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SD: CH148 - Summer's End
🕑 Added 2025-01-29 15:34:10 +0000 UTCThe sun crept over the horizon as the new day showed itself to the people of Britain. Most people were leaving their nice, orderly homes and climbing into their vehicles to battle other commuters on their way to the office. Horns would honk, people would get agitated, and daily life would get on, while fluffy, cumulus clouds gathered up in the centre of the sky.
The same could be said for the magical world. For it was September the first, the start of the new term at Hogwarts. The streets would be flooded today, with people pouring out of Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, out into the streets to rush towards Kings Cross Station. It begged the question why the Ministry did not install a separate Floo unit for King’s Cross and put it under privacy wards, but anybody foolish enough to question the Ministry’s competency wouldn’t probably last to question it twice.
Back when the summer vacation had started, I was an outsider that had been pushed into Harry Potter’s body in an impossibly confusing yet very much real wizarding world. Now at the end of it, so much had changed, I had gained power in many forms, caused a massive shift in the status quo of the society, gained allies where I had none, and had already taken care of my biggest problem and buried it six-feet under, quite literally. He didn’t exactly follow through like a nice and obedient child and kept trying to mess things up, but that’s Voldemort for you.
Point is, things have changed. A lot.
“Com’n, Harry,” said Hermione, standing at the bedside. “You need to get going, or else we’ll miss the train.”
…Okay, I guess some things never change.
With a groan, I pushed Hestia off me, and she groaned. “Not gonna!” She muttered, and pulled me closer, throwing a leg over my waist and pulling my hand over her boobs. She pushed herself comfortably against my skin, and curled deeper.
“Five more minutes.”
Hermione, already dressed and ready for school, rolled her eyes.
“Seriously Hestia,” she said. “If you wanted more sleep, you should’nt have fucked him until four in the morning.”
“He’s gonna go away now,” Hestia muttered, still half-asleep and nowhere in the mood for Hermione’s logical reasoning. “Needed to hog every minute.”
And she had. By fucking herself crazy on my cock until she was barely able to keep her eyes open, and then she had crashed upon my chest and snored off like a baby.
A very, very noisy baby.
Thank god for silencing charms.
“He’s still going to come home every weekend,” said Hermione. “He has lessons to attend with Emmeline, and you’ll be able to meet him too.”
“Ngh!” grunted Hestia. “Bones will be there. Can’t fuck Harry with ma new boss looking oe’r my shoulder. She and Emmy will hog all of my Harry time!”
“Bright ray of sunshine you are,” Hermione chided.
“Alright, enough of your bickering,” I said, and pulled Hestia close for a nice, deep kiss, pushing in a little of my allure through her. When pushed into another without the obvious intention of affecting their lust, it had the effect of a pepper-up potion, minus the steam coming out of the drinker’s ears. The next second, Hestia was wide awake, my vitality already pushing her into a balloon of active energy ready to pop.
“That’s so unfair, Harry,” she scowled.
Smirking, I pushed myself off the bed, heading to the bathroom. There was simply no substitute for lukewarm water streaming down your body in muggle style, cleaning charms be damned. By the time I had taken care of the morning essentials, I found my clothes ready and lying on the bed. Excelsior wasn’t old enough to generate the ambient magic to support elves by its own accord, and Dobby was already draining my finances, courtesy to that extra wardstone. It didn’t help that Hermione had set her foot down about not ordering house-elves around, except for the cooking and cleaning. Neither Hestia nor I cared enough to fight the topic, and Penelope, despite everything that had happened between us, pretended to be a guest and did things the muggle style, so naturally, Hermione got her way.
Some people.
“Now com’n,” hurried Hermione, practically jumping in excitement. “We don’t want to suffer the crowd.”
I knew what she meant, or rather, what she didn’t say.
Back when I had activated the horcrux the first time, Hermione had been by my side, and been injected by its potent energies. Normally, it should’ve outright killed if not severely affected her magic for good. Instead, it had interacted with the lycanthropic curse and twisted things, making her deadlier. The horcrux-Voldemort had called her a necro-beast, and I wanted to figure out very quickly what that meant.
