand, her face completely drained of color.

Hermione didn't speak. She sat, frozen, staring up at Harry.

Harry couldn't look at Ron. It felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach. Draco Malfoy had just blurted out what Harry hadn't been able to say to Ron, to Sirius, to anyone. He'd linked Harry with Hermione. Draco Malfoy had said it. In his vulgar, disgusting, distorted way, Draco had said it first.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

"Thought they were your friends, did you, Weasley?" Draco drawled. "Think again. Don't you think your very bestest friends would have told you something like this? Well, go ahead. Ask them if you don't believe me."

Harry's wand was still pointed at Draco. Draco, eyes fixed on the wand, had slipped his hand into his pocket to draw his own.

"Is this true?" Ron repeated, a note of desperation in his voice. "He's putting us on, right, Harry? You and Hermione -- you'd have told me -- "

Harry didn't speak. He couldn't lie about Hermione. Not to Ron.

Ron took a step backwards, looking from Harry to Hermione. His face was slack with disbelief at their silence.

Draco began to chuckle. "It was quite charming, really," he said. "That morning on the Quidditch pitch -- "

Something inside Harry snapped.

"Furnunculus!" he shouted. A jet of green light shot from the end of his wand.

But Draco was ready.

"Densetrium!" he barked.



* * * * *

Thanks, reviewers of Chapter 5!
Hailey, Emily Rose, LaurenSkye, HarryNZ, Kamali, Carla, Cheddar, Erin, Kendra, Christine Evans, Ksenia, Avaka, Sylph, Stina, Steph, Venus, Jade, Korine, FreakyHPGurl, Beez81, QueenQueso, little*, Alexa, Lady Attolia, Sir Eric, Water-Lily, glitter-bug, Fogxlove, Headgirl, wuwu108, Aurora, and hermioneharry4ever :)

Songs quoted in this chapter include:
"Black Star," Radiohead
"Stars of Track and Field," Belle and Sebastian
"Eight Days a Week," The Beatles
"Smells Like Teen Spirit," Nirvana

= the chapter has now ended =

Review!

7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note:
For various reasons, this chapter took a very, very long time. I didn't mean to imitate JKR with my lack of punctuality... in any event, this chapter is a big one for Harry, and that was part of the reason it took so long. The fic's been pretty light and fluffy so far, but a bit of evil had to crash the party, or it just wouldn't be Harry's life otherwise. I hope you'll find that the turmoil is worth it. And don't worry, there is more fluff on the horizon, even if it doesn't appear in this chapter. Thanks to everyone who has been so patient, and to all those who kept asking me when the chapter was coming. ;) I probably wouldn't have finished it without you.

* * * * *

inspiration, move me brightly
light the song with sense and color, hold away despair
more than this i will not ask
faced with mysteries dark and vast

-- "Terrapin Station," The Grateful Dead



Blush : Chapter Seven

There were so many wonderful ways to vanish in the wizarding world.

One could, for example, hide under an invisibility cloak. Or disApparate. Or possibly vanish in a puff of smoke -- apparently a delightful party trick, although slightly impractical for wizards with hay fever.

Unfortunately, none of these things seemed likely to happen to Harry at the moment.

Harry felt every pair of eyes in the room swivel to fix on him. He took a long, steadying breath and tried to stop his hands from shaking. He felt a dull pain in his right hand and realized that he was gripping his wand so tightly that his fingernails were cutting into his palm.

Draco was glaring at Harry like a basilisk, but Harry could handle that. It was Ron and Hermione that Harry couldn't bear to face. And Ginny. And Neville. Harry took another breath and turned around.

Ron was white beneath his freckles, his lips set in an angry line, his eyes burning with hurt.

"Ron," Harry began, his voice oddly croaky and dry. "I tried to tell you -- "

"Later," said Ron hoarsely. "Can we talk about this later?"

Harry felt Hermione sit down beside him. He heard her breathe in sharply, as if she was muffling a sob.

