Harry and Danny are angry with us.
Ron is furious with us, too. Hermione and me, who remain convinced we acted for the best, start avoiding the common room. We take refuge in the library, but Harry, Danny and Ron don't try and persuade us to come back.
******************************************
Lessons start again next day. The last thing anyone feels like doing is spending two hours in the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid has provided a little bonfire full of salamanders for our enjoyment, and we spend an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing, while the flame-loving lizards scamper up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. The first Divination lesson of the new term is much less fun; Professor Trelawney is now teaching us palmistry, and she has lost no time in informing Harry and Danny that they have the shortest life-lines she's ever seen.
It Defence Against the Dark Arts I am keen to go to; it is by far my favourite lesson, and I want to learn as much as possible.
Harry, Danny and Ron stay behind at the end of class.
"Still looks a bit ill, doesn't he?" says Ron, as they walk down the corridor, heading for dinner. "What d'you reckon's the matter with him?"
Hermione gives them a loud and impatient "tuh" from behind them. Both of us have been sitting at the feet of a suit of armour, re-packing our bags, which is so full of books it won't close.
"What are you tutting at us for?" says Ron irritably.
"Nothing," I say in a lofty voice, me and Hermione heaving our bags onto our shoulders.
"Yes, you were," says Ron. "I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin, and you -"
"Well, isn't it obvious?" says Hermione, with a look of maddening superiority that I copy. She takes Danny's hand. Danny neither stops her nor encourages her. She looks hurt.
"If you don't want to tell us, don't," snaps Ron.
"Fine," I say haughtily, and me and Hermione march off, Ron staring resentfully at us.
******************************************
Ravenclaw plays Slytherin a week after the start of term. Slytherin wins, though narrowly. According to Oliver, this is good news for Gryffindor, who will take second place if we beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increases the number of team practices to five a week. This means that with Lupin's Anti-Dementor lessons, Harry and Danny only have just one night a week to do all their homework. Even so, they aren't showing the strain nearly as much as Hermione and me, our immense workloads are finally getting to us. Every night, without fail, Hermione and I are in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, Rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; we barely speak to anybody, and snap when we're interrupted. Unless Oliver came along, in which case Hermione left her work to spend time with him, leaving her even more behind.
One evening, Hermione and I are barely visible behind our books.
January fades imperceptibly into February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against Ravenclaw is drawing nearer and nearer, but Harry still hasn't ordered a new broom, apparently, neither's Danny, but that doesn't matter as much. They are now asking Professor McGonagall for news of the Firebolt after every Transfiguration lesson, Ron standing hopefully at their shoulders, Hermione and I rushing past with our faces averted.
******************************************
Someone steps into the common room. It is Harry, Danny and Ron, holding the Firebolts. There is a sudden, excited murmur as every head turns and the next moment, Harry and Danny are surrounded by people exclaiming over their Firebolts.
"Where'd you get them, Harry, Danny?"
"Will you let me have a go?"
"Have you ridden them yet, Harry, Danny?"
"Ravenclaw'll have no chance, they're all on Cleansweep Sevens!"
"Can I just hold them, Harry, Danny?"
After ten minutes or so, during which the Firebolts are passed around and admired from every angle, the crowd disperses and Harry, Danny and Ron have a clear view of me and Hermione, the only people who didn't rush over to them, bent over our work, and carefully avoiding their eyes. Harry, Danny and Ron approach our table and at last, we look up.
"We got them back," says Harry, he and Danny grinning at us and holding up the Firebolts. Harry takes my hand.
"See, Hermione, Dawn? There wasn't anything wrong with them!" says Ron.
"Well - there might have been!" says Hermione, lacing her fingers through Danny's, who obliges this time. "I mean, at least you now know that're safe!"
"Yeah, I suppose so," says Danny, putting his arm around her shoulder. "We'd better put them upstairs -"
"I'll take them!" says Ron eagerly. "I've got to give Scabbers his Rat Tonic."
He takes the Firebolts, and, holding them as if they are made of glass, carries them away up the boys' staircase.
"Can we sit down, then?" Harry asks Hermione and I. He laces our fingers together.
"I suppose so," I say, me and Hermione moving a great stack of parchment off a chair.
Harry and Danny look around at the cluttered table, at the long Arithmancy essays on which the ink is still glistening, at the even longer Muggle Studies essays and at the Rune translations Hermione and I are now poring over.
"How are you getting through all this stuff?" Danny asks us, giving Hermione a squeeze.
"Oh, well - you know - working hard," I say. The truth is, we feel almost as tired as Lupin looks.
"Why don't you just drop a couple of subjects?" Harry asks, watching us lifting books as we search for our Rune dictionaries. He puts his arm around me.
"We couldn't do that!" says Hermione, me and her scandalised. She takes Danny's hand.
"Arithmancy looks terrible," says Danny, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart. Hermione rests her head on his shoulder.
"Oh, no, it's wonderful!" I say earnestly. "It's our favourite subject! It's -"
But exactly what is wonderful about Arithmancy, Harry and Danny never find out. At that precise moment, a strangled yell echoes down the boys' staircase. The whole common room falls silent, staring, petrified, at the entrance. There comes hurried footsteps, growing louder and louder - and then, Ron comes leaping into view, dragging with him a bedsheet.
"LOOK!" he bellows, striding over to Hermione's and I's table. "LOOK!" he yells, shaking the sheets in our faces.
"Ron, what -?" says Hermione. Danny fiddles with her hair nervously.
"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!"
Hermione and I are leaning away from Ron, utterly bewildered. Harry and Danny look down at the sheet Ron is holding. There is something red on it. Something that looks horribly like -
"BLOOD!" Ron yells into the stunned silence. "HE'S GONE! AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?"
"N-no," I say, in a trembling voice.
Ron throws something down onto Hermione and I's Rune translations. Me, Hermione, Harry and Danny lean forward. Lying on top of the weird, spiky shapes are several long, ginger cat hairs, mixed with short, darker ones.
*
Question of the chapter: McGonagall or Voldemort?
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Dawn Rivera
Fanfiction"One is the lock, one is the key, one is the sacrifice the world shall shall grieve." Dawn has wanted to go to Hogwarts ever since she was a little girl, and nothing her older sister Gertrude says will discourage her. Little does she know that the m...