More interestingly, Hermione in her necro-beast form had been in complete control, and together with Tonks and Susan, she had helped fend off the attack on Ron and the other Weasleys. Given the situation between him and Ron, it was no surprise she wanted to avoid the Weasleys, for fear of whatever aspersions they might throw about her, even if she did help save their lives.
I had attempted to at least sound understanding of her fears.
Hestia had simply called them bullshit and moved on.
It wasn’t though. Both me and Hestia had come to realize, through first-hand experience, that Voldemort could technically attempt a spiritual possession on me, or at least, through me, and ensnare Hermione and Amelia. Granted, it was under very, very specific conditions — like me absorbing a great deal of his necromantic power, which the Horcrux in my head and greedily guzzled up faster than Dobby did the wardstone, and that somehow, widened the rift connecting my mind with Voldemort, allowing him to attempt a long-distance possession.
I wasn’t still sure where things lay for now, but activating Lecherous Shrine had helped me purge the residual effects of the necromantic power from my body, so, both of them should be safe for now.
Still, there was no saying what the madman had likely pulled off from Hermione and Amelia’s mind during that brief stint, or inserted into their minds for that matter, so I’d have to be careful.
And to think I had believed my problems were taken care of.
Silly. Yes, I know.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” I said while putting on my clothes. “Every goddamn year, you have all these children rushing into King’s Cross, complete with their trolleys and owls and toads and cats and what not, stupefying muggles all around. I know there’s a muggle-repelling charm at the pillar, but that doesn’t keep the muggles from giving them strange looks.”
“I so agree,” said Hestia, stretching her arms. “Us muggleborns would’ve had a much easier time without pureblood students bossing us about in the train. But it’s been like that forever, so…. I guess, it’s tradition, at this point?”
“It most definitely is not,” scoffed Hermione. At both of our confused looks, she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, don’t you read? You’re almost as bad as him and Ron. There have been multiple attempts to create a safer alternative for the Hogwarts Express from time to time. Why, even Minister Fudge passed a legislation to set up a Floo Unit at Hogsmeade to allow students from wizarding households to Floo their way there directly. It’d be fast, secure and easy transport.”
“Then why not have it? It isn’t like you don’t have Floo’s in Hogsmeade,” I pointed out.
“Because it didn’t work!” said Hermione. “The intense traffic completely broke down the Floo network, and half the students appeared out of fireplaces in different countries, some even as far as Egypt and Canada. It was a nightmare and a half for the Obliviation Office.”
Hestia raised an eyebrow. “It’s a bit too early to think of applying for a job in the Floo Network Office, Hermione.”
Hermione snorted. “As if they’d even let a mug— I mean, a werewolf working at the Ministry.”
“Wait a second,” I interrupted. “Why would the Floo Network collapse from just that?”
“Too many Floo’s routed to the same destination, Harry,” said Hestia. “Every Floo is essentially a point-to-point dislocation, the same principle on which portkeys work. Too many people pushing through the Floo at one point creates a spatial vortex and strains Reality around it. Same principle that keeps people from apparating inside wizard space.”
“I didn’t know about that bit,” said Hermione, almost enviously.
Hestia smirked. She knew the muggleborn werewolf hated not knowing things just as much as she liked showing off how much she had mugged up.
“But the Ministry has people popping in and out of fireplaces all the time,” I pointed out.
“That I did know,” said Hermione.
“That’s because they have wardstones drawing from entire leylines to support the strain, Harry,” said Hestia. “Hogsmeade has no such thing, and Hogwarts won’t allow direct apparition, Floo or portkey like that. Something about the security wards.”
“And you know this how?” asked Hermione.
“How else? The Triwizard tournament,” Hestia clarified. “I drafted half the regulations for my boss before he threw me out on the streets. Crouch demanded a detailed study of Hogwarts wards to know what is allowed and what not. It’d be a PR nightmare if the wards punched some guest in the face because they took the wrong exit.”
Hermione snorted.