"Out of the way, please!"

Madam Pomfrey was bustling into the room, several stretchers hovering just behind her, her arms filled with bandages. "Clear the area," she commanded. "I'll be taking students up to the hospital wing."

"Come on, Harry."

Someone was tugging at Harry's elbow. Harry turned, surprise filtering through his numb thoughts when he saw that it was Ginny. Her face was calm and resolute, framed by a light halo of dust that had settled in her bright hair. Ginny didn't speak, just took him by the arm and led him into a corner. Ron came next. Harry stared after Ginny in disbelief as she left Ron by Harry's side and started towards Malfoy. Ron's jaw fell open.

"She can't be serious -- " he muttered.

Harry didn't watch Ginny's next move, however. He was scanning the crowd for Hermione; at last he saw her, face hidden beneath a curtain of brown curls as she bent over Neville. A lump the size of a dragon egg settled in his throat.

"Brave Little Miss Weasley. You're joking, aren't you?"

Draco Malfoy's unmistakable drawl cut through Harry's thoughts. He was striding towards Harry and Ron, Ginny by his side, wearing an expression of mixed fury and revulsion. And something else, Harry thought, watching as Draco's eyes flicked vaguely towards Ginny's.

"Haven't pissed on us enough, then, Malfoy? Back for more?" Ron said.

Draco raised a slender, pierced eyebrow. "How could anyone be so stupid as to think this was my idea? Wait -- you're quite capable of being that stupid --"

"Quiet, both of you," said Ginny, her voice steely and cool. Malfoy's eyes widened, but surprisingly, he fell silent at the look on Ginny's face. She looked gravely at the three of them and crossed her arms.

"It just so happens that thanks to Snape, we are bound to perform in this contest by a wizarding contract. I'm going out there, even if your idiotic fighting means I have to play with him." Ginny inclined her head in Draco's direction, who remained strangely quiet. "Now, are any of you going out there with me, or do I have to fulfill our contract alone?"

Harry might have found the looks on Ron and Malfoy's faces comical had he not been so monumentally distracted. He had to go out there; none of this was Ginny's fault, and it was the very least he could do --

He managed to find his voice, which sounded rough and shaken. "I'll do it, Gin."

"Good lad." A faint murmur of approval rippled through his thoughts; Harry had almost forgotten about his bass in all the uproar, which was still slung heavily over one shoulder.

"'Course I'm with you, Gin." Ron's ears were red, but his voice was subdued.

Malfoy gave a pained sigh. "No Malfoy breaks a wizard contract. Not even to avoid trash like you three."

As if on cue, Professor Trebble's voice issued from the giant mirror once more. "We, ah, apologize for the delay... We'll have our next entry in a moment."

Ginny ignored Malfoy. "What are we playing, then? Quick."

"Well, I'm certainly not singing some little ditty written by a geezer old enough to be my grandfather," Draco drawled. "I've heard you lot practicing."

"Fine," Ron spat. "Got any better ideas?"

"How about one for Hero Boy here?" Malfoy batted his eyelashes at Harry, crooning into an imaginary microphone. "I'm only a man in a funny red sheet... lookin' for special things inside of me..."

"Be serious, please." Ginny was glaring daggers at Malfoy.

Draco leered back at her. "Ah, but of course, Miss Weasley. You'd rather I sing 'Fresh Pickled Toad?'"

"It looks as if we have a slight change to our schedule," came Professor Trebble's voice again. "Professor Snape has informed me that 'The Marauders' and 'Salazar' have been merged into a single entry. Not, ah, physically, don't worry -- "

"Pick something, all right?" Ron was turning red again.

Draco rolled his pale eyes. "Fine. Don't suppose you know 'The Bends.'"

"Muggle song, eh, Malfoy?" Ron scoffed. "I know it. Harry?"

Harry knew it. He even liked the song, though he would rather have professed his undying love to Crabbe and Goyle than admit it to Malfoy. "Yeah, I know it."

