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Author: Ash Story: Harry Potter and the Year of the One Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 35 Words: 204,652
Harry kept his eyes down at the table, but did notice Hermione and Ginny surreptitiously wiping away tears. Ron sniffed a bit as well, and patted Harry so hard on the back that he made him cough, but nobody said a word until after Dumbledore had given the first years their usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest and announced that the list of outlawed items to be posted on Argus Filch’s door now included—of course—anything sold by Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. Despite the sober tone of the Hat’s song and Harry’s speech, the mood was light as Dumbledore released the first years to go with their prefects, then dismissed everyone else. Everyone at the Gryffindor table seemed to want to catch Harry’s eye and smile supportively, which was nice. But as he stood, the noise in the hall reached an unusual pitch, and actually seemed to direct itself his way. Harry watched in amazement as more and more students turned his way, talking, pointing, and moving toward him. “Er . . . Ron,” Harry began, backing toward the table as the first of the crowd arrived—all girls. They were wide-eyed, calling out to him enthusiastically but staying a polite distance back, Harry noticed with relief. He smiled awkwardly back. Quite a few DA members had made their way over through the crowd to beam at him and they came closer to clap him on the back. Harry felt more comfortable with their presence, especially Susan Bones, who had been the first to show him her support when he was wavering on the dais. “Hi, Susan. Have a good summer?” “Very nice and very boring, thanks. And you?” She asked eagerly. “I suppose it wasn’t very nice, but it couldn’t have been worse than last year at least.” “You’d be surprised.” “Oh, sorry. I did hear about some of it. I forgot. But . . . that was a great speech, Harry, just great,” and then, to his amazement, she blushed. He found his tongue had frozen in his mouth, and was relieved when she was jostled away by a grinning Justin Finch-Fletchly. “I’ll watch your back, mate. You can count on me.” “As will I,” said Ernie McMillan beside him. “Thanks,” Harry said, beginning to feel buoyed by all the support. As Justin and Ernie disappeared back into the crowd, Harry saw a sea of faces, all smiling and waving and trying to get his attention. “Way to go, Harry!” “Smashing speech, Harry!” It was quite overwhelming. One young girl sprang forward through a hole in the crowd—the tiny blue-eyed blonde who had gone first in the Sorting. “I can’t believe I’m meeting you—Harry Potter!” She squealed in an alarming way and threw herself at Harry, wrapping her arms around his waist. Stunned, arms up so that he wouldn’t touch the girl, Harry could do nothing but stand there, acutely aware of the way the girl’s chin was digging into his navel, and the way two of his mates were laughing fit to burst. “Robbing the cradle, eh, Harry?” Seamus called out, Dean nearly collapsing against him in laughter. Harry smiled weakly and looked over at Ron, who had been stunned into immobility as well. “It’s all right, Harry,” piped in Collin Creevy. “Mind if I get a picture?” “What?” Harry asked him dumbly, then shook his head. “NO! No pictures!” he bellowed. “Creevy, get back, you clod,” came Ron’s bellowing voice suddenly from beside Harry. “Haven’t you gotten enough pictures of him yet? And you!” Ron took hold of the little first year around Harry’s waist and gently disentangled her. “What house are you in?” “I’m a Hufflepuff,” she said in a dreamy voice, “and he smells sooooo good, just like I knew he would.” A sudden chorus of ohhhhhhh broke out among the girls nearby, and Harry turned bright red, confusedly trying to figure out how on earth he could smell good after fleeing from a Manticore and spending hours downing potions in the Hospital Wing. Seamus laughed louder and took her arm from Ron. “Don’ worry. I’ll get her back where she belongs. Come along now. He doesn’t always smell like that, you know,” Seamus confided loudly in his soft brogue. “You should come around after he’s rank from a Quidditch practice.” Harry glared at Seamus before the crowd swallowed him up, then jumped when a gaggle of girls to his right