I narrowed my eyes. A detailed study of Hogwarts’ wards? Had Barty Crouch done the same in the books? Was that how his son later got to portkey Harry Potter out of Hogwarts on the night of the Triwizard? But even if they did, it didn’t explain why the kidnapping happened on the night of the Third Task, or why it was necessary for Harry to be ‘aided’ by the madman. What even was the point of getting him selected as the Triwizard Champion? Surely there were better ways to try to kidnap him rather than getting him to the spotlight and gain everyone and their cat’s attention at all times? And if the faux Moody wanted him killed, all he needed was a nice stunning spell, and then a clean severing charm to the head. And if you didn’t want to use magic, just take a piece of glass and plunge it through the neck.
Prophecy or not, nothing was going to save Harry’s arse from that one.
But this time, it was going to be different. There was no Lucius Malfoy tweaking Cornelius Fudge from the shadows. I’d say no to Voldemort planning ridiculously-overcomplicated plots to ruin my life, what with being buried six-feet-under and all that, but recent events made me wary of challenging fate like that. And Barty Crouch Junior, the central character to all this action, was currently lying pumped full of Draught of Living Death inside a locked trapdoor in the dungeon beneath the building.
And I was no bewildered fourth-year wanting a safe and boring year, only to be chosen Champion in a tournament he had no intention of putting his name in.
“Speaking of the Ministry, you did accept Amelia’s offer, right?”
Hestia shrugged morosely. “As if I ever had an option. Seriously, I get thrown out of the Ministry before the summer and now I am back in less than half a year.”
What she didn’t say was that working closely with Amelia would give her more time to assess if the woman retained any lingering effects from the indirect possession. The same role that I would play for Hermione.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” asked Hermione, tilting her head. “It’s not like you'll have much to do with Harry being in school.”
“There was always Order business, and making sure the companies are running in order. I was looking forward to ten months of lax work, but someone just had to make my life a living hell!” She glared at me. “And now I’ve got to juggle a full-time Ministry job on top of this.”
“You’d get a nice salary,” I quipped.
The glare doubled. “That’d be nice, if you hadn’t gotten me preparing for a third thing too,” she grumbled. “Seriously Harry, either get me a Time-turner or get off me.”
“I thought you loved me getting you off.”
“Wait, what's the third thing?” asked Hermione.
“He’s making me go through everything the Department of International Magical Cooperation does, or did, when I was employed there. And stuff about the ICW that — oh I can’t be bothered with it, just ask him.”
“Well?” Hermione asked.
I gave them a cheshire grin, hoping it would be enough.
It wasn’t.
“You know who Hector Fawley is, right?”
“He’s the….” Hermione began.
“Lead-Liaison Minister,” said Hestia, giving me a sharp look. “I’ve worked with him in the past. Nice man, if a little rough at times.”
“He’s retiring by the end of the year.”
“And?”
“That means that he’ll be starting to see potential candidates for his position starting at the end of October.”
“October 23rd,” Hestia confirmed. “But what’s your point, Harry?”
“My point is that the prerequisite for the candidacy is someone with a background of someone working as an Assistant position in any of the Ministry departments for a year’s time. The higher the department, the better.”
“And?”
“And Amelia is currently hiring you for work starting tomorrow, as Assistant to the DMLE Director. Aside from being Minister Fudge’s Undersecretary, or something in those leagues, you can’t really top that.”
“I’ll barely have finished two months working for the Director, Harry,” said Hestia, unconvinced. “There’s no way I’m eligible for the job, assuming that’s what you’re angling for.”
“You aren’t, not this way,” I said, still smiling. “But that’s only because you got ousted from your job because Lucius Malfoy forced things. If not for that, you’d have been working as the Assistant to Barty Crouch, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation nonetheless.”
“That’s not —” she growled, only to pause, narrowing her eyes. “I need to be proven right in a civil suit against Gibbon first.”
“You will.”
“How?”
“Because it’s the job of the DMLE to check the backgrounds before employment. Amelia will organise a formal trial in the light of recent events to see what caused your termination.”
“Gibbon won’t just let her rule in my favour.”