"Fine then, that'll do," said Ginny quickly, taking her drumsticks from her pocket. "Malfoy, I assume you know the Harmonius -- "

Ginny's inquiry was cut short as Trebble's voice issued from the mirror once more.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, with no further ado -- The Marauders!"

Uproar from the Great Hall.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry felt himself walk forward, following Ron's red head through the waiting room. He emerged from the stage door, blinking in the brilliant golden light illuminating the Great Hall, and caught a glimpse of the sea of upturned faces in the audience. This certainly couldn't be happening. Any moment now, Hermione would nudge him awake and tell him he'd slept through History of Magic again.

At the sight of Harry the audience hooted with cheers. Harry took a long breath, shifted his bass into position and watched Ginny climb into her seat at the drums. A Sonorous microphone was standing in the middle of the stage, Harry assumed by Malfoy's request.

There was a pause, and then Draco Malfoy sauntered from the stage door. He strode to center stage, slung his own gleaming black guitar across his chest, and grasped the microphone.

"That's Salazar and the Marauders," he winked, sneering at the Great Hall.

Pandemonium.

"I'll kill him," muttered Ron.

"Let's just get this over with, okay, Weasel?" Malfoy hissed under his breath. He had turned to face the three of them and was taking his wand from his pocket. "You think it's a lark for me to be seen with three Gryffindor clowns in front of the entire school?"

"Enough." Ginny's wand was out as well. Harry and Ron fumbled for theirs, and all four of them growled a resentful "Harmonius" as the crowd continued to murmur in apprehension. Golden light shot from instrument to instrument. Draco ran a hand through his cropped hair.

"And to think," he drawled quietly. "This is all because Potter was too embarrassed to tell the Weasel that he was shagging the ugliest hag at Hogwarts."

Harry wouldn't have thought it possible to feel a fresh wave of fury for Malfoy so soon, but he was wrong. His brain presented him with a delightful slideshow of Malfoy being toasted to a crisp by a Hungarian Horntail who bore an uncanny resemblance to Harry. If dragons could wear glasses, that is. Harry lunged towards Malfoy, but Malfoy shot him a leer and turned again to face the crowd.

"Right," Draco sighed lazily into the microphone. "I'm just doing this because they've paid me. One, two, three, four -- "

The noise that roared from their instruments shook the Great Hall like an explosion. Harry was so furious he could hardly see. Through the effects of the Harmonius charm he could sense equal fury emanating from Ron, Ginny, and Malfoy, which only added to his own. It was complete cacophony, like a thousand Mandrakes having a shouting match. For a few seconds Harry felt like his head was about to split in two with pain. They couldn't continue like this.

But then Ron sounded a chord that Harry recognized. He's not going to let Malfoy get to him, Harry thought. He's got it. That's the only way to win.

Fine idea, said the dry voice in his head. You know what to do.

Find my place. Right.

It was like trying to relax while being strangled by Devil's Snare. Harry felt himself falling backwards through the noise, groping for familiar sounds, finding Ron, then Ginny, then... Draco. A great booming note startled him into awareness and he realized it was him, he'd found it, he was in place in this hideous mess.

Suddenly the tremendous noise was transformed. A phenomenal yell by Draco Malfoy split the air and the four of them thundered into the opening chords of the song. Ginny's cymbals cut the noise and Draco began to sing.

Where do we go from here?
The words are comin' out all weird
Where are you now, when I need you
Alone on an aeroplane
Fallen asleep against the windowpane
My blood will thicken

He was incredible.

Harry couldn't believe it. As much as his entire soul was consumed with burning hatred for Draco Malfoy at this moment, Harry knew that Malfoy was singing like no one he'd ever heard. Malfoy was bitterly angry, biting off every word with a snarl, his eyes glittering, his voice hard and rough and clear all at once. Harry could only stare in stunned amazement.

And then Ron let loose at the end of the verse.

