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HP433- Uranus
🕑 Added 2025-05-24 20:18:13 +0000 UTCThe day started as usual. The day after a Hogsmeade weekend always leaned grumpy, especially when Astoria was at the table. And for Harry’s group, who usually ended up crowded together around the Slytherin table, sometimes borrowing seats from other houses, it meant there was always Astoria.
“I am just saying,” she began, poking her toast like it had personally wronged her, “we should have Monday Hogsmeades. Helps ease into the new week.”
Pansy didn’t even look up from her jam-spread scone. “Then you would complain about Tuesdays and ask for Tuesday Hogsmeades to ease into the week.”
Tracey, seated beside Harry, nudged her plate away with the heel of her hand and said, “You do realise every day starts a week if you complain hard enough.”
“Exactly,” Astoria said brightly, as if she'd just won the argument.
Harry sipped his tea, savoring the taste. “Petition the Headmaster. I am sure he will cancel classes because your toast was dry.”
“Not dry,” Astoria said, flipping it over. “Soggy in the middle. It’s offensive.”
“Sounds like Hogwarts,” Hermione murmured from across, idly buttering a roll. “Looks decent from the outside. Then you cut in.”
Daphne snorted quietly, flipping through her planner, “Should’ve expected philosophy from someone who describes pastry with metaphors.”
“I am cultured,” Hermione replied, unbothered. “Someone around here has to be.”
Draco looked up from his coffee. “Didn’t realise we were holding morning court.”
“You are late,” Ginny said, sitting beside Luna. “We already heard three complaints, two arguments, and an existential pastry crisis.”
The day after breakfast played out like usual. Harry spent most of the morning helping Snape adjust brewing parameters for next week’s joint-house lesson, something about variable cauldron temperatures. In Charms, he corrected a few Hufflepuff who managed to nearly glue themselves together with a misfired Adhesion Charm. Flitwick just nodded in thanks, not even blinking when one of the Slytherins accidentally set his robes alight mid-demonstration.
By the time evening rolled around, Harry had his notes open on the Duelling Club schedule, thinking about introducing paired movement drills, when Hermione stepped in front of him.
“Something happened.”
Harry glanced up, eyebrow already lifted. “And?”
She didn’t answer straightaway. Instead, she reached out, grabbed his arm, and started leading him away. “Come on. Fifth floor.”
He didn’t argue, just stuffed the parchment back into his folder and followed her up the stairs, ignoring the looks from a pair of second-years who clearly thought something scandalous was unfolding.
Once they reached the abandoned classroom, Hermione shut the door behind them and turned around, arms folded.
“In Divination today,” she started, frowning, “Lavender had Uranus show up unexpectedly in her chart.”
Harry blinked. “Not the joke again.”
“Yes, the joke again,” she snapped. “Ron made another comment. Crude. Again. Same as last year.”
Harry leaned against one of the old desks, arms folded. “Didn’t McGonagall warn him last time?”
“She did. And he promised not to do it again.” Hermione is voice was sharp now, frustration curling at the edges. “But this time, he added more. About Lavender.”
“Let me guess,” Harry said, expression cooling slightly, “he thinks it is still funny?”
Hermione gave a short nod, jaw tight. “Fred, George, and Ginny are already with him. He is pretending it is all just a laugh, but… maybe you could speak to him.”
Harry gave her a look. “You want me to intimidate him?”
“Not intimidate,” Hermione said, but her tone lacked conviction.
Harry scoffed. “He doesn’t like me. I don’t like him. That is not news.”
She didn’t deny it. Just sighed. “He listens to you when he thinks no one’s watching.”
“Yeah, well,” Harry said, pushing off the desk and heading for the door, “maybe it is time he learned that not every laugh is worth earning.”
They found the Weasley group clustered outside an empty classroom, Ron planted on a bench looking deeply unimpressed. Fred stood nearby, arms folded, while George leaned against the wall tossing a knut and catching it. Ginny had her arms crossed, eyebrows already doing the family’s patented ‘you are an idiot’ twitch.
“Finally,” Ginny said, spotting them. “Come on, Ron. Explain it again. But slower this time, so your brain can catch up.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “It was a joke. I didn’t mean anything.”