“He will. Narcissa has knowledge of too many skeletons in his closet. All it will take is a safe transfer to some other position inside the Ministry for him. That, or risk Azkaban. Gibbon won’t say a thing.”
Hestia regarded me intensely. “Even… even if that happens, it’s up to the Minister to make the selection.”
“And he’ll select you.”
“Why?”
“Well, aside from being in Lord Potter and Black’s good books and a healthy support for the next elections, because the Department of International Magical Cooperation will suggest it to him.”
“Barty Crouch Sr. leads the Department,” Hestia growled impatiently.
“Yes.”
“And you have a way to make him play ball?”
“Well… almost.”
....
....
....
“Five more minutes,” said Hermione, sitting idly in our compartment. The Hogwarts Express was billowing clouds of steam, gathering momentum for its upcoming journey, while the last of the passengers were still onboarding. Not wanting to attract undue attention, we had gotten ourselves one of the compartments, and set up a minor discouraging ward on the wall. Nothing dangerous or even obstructive, just enough to quell most impulses that were basic curiosity. It wouldn’t stop an Occlumens, but the number of those were a handful.
I was actually expecting others to join me. Perhaps Susan would, but instead I spotted her chatting animatedly with Hannah and the rest of her Hufflepuff group in one of the larger compartments. Neither girl had noticed us, thanks to the aversion charm on ourselves as we passed along. As much as Susan might be miffed, it was much better than having to play twenty thousand questions with her band of gossip-mongers.
Tracey was… somewhere. Probably with Daphne. Which could be a good thing, or a bad one. Daphne Greengrass was one of the most enigmatic entities I had the opportunities to interact with this summer, and I had yet to decide if even pursuing her was a right idea. Even discounting her special empathic abilities, the girl felt like she didn’t quite value her physical looks and used them as a tool whenever she saw fit. She was seeking entertainment, and for whatever reason, I was providing her plenty of it. I really needed to look her up, which was why I was going to spend my sleep time navigating through her emotions from inside Lecherous Shrine.
Goody!
The train let out one last whistle! And right then, the Weasley brood came rushing along through the pillar, as was their annual tradition. I didn’t know if they just got horrifically late no matter how much they tried, or if they just considered it a fashion statement. I saw Molly Weasley bossing around everyone, including her husband. For a moment, my eyes darted further south to note a hooded figure clad in black robes. Something about him just strained the space around it, drawing my attention like gravity.
“Harry, check this—” Hermione began, distracting me for half a second. The next thing I knew, the stranger was gone.
Weird.
I turned further right, searching through the people flocking out of the window, settling on Draco Malfoy. Unsurprisingly, the smirk of arrogance was missing on his features, replaced by wariness and something else that I couldn’t recognize. Narcissa had intimated her last memory of meeting her son before he closed Malfoy Manor on her face, fearing that Lucius’s dying curse had somehow found a way to manifest. I had taken her to Gringotts, and gotten a double confirmation that his last Will & Testament was still unopened and put on hold until the DMLE or the Ministry cleared him as officially ‘dead’. The other document, showing the transfer of properties had already happened, though with Amelia and the DMLE taking away a lion’s share of the monies, Draco had been left with a decent sum of gold that could last him for the next four years, and perhaps the rest of his life if he spent it frugally.
Fat chance of that happening!
But more interesting than him was the old lady by his side, a woman that looked like she was easily Dumbledore’s age, and yet, there was something utterly feral about her features. I couldn’t help but draw parallels to Lucius Malfoy. While the former was a lethal predator that hid his wildness under a veneer of false civility and a silver tongue, this woman felt more… raw, intimidating. Maybe it was the recent rise in my affinity for Magical Sensing, or my nature as an Incubus that was giving me a better understanding of people’s emotional spectrum, but something told me that she wasn’t someone to be trifled with. There was also something… familiar about her face that I couldn’t place. There was no doubt she used to be quite the beauty during her youth, but no matter how much I scratched my memory, nothing came up.
“I didn’t think Malfoy would even show up at Hogwarts after this,” murmured Hermione.