Harry had been astounded the first time he'd heard Ron play, but it was nothing compared to how Ron was playing now. It was above and beyond anything Harry could imagine, and it was all he could do to follow the music as Ron blazed into a feverish solo and roared out a blistering scale. Take that, Malfoy. Harry began to smile in spite of himself.

They pounded into the second verse and --

No one was singing. Harry looked up, alarmed.

Malfoy looked awestruck. He was staring at Ron as though Ron had just descended from another planet and announced his intentions to run for Minister of Magic.

Ron gave Malfoy a questioning glare and played another bar. Draco blinked, a smile curling the corner of his mouth, and began to sing again.

And now -- something was changing. Ron had seen Malfoy smile; as he turned back towards Harry, his own face was cracking into a smile. Something else was seeping through their fury; some other force was bubbling up through the Harmonious charm.

I need to wash myself again to hide all the dirt and pain
'Cause I'd be scared that there's nothing underneath
But who are my real friends?
Have they all got the bends?
Am I really sinking this low?

They sounded fantastic.

A wild flourish from Ginny and Harry felt his own awareness dissolve. He was no longer Harry, who played Quidditch, and got bad marks in Potions, and sometimes had a terrible temper. He was Harry-Ron-Ginny-Draco, and he was still burning with anger, but he was also fiercely happy, and he just couldn't believe this was possible, and neither could Ron-Ginny-Draco, for that matter.

My baby's got the bends, oh no
We don't have any real friends, no, no, no

Draco was strutting around the stage now, half-whispering into the microphone, his guitar abandoned and slung over his back, a delicious grin playing across his face.

Just lying in the bar with my drip feed on
Talking to my girlfriend, waiting for something to happen
I wish it was the sixties, I wish I could be happy
I wish, I wish, I wish that something would happen

Another blistering noise from Ron --

Where do we go from here?
The planet is a gunboat in a sea of fear
And where are you?
They brought in the CIA, the tanks and the whole marines
To blow me away, to blow me sky high

By the time they hit the next chorus, Ron was grinning like crazy. Harry took a step back to see Ginny, red hair flying, beaming with an expression he'd never seen on her face before. She was staring at Malfoy, drumsticks whirling. Malfoy turned to stare back at her as he sang the next verse, and briefly the world shrank to Ginny and Draco, her drums, his voice, pounding through the music.

Just lying in the bar with my drip feed on
Talking to my girlfriend, waiting for something to happen
I wish it was the sixties, I wish I could be happy

And then they all crashed back into the song. and they were building, soaring upwards, building towards something --

I wish, I wish, I wish that something would --

With a yell, Draco lept into the air as Ron flew into an earth-shattering solo. Suddenly Harry realized that he, Ron, and Draco were leaping around the stage like madmen. He couldn't help it.

I wanna live, breathe
I wanna be part of the human race

And then Ginny was pulling them out of the chaos with a flourish of cymbals, Draco coming to rest on his knees in the center of the stage, Ron turning to watch Malfoy as they played the final chords.

Where do we go from here?
The words are coming out all weird
Where are you now... when I need you?

And then it was over.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Professor Severus Snape did not consider himself to be a man easily surprised.

He was quite pleased with himself, in fact, as he strode from the contest waiting room, having just doled out a punishment to his least favorite student that would certainly result in an outrageous amount of public humiliation in front of the entire school.

The Malfoy boy had been involved as well, but no matter. He'd extend his apologies to Malfoy after tomorrow's detention. And it wasn't as if Draco was an innocent soul. He was, after all, a Slytherin. There were certain standards.

After explaining matters to poor blathering Trebble, Snape quickly made his way to the back of the Great Hall and settled into a dark corner to watch the mayhem unfold. He strongly doubted that all remaining band members would perform, and each possible combination would result in an embarrassing outcome. The two Weasleys? A feeble effort at best. Based on his experiences with the youngest Weasley, he predicted little Virginia would most likely turn red and run from the room. She did that often during Potions.