“Yeah?” Fred said mildly. “Because jokes usually go over better when they don’t sound like you are auditioning for a Muggle locker room.”
Ron groaned. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Harry stepped forward, hands in his pockets. “You said something about Uranus again?”
Ron cackled the moment he heard the word "Uranus," like it was still the funniest thing ever said in any classroom. The kind of laugh that bent him over, shoulders shaking, like they were all twelve again and someone had said “bum” during a lecture.
Harry didn’t join in. He liked a joke as much as anyone. Maybe more, depending on who was the target. But there were rules. Jokes hit better when everyone was in on them. Not when one person was left red-faced and wishing they’d vanished mid-lesson.
“I am not being funny,” Ron said between snorts, “but come on, it is right there. How am I supposed to ignore that?”
“You could try using the brain you’ve got,” Ginny said, arms folded.
“Bit rich coming from you,” Ron shot back.
Ginny didn’t blink. “I am not the one who made Lavender cry.”
That shut him up for half a second.
Fred leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Honestly, Ron, you are not helping your case here.”
Ron threw his hands up. “It was just a laugh!”
“Not for her,” Hermione said, tight-lipped. “She walked out.”
George’s knut landed in his palm with a soft clink. “Wasn’t just that, though, was it? You added the thing about her skirt.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t even rude.”
“You called it an ‘inviting hemline,’” Ginny said flatly. “Which sounds like something a Death Eater would say after a concussion.”
Harry leaned against the desk, hands still in his pockets. “She was humiliated. In front of half the class.”
Ron looked up. “Didn’t mean anything by it, Harry. Don’t go all serious.”
“I am not serious,” Harry said, tone even. “I am just wondering if you’ve grown up at all since third year.”
That got a bit of silence.
Ron scoffed, shifting on the bench. “So now I am the villain?”
“No one said villain,” Fred said. “Just a prat.”
“I’ve said villain,” Hermione muttered.
George tossed the knut again. “Maybe you should go apologise.”
“I will,” Ron said, defensive. “Later.”
Harry’s head tilted slightly. “That supposed to impress us?”
Ron’s ears turned pink. “She’ll get over it. She is always emotional.”
“Right,” Harry said, stepping in a little closer. “And what are you? The emotional authority? You’ve been in a mood all year, snapping at people left and right. You are lucky people still show up when you open your mouth.”
“Why are you even here?” Ron shot back, loud now. “You are not even a Gryffindor.”
Harry looked at him, just the sort of look that made people stop what they were doing and rethink their choices.
Ron didn’t. He doubled down, pushing up from the bench. “This is between me and Lavender. You don’t get to play saviour every time she fancies a row.”
Harry felt annoyance brewing within him, “You think this is about Lavender? It is not. It is about you thinking you are the funniest one in the room and never checking who is laughing.”
Ron scowled. “It is not that deep-”
“It wasn’t,” Harry cut in, flat. “It is a habit. You poke, prod, say what you want, then call it ‘just a laugh’ when it goes too far. You’ve been doing it for years.”
Ron straightened up. “Oh, come off it-”
“No,” Harry said. “You come off it. You embarrassed her in class, you made her cry, and now you are sitting here sulking because people called you out.”
Ginny crossed her arms. “He doesn’t listen unless he is shouted at.”
“I am not shouting,” Harry said, calm as ever. “But you might want to listen anyway, Ron. Because the next time you try hiding behind ‘just a laugh’ after running your mouth, it won’t be Lavender crying... it’ll be you. And I am not saying I’ll report you to McGonagall or send an owl to your mum. I’ll make you cry. You can ask your brothers how funny my jokes can be.”
Fred let out a low whistle.
George nodded slowly, tossing the knut back into his pocket. “He is not wrong.”
Ron looked like he wanted to argue, but the words stuck halfway. His mouth opened, then shut. Classic move, really. The Ron Weasley pause, right when he realizes he pushed the wrong line.
“Whatever,” he muttered, sitting back down on the bench like he was doing them all a favour.
Harry flicked his wand and Ron was instantly wrapped in ropes, mouth sealed as his skin smoothed over it like it had never been there. The noise Ron made was muffled and pathetic. He flailed like he expected someone to leap in and save him.
Even Hermione stepped back, eyes wide. Fred and George looked stunned. Ginny just stared.