“He isn’t a Malfoy anymore.”
“By name only,” said Hermione. “A poison by any other name, is just as lethal, Harry.”
I arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve heard it put that way before.”
“Obviously,” drawled Hermione. “Clearly you did a bad job letting me go with Ron the last time around.”
“He is still a friend, you know.”
“I know, and despite whatever I once felt for him, it does not matter, Harry,” said Hermione. “And no matter what happened in your past life, I am truly and utterly yours.”
She grabbed my arm and pulled it into her bosom, something feral shining in her eyes. Whatever I was about to say had to pause as the door opened with a creak right then.
“Hey, I just —” began Ron and froze, standing at the doorway, staring at my hand still cocooned in Hermione’s bosom. “I — uh—”
Reluctantly, Hermione let go off my arm, and pulled back and sat on the opposite seat.
“Come, sit, mate,” I offered.
“Yeah, I…” stammered Ron incoherently. “I just… uh, I mean —I have, uh, something to, you know, ask Hermione.”
“So ask her,” I said, shrugging.
“Yeah, I, uh —”
Hermione couldn’t help herself. She giggled.
“Don’t worry Ron,” said Hermione impishly, showing off her inhumanly sharp incisors. “I promise I won’t bite.”
Somehow, that helped him gain some confidence.
“Yeah, I mean,” he cleared his throat, but the pink in his cheeks ruined everything. “I wanted to talk to Hermione in private.”
“Ah, I see,” I said, grinning slyly. “Oh okay, I guess I’ll go see how the others are doing.”
Ron mumbled his agreement, and I left the compartment, closing the door behind me. Instantly, I focussed and went unseen.
It was part of the abilities I had gotten through my newest perk, the Magical Animagus. When activated, it allowed me to transform into a hellish beast, the same that had fought the dementors and Death-eaters to protect Fleur and her father. It was also what I had transformed into when attacking Voldemort’s lair and taking down Nagini. There were few creatures that could offer a challenge to a fully-transformed werewolf on a moonlit night when it came to speed, dexterity, reflexes and sheer strength. My yenaldooshi form had taken down multiple werewolves without breaking a sweat.
You’d think that says all about what sort of a monster a yenaldooshi was, correct?
Trust me, it's just the tip of the iceberg. A yenaldooshi had many similarities with a metamorphmagus. In fact, it would not be wrong to call a metamorph its distant cousin after millennia of evolution. Hestia had a wealth of information on Tonks’s skill, and from what she claimed, a metamorph was a completely different creature than a witch or wizard. Strictly speaking, Nymphadora’s power levels were enough to make Dumbledore or Voldemort go green with jealousy. Trouble was, she could only use it for one and one thing only — self-transfiguration. Apparently, Andromeda Tonks even joked that Tonks was constantly shapeshifting in the womb, giving her endless pains during her pregnancy.
Compared to that, a yenaldooshi was an entirely different kind of beast. Unlike a metamorph, I could only transform into other animals or birds — anything but people. Or other magical creatures for that matter. When activated fully, I could transform into that fierce form that had won both battles for me. But unlike Tonks, I had to use my own reserves to maintain this heavily magically-taxing form. Luckily, a yenaldooshi had the ability to enhance its power by eating the magic out of other people's bodies, which explained how I had been able to stay and fight for as long as I had against Malfoy and his army.
And that wasn’t all. Passively, the perk granted me a fifty percent increase in my affinity to Eidolonics, or illusion magic. The name came from ‘eidolon’ meaning apparition or phantasm. In essence, the unreal. That my own Occlumency affinity was quite high, thanks to Amelia and Emmeline, only made it easier to use this brand of magic almost effortlessly.
Now don’t get me wrong. Anybody with a certain degree of skill in the art could perform the disillusionment charm and camouflage themselves from the naked eye. But what the charm did in essence was coat you with a layer of raw magic. Unlike the human body, or rather, any physical object that had a fixed texture, magic was fluid and lacked any such confinements and thus, could easily meld with the natural environment around it.
The only limiting factor was that the spell was too magically-taxing to be held on for long.