Potter and Weasley? A dynamic team, but Snape had heard James Potter sing once. Snape knew all too well that Harry took after his father in almost every way, and James Potter's musical talent had been inversely proportional to his skill on the Quidditch field. It was lucky for the Potter boy that Lily Evans had not dismissed her suitor on the basis of his ear-splitting serenade that evening in the Three Broomsticks.

Malfoy might go on alone, and in that case, the performance might be disappointingly competent. But if Malfoy did go on with any of the other three --

Snape smiled to himself and folded his arms across his long black robes. That would be something to see. He had every faith that Malfoy could humiliate Potter and Weasley beyond his wildest dreams.

Severus Snape did not consider himself to be easily surprised. Thus, he was only mildly startled when both Weasleys took the stage with Potter, and then Malfoy. He'd counted on at least two of them refusing to perform, but Potter and Malfoy were both proud and stubborn, and all Weasleys were known to be impulsive; quite possibly those traits had come into play.

Just as he'd predicted, they made an absolutely infernal racket. It was phenomenally atrocious. Snape's lip curled in satisfaction as students in the audience began covering their ears and trying to crawl under their chairs. He'd have to brew up something later tonight to restore any partial hearing loss from the experience, but it would be worth every minute.

And then -- something happened. To the music. To Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy, of all people.

Professor Severus Snape was shocked.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry was beginning to believe that he was trapped inside an alternate universe in which he was the butt of a very large cosmic joke. It was the only plausible explanation for what had just happened.

They'd won the bloody contest.

His brain had ceased to function properly right around the time they'd stopped playing. He had been vaguely aware of the tumultuous applause that had overwhelmed them as soon as their last chord had been struck. He did recall Ron, Ginny, and Malfoy looking every bit as stunned as he felt. At that point, his brain had reached some sort of sensory overload, and he felt just like one of Dudley's televisions that had been thrown out a second story window and could now only produce grey static on all channels.

Harry's bass had apparently had the sort of evening that amounted to winning the Quidditch Cup and a trip aboard Big Banjo's Tropical Cruiseline for Magical Instruments all rolled into one. Thankfully, this meant that after ten minutes of joyful celebration in Harry's head, the bass had lapsed into a contented silence, possibly too overwhelmed for the time being to contribute even one overly helpful remark about Harry's love life.

But even with the momentary peace granted by the bass, Harry's thoughts were hopelessly muddled. He did know he couldn't go back to the common room at the moment, if there was any chance Ron and Ginny would still be there. He didn't have the faintest idea what had happened on that stage, and he didn't want to talk to anyone about it; he was afraid he'd start speaking Parseltongue backwards, given his current mental state.

And he certainly couldn't face Hermione. Hermione, of all people, who was the one person Harry would give his wand arm to talk to at that very moment. He wanted so badly to feel her next to him, to hear her say in her matter-of-fact voice that everything was going to be all right: "Don't worry, Harry, Neville will be fine, I've looked up his condition in Hexes Gone Wrong, Madame Pomfrey is treating him properly and he'll be good as new tomorrow evening. What on earth are you worried about? Let's start on that Charms essay."

But after what Malfoy had done, Harry wasn't sure Hermione would be talking to him anytime soon. If ever.

Harry's eyes stung sharply. He couldn't think about that. He turned a corner and headed up another staircase as the local portrait inhabitants turned to stare and whisper.

Harry had been wandering aimlessly through the castle corridors since the last flabbergasted first-year had filtered from the Great Hall hours ago. He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking; his head was beginning to pound, and his shoulder ached with the weight of his bass. It was most likely past midnight now, and Filch would skin him alive if he caught him out of bed at this hour. Harry was past caring. Any punishment Filch could dish out would be nothing compared to what had already happened today. Filch could just get in line behind Snape and everyone else who wanted to strangle Harry at the moment.