I didn’t have any of those limitations. A yenaldooshi’s body was fluid, and even when in my human form, I could very easily bring forth yenaldooshi features on my body. In less time than it took to blink an eye, I went from a corporeal presence to less than a ripple in the air, visible to only those that might have been staring nonstop where I had been.
And then I shifted to a tiny snake and, still unseen, slithered into the compartment.
I noted the way Hermione’s gaze flitted in my direction before she met Ron’s eyes again, a small smile playing on her face as she waited for him to gather the courage to make his move. However, Ron just fidgeted and eyed her in what he probably thought was a surreptitious manner.
"Yes, Ron?" Hermione prompted gently. "You had something you wanted to ask me?"
"Umm… Yeah," was Ron's reply. "You know… we've been friends for a few years now, and I really… umm… I really like you, Hermione. And I kind of thought, what better place to… ask the girl you… like… to be your girlfriend… What better place than the train where we first met?” he finished with a rush.
Hermione blinked. Twice. And then put her hands over her lips and giggled softly.
“That’s sweet of you, Ron.”
Huh! What did you know? I didn’t know Ronniekins had it within him to be so outspoken about his feelings like this? Where was this guy hiding in the books when he all but ignored Hermione until Victor Krum took her to the Yule Ball? Or maybe it was after seeing her in Victor’s arms had finally hit the point home that he had lost the bird in hand.
Too bad Ronnie! Hermione is mine.
Ron’s cheeks went pink. “So, uh, now that you’re my girlfriend, can I kiss you?”
“....”
I am sure Hermione and I were wearing the same flummoxed expressions. Well, I would have, had I been in human form. I was torn between being amused at his obliviousness and narrowing my eyes at the potential threat to my woman. Being a snake also came with its fellow serpentine instincts and a desire to inject a little venom swelled inside me.
Hermione, on the other hand, burst into laughter.
Ron, bless the poor fool, actually chuckled at her laughter. Thinking it as a positive sign, he took a few steps forward, his posture open as he approached to hug her.
"Hold on, Ron!" she cried.
He looked at her puzzled, no doubt wondering what he had done wrong.
“You’re…” she paused, closing her eyes and exhaling. “You’re assuming wrongly, Ron. I’m not your girlfriend and I definitely won’t be kissing you.”
"What?" a befuddled Ron asked, appearing shell-shocked.
"I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione repeated. "I understand your feelings, but mine aren't the same. Maybe if things were different, we could have been close, but as things are…”
She trailed off.
“Is this… is this because of what I said when I first found out you were scratched by Professor Lupin and became a werewolf? I.. Listen Hermione, I’ll admit I was a little afraid and confused when I first heard that. But you’ve got to see it from my side too. The stories Mum told us when we were kids, and Lupin was, uhm, terrifying, and i — uh —”
“Uh, Ron,” said Hermione, halting him with a hand. “Before you go ahead, I should tell you. I am very much a werewolf. Or at least, sort of like one. You even saw me transform and at… kill the Death-Eaters and the other werewolves, did you not?”
“Yes, but —”
“And trust me, I can do everything they can. Like the fact that I can literally smell your fear from here,” she said, giving him a small, serene smile.
“Hermione,” Ron said, suddenly serious. “I am not afraid of you. I don’t think you’re a mindless beast that’ll —”
“Attack you and feast on your flesh?” asked Hermione. “You should be. Between you being alone, and afraid, that collar bone feels so inviting.” She made animated gestures with her hands. “The only reason I’m not already feasting on you is because we used to be friends.”
Whatever Ron was about to say before, he paused, though his mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments.
Then he spoke.
“You know, if you just wanted to say no, you could just say that. There’s no need to—” I noted a hint of redness working its way up Ron's neck and ears, a sure sign that he was working up a head of steam. “—no need to pretend when I’m here acting as gentlemanly as possible. I even went against my Mum when she voiced her concerns and put myself on the line here, and this is how you behave….”
Hermione sighed. Not just her, even I could predict that this was exactly how he would react.