Harry turned to enter a narrow hallway on the second floor and heard the distinct sound of footsteps. Definitely Filch. Out of habit Harry began looking for a spot to step out of view -- might as well try to avoid a second detention before he had to surrender. Luckily, there were doors all along this particular hallway, and Harry chose the nearest one and slipped inside. Glancing around, he saw that he was in a little-used Charms lecture hall. Flitwick preferred to teach in the larger room two doors down, so this room held only spare desks and supplies.

The footsteps drew closer; Harry could hear Filch muttering to Mrs.Norris. Harry sighed. He scanned the room and saw what he was looking for: a supply closet, much like the one in Flitwick's usual room. Muttering a quick Alohomora, Harry opened the closet to find it full of pillows for practicing summoning charms. Perfect. Harry climbed inside, settled himself on a deep pile of cushions, and took off his bass. He'd just wait here until Filch passed by.

He'd just wait in this blessedly dark closet, where no one would find him, where he could close his eyes for a moment and pretend that none of it had happened, pretend that his life was simple, simple the way it had been this summer after Quidditch Camp. He would pretend that the only thing he had to worry about in the world was helping Hermione carry her extra books to the library.

It would be so nice to see Hermione.

Harry felt his face curve into a smile as he listened absently for Filch's footsteps. He thought of Hermione's wide brown eyes, her long lashes tipped with gold as she lay next to him on the dappled grass by the lake. He thought of almost kissing her.

He thought of kissing her for real.

It was so nice in the dark.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pain.

Harry jolted awake, his forehead burning as if it was splitting open along the seam of his scar. He was covered in cold sweat, and it was so dark he couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or closed. It took him a moment to realize that he was still in the supply closet.

He retched as the next wave of pain seared through his scar, and fumbled desperately for the door. Have to get out of here. Going to be sick.

One of his feet struck the closet door and it flew open. Harry tumbled to the floor in the dim light of the classroom, pillows bumping to the ground all around him. He wasn't sure if he could move. He felt his breath rattle in his throat in ragged gasps as he clutched helplessly at his forehead.

Faintly, through the pain, he began to make out a noise, muffled, as if he was hearing it underwater.

It was the unmistakable sound of high, cold laughter.

A very familiar sound.

It couldn't be.

"Harry Potter," said the cold voice. "What a pleasant surprise."

Harry struggled to his hands and knees and peered across the room through a pain-filled haze. This simply was not real. He was dreaming, or just cracking under stress. Yes, that was it. He was certainly in the hospital wing by now, safe and sound, just delirious. This was merely one of many hallucinations brought on by mental exposure to an overly meddlesome musical instrument.

Except the pain was no hallucination.

Harry knew this pain, knew it like he knew his own name. He'd felt it before, many times now; familiarity did nothing to dull its edge. Harry knew what the pain meant. It meant that the person he saw across the room was every bit as real as Vernon Dursley, even though this person was slightly transparent, his outline flickering like an old Muggle black-and-white film. It didn't matter what he looked like. He was there, and this was real.

Harry got slowly to his feet, his scar screaming in protest, and brushed sweaty hair out of his eyes with one clammy palm.

"Hello, Tom," he said.

Tom Riddle regarded him from across the room, his transparent form wavering in the light of a single candle placed on an upturned desk.

Riddle looked much the same as he had in Harry's second year, though Harry was taller and they were now almost eye-level with each other. Riddle was dressed in his school uniform, as always, and looked like any other seventh-year Slytherin prefect, except that he'd attended school over fifty years before. Harry saw by the light of the candle that Riddle had been working on something before Harry had tumbled from the closet -- something on the floor. Strange markings were traced in the dust.

"It's just amazing how you always manage to show up like this, Potter," Riddle said, grinning congenially. "I should learn to give you more credit. Or perhaps just send you an invitation next time, and spare you the trouble of tracking me down."

The pain in Harry's scar made it difficult to talk, but Harry felt a strange clarity, as if a fog had lifted from his thoughts. He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Spare me a bit more trouble, then, and tell me how you got back here," he said. "It can't have been the diary. What other bit of memorabilia did you enchant with your memory and pass along to posterity? Your toothbrush?"

Riddle laughed his high, cold laugh again. A fresh wave of pain lanced through Harry's forehead.

"That would be telling," he said, still smiling. "And as my lifelong duelling partner, Potter, you of all people should know that I can't reveal my strategy before the match." He paused. "I would dearly love to know how you got here, of course, but that's part of your own game plan, and I expect it will be revealed in time."

"Don't pretend to be a gentleman." Harry had his wand out now, and was gripping it firmly, trying to ignore his pounding head. He pointed it steadily at the shimmering figure. "I'm not playing any of your games, Riddle."

Riddle chuckled. "Never were one for finesse, were you, Potter? A bit of fine swordplay not really your style?"

Harry's wand didn't waver. "Tell me what you're doing here. You have until I count to three."

"Pity." Riddle's image was beginning to flicker. "Our little hero won't take time to fence properly. Ah well, soon enough that won't matter."

"One." Harry's voice was a deep snarl he hardly recognized as his own.

Riddle's voice was fainter now. "It is a shame, though. Perhaps you would have learned more had you paused to chat."

"Two."

"No point in using that now, Potter." Riddle himself was now a faint outline, his voice an eerie echo. "You can't stop this. No one can."

A sharp gust of wind swept through the room, snuffing the candle. Tom Riddle was gone. The room was silent.

Harry stood for a long moment, his wand pointed at the spot where Riddle had been, before lowering his arm. Then he sat down hard on the floor, his whole body shaking. He sat there until he caught his breath, listening to his heart pound in the empty room.

He stood up again, his legs unsteady, and held out his wand. "Lumos," he whispered.

The soothing light from his wand revealed an ordinary Charms classroom, nothing amiss except for a few extra pillows on the floor. The supply closet door was wide open, and Harry glimpsed his bass still inside. He slung it over one shoulder again before crossing the room to peer at the spot Riddle had been standing.

There, etched into the wooden floorboards, was a series of strange markings. They appeared to be runes of some sort, forked lines curved into a wicked half-circle on the dusty floor.

Harry, said a dry voice in his head. Let's get out of here.

Harry nodded. He left the classroom, pausing once in the hallway to make sure he knew how to find it again. He took the rest of the route to the Gryffindor common room at a dead sprint.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Ron."

The boys' dormitory was dark, the curtains drawn around three of the five beds. Neville's heavy snores were notably absent. Must still be in the hospital wing. Harry shook Ron's arm with more force.

"RON."

"Wha -- " Ron stirred in his sleep, mumbling. "Issat you, Harry?"

"Ron, get up. I need to talk to you."

Ron smacked his lips and turned over. "Not now..."

"Ron."

"Talk tomorrow, Harry. Band was crazy. Dunno what happened. Malfoy crazy. Talk tomorrow."

"Ron, this is important."

"Oh, that." Ron was a bit more awake now. "Issokay, Harry. I forgive you. S'my fault."

"What?"

"Hermione. You tried to tell me. Been thinking... I remembered. You tried to tell me lotsa times. Myfault. Issokay."

Earlier that evening Harry would have given anything to hear those words. Now his happiness on hearing them was muffled by the great feeling of terror that was crushing him like a thundercloud.

"I -- Ron, it's not that."

"Huh?" Ron had turned over again. "Whatissit? Need to sleep."

"My scar."

Half a second later Ron Weasley was bolt upright in bed, swearing and scrambling for his slippers.

"Ah shit, Harry. You okay? Come on." Ron stumbled quickly out of bed, heading for the common room. He stopped on the stairway, pulling last year's Weasley sweater over his pajama top, and stared at Harry. "Cripes. You're still dressed. What happened? You look terrible."

"I'm all right."

Ron gave Harry an appraising look, then shook his head.

"Stay right there. I'm getting Hermione."

Harry could have kissed him.