"Ron," she said very gently, "I'm sorry, but I can't return your feelings."
Ron's jaw worked as he tried to control his anger, but when he finally spoke, his words did not make a lot of sense. "It won't happen, you know." He was almost forcing the words out through his teeth, he was so visibly upset. “Harry won’t marry you. He might play with you now, but he’s not going to marry you. Because you’re a werewolf.”
Silence pervaded the entire compartment. Hermione’s eyes flickered to my corner, and then they flashed with something terrifying as she regarded Ron. “I know perfectly well where I stand with Harry, thank you so much.”
“Do you?” He snapped. “Because news flash! He’s been — he’s been flirting with Ginny. And Romilda. And Susan Bones. Everyone knows that! And he’s now the Lord of House Potter and Black and all that. There’s no way he’s even allowed to be with you. Maybe you can be his friend in school and live wherever you’re living, but he’ll never go ahead with you. He can’t.”
“Oh,” said Hermione coolly, and I wondered just how out-of-date Ron himself was with things. Hermione knew more about my dalliances than anyone else on the planet.
Well, except Hestia.
“And what, pray tell, should I do now?”
“Go out with me!” said Ron. “I’m as good as Harry!”
Ouch. Really Ronald, whining? I wondered if Hermione was mentally equating Ron’s jealousy with me with what I narrated to her about the events of ‘future’ fourth year, when Ron Weasley actively stood against me when my name came out of the Triwizard Cup. For a moment I wondered if I should just re-corporate and enter the compartment and end things right there. Another part of me was hopeful that Hermione would try to convince Ron to see past his jealousy and focus on being a good friend.
But when she spoke again, her words were anything but.
“Are you, now, really?”
“YES!”
She crossed her arms, and arched an eyebrow. “Prove it then.”
“What? HOW?”
Hermione’s lips twisted into something cruel. “You know what’s about to happen at Hogwarts this year, right?”
Ron’s eyes hardened. “The Triwizard Tournament.”
Something terrible shone in her eyes. “Eternal Glory! One participant from each school, and the winner will be the talk of legend. No doubt that would eclipse Harry’s status, Boy-Who-Lived, Lord Potter and what not! Whoever wins it is most likely going to carve their names in legend.”
Damn! Hermione was devious, wasn’t she? I could almost see the wheels turning inside Ron’s mind.
“How — how do you know all that?”
“Honestly Ron, I read,” said Hermione in a de-facto tone. “You should probably try that sometime. Maybe soon, if you want to take part in the tournament when it hits. I’m sure Harry will.”
She met his gaze. “Go on. Become the Hogwarts Champion. Win the Triwizard Cup, and then we’ll talk about what you’ve accomplished.” She paused, and looked at her watch, and with a fake exclamation, said, “Oh, would you look at the time? I need to change into school robes. You should too, Ron.”
Ron Weasley didn’t make a single sound as he left for his compartment.
Comments
Hadrian v.E.
It's all good. But I ask you this: if you can't be mean to a presumptuous twat like Ron, then who can you be mean to?
Callum Runchman
I never said he was morally correct or of any use or anything. Just that it was a bit mean giving him false hope like that. Yes he's an idiot who's being a total dick but it's still cruel
Hadrian v.E.
I'm just tickled that the story is FINALLY moving onto the 4th year. Get lost, ginger weasel. Why is Harry 2.0 so hopefully for Weasel's continued "friendship" 🤮?
Hadrian v.E.
Not nice? Ron is the one trying to weasel (per his namesake) his way past Hermione's mental fortitude—not that he succeds at all—by keep pushing at the notion that Harry will cast her at the wayside. He's useless and hopefully will not be heard from much in the future.
Romavictrix
Lol damn. Hermione is devious
Callum Runchman
A bit mean to Ron ain't it? The guy built up the confidence to ask out the girl he fancy despite his own mother arguing against it and then Hermione doesn't just out right reject him, she gives him a sliver of false hope that will never grow into anything more and just simply torture him. Not nice at all
Alkole
You are shitting on the weasly family so bad I'm starting to feel bad but not bad enough surprisingly