Ron disappeared into the fifth-year-girls' dormitory. In a few minutes he emerged again, a bleary-eyed Hermione at his side, struggling into her dressing gown and looking tremendously worried. Harry felt such immense relief at seeing her again that his legs felt weak. When their eyes met, his knees almost buckled.

"Harry," she whispered. "What's happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm okay."

Ron beckoned them towards the stairwell.

They settled on the floor in front of the common room fire for warmth, propped up against squashy armchairs. Ron and Hermione were peering at Harry as if he might start fortelling doom in raving torrents at any moment. Harry was beginning to wonder if the strain of the evening was making him look particularly unstable.

He took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out. He told them everything that had happened since he'd left the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione's eyes grew wide as he described waking up in the supply closet. When he told them who he had seen in the classroom, Ron went white; Hermione gasped and grabbed Harry's hand.

"But that's impossible," she breathed. "He can't be here. He just can't. Can he?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "The last time my scar felt like that, I was standing next to Vol -- to You-Know-Who."

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured.

"He was up to something, that much I do know. He had been writing something on the floor when I fell out of the closet. After he vanished, it was still there. Etched into the wood."

"You're going to Dumbledore right away, of course," Hermione said, her hand still tightly clutching his.

"Yeah. I will, first thing tomorrow." Harry stared into the fire. "Just -- couldn't sleep, after that."

Hermione shuddered. Then she did something that Harry would never forget. Uncurling her hand from his, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder and taking deep, unsteady breaths.

Harry froze. He looked up at Ron. But Ron merely looked back at him, clearly preoccupied, not in the least bit fazed by Hermione's reaction.

"Hermione," Harry whispered, putting his arms around her tentatively. "Shh. It's okay."

Hermione only responded by holding him tighter, her voice muffled in his shoulder. "It's not okay," she gulped. "I knew he'd come for you again this year. We joked about it, and things were quiet for so long, I almost thought everything would be all right -- "

Her voice broke and she stifled a small sob. Harry wasn't sure what to do; he gently stroked the top of her head.

"I did too." Ron said quietly. "We were all so busy with other things. I didn't want to think about it."

Harry suddenly felt exhausted, as if he'd been awake for three days without realizing it. The feeling of Hermione in his arms was intoxicating, and so deeply comforting that he felt his eyelids beginning to droop. He drew her a bit closer; he was too tired to be nervous about it, too tired even to turn his usual shade of pink. "Me either," he said.

Ron slid onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "We'll get him, Harry. You'll get him, and we'll help you. Nothing else matters now. Not stupid music contests, or bloody Malfoy." He paused, then cleared his throat. "Or girlfriends who take up all my damn time, and make me ignore my best friends, who stood by me anyway while I was being a prat."

"Oh, Ron." Hermione's voice came from Harry's shoulder.

"That's what I wanted to tell you, Hermione. Before the contest. You came to talk to me yesterday, and I was rushing off to see Emma. I realized -- " Ron sighed. "I realized both of you have been trying to talk to me for months."

They fell silent. Harry's eyes were closed, and he wondered how it was possible to feel so gut-wrenchingly scared and so relieved and happy at the same time.

"Know what's a bit disturbing, though," he said finally, settling back against an armchair as Hermione snuggled into his chest.

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"What's that?" echoed Ron.

"Now that Voldemort's shown up, and you're both helping me... this is the most normal I've felt all year."

There was a pause, then a chuckle, and gradually, the faint sound of muffled laughter.

It lasted a long time.

As the sun rose in the Gryffindor common room, its pale light fell upon three figures curled in front of the dying embers of last night's fire. One, red-haired and lanky, was using a maroon sweater for a pillow; the others were spooned together, raven hair mingling with brown, smiling in their sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Music notes: The choice of song played by the Marauders is just something I pictured as suiting their style, and not some great statement about the power of Radiohead. They could have covered any song or band, but I happened to like these lyrics as sung by Draco. For reference, that song is "The Bends," off the album of the same name. Also, I should credit Draco for quoting a bit of Five for Fighting's "Superman (It's Not Easy)."