squealed. “OOOOOOooooooo!” “A sweaty Harry Potter!!” one yelled louder than the others. Whatever had been holding them back was now done with. They all squealed again and pressed in closer, forcing Harry to draw back as far as he could, hands up in defense, the table digging into his back. “That’s just—just . . .” Ron looked dumbfounded again as the flock of girls pressed him back as well. They were reaching out to touch Harry’s robes, his hair . . . . “Get me out of here, Ron,” he hissed loudly over the girls’ heads, pushing away as many hands as he could without being overtly rude. “Yes, hi. No, don’t—not the—Hey!” Harry batted a pudgy brunette’s hand away from his scar. “Oooooooo! I touched it!” she said as she fell back, collapsing against the crowd and pulling away the girls in front for a moment. Then the crowd swallowed her, a crush of girls sighing out their desire to touch Harry as well. Then they were on him, hands reaching toward Harry’s face— “For heaven’s sake,” a familiar voice snapped from beyond Harry’s vision, “Catervaductum!” The crowd of girls split down the middle as if jerked by an unseen hand and Hermione appeared in the space, Ginny right behind her. “Let him breathe, would you,” she chided the frustrated girls crossly, walking to Harry. She let out a loud, huffing breath. “You all right, Harry?” He stared at the girls re-settling themselves, edging as close as they dared and shooting glares at Hermione. He swallowed. “What is all this?” he asked under his breath. “Your fans,” Ginny said, her eyes melting with sympathy. “I’m afraid it’s like this everywhere now. We were hoping it would be better at school,” her glance included Hermione and Ron, who was shaking his head as if to clear it, “but thanks to that speech—” “We love you, Harry!” cried a girl from the pack, now edging their way closer again. “Thanks to your speech,” Ginny started again, more loudly this time, “the fan club has come out of hiding.” “Fan club?” Harry asked, horrified. ““I’ll watch your back, Harry!” a girl shouted. A chorus of agreeing voices cried out. “Heh. I’ll watch anything he lets me!” Harry spun around on that one, because it sounded like a bloke. But before he could make out whom it had been, Hermione and Ginny were knocked into him from behind by a surge of fans. Harry helped Ginny as she nearly fell over the bench. “That’s enough!” Ron roared, wading through the crowd toward Harry. “This is just—just—come on, now. Ease off,” he said as he reached Hermione and pulled her back. She had her wand out, and the front line of girls was edging nervously away from her. “I will be taking house points the next time someone pushes me! Is that clear?” Hermione yelled with a fierce look in her eyes, and the nearest girls scattered. On Harry’s other side, Ginny had her wand out as well. “Stay back,” Ginny cried, “or I’ll show you what a Bat Bogey-Hex is!” Ron looked up from where he was setting a first-year girl aside and cursed. “Just climb over the table,” he called to Harry, gesturing over the heads of the girls. “Aye, head for the hills, mate!” Seamus yelled. Harry went for it, and there was a general outcry as he crawled up on the Gryffindor table. “Harr—eeeeeee!” More squeals. “What’s going on?” A girl called from back of the crowd. “I can’t see! Has he got his shirt off or something?” Harry turned around and bellowed, “I MOST CERTAINLY DO NOT HAVE MY SHIRT OFF!” The crowd immediately quieted; the girls stared at him open-mouthed. For some reason, Ginny was smiling. Then one girl spoke up. “Then, what’re you waiting for?” “Yeah!!” Harry froze again as the crowd took up the cry, at a complete loss for how to deal with this. There was more yelling now, more faces turning his way, most seemingly in support of the idea of him stripping off his clothes. And then, despite his horror, it suddenly struck him that some of these girls might . . . they actually might, well . . . probably would like to kiss him. He turned red again. “All right, Harry—move it before we get squashed!” Ron shouted reaching over the table to shove him on his way, then turned back to the crowd, wand out along with Hermione and Ginny. “Go find some place better to drool!” “Come on, Harry. I’ve got your back,” Neville called from where he was now standing on the other side of the table, waiting for him. Harry gladly clambered down, but wondered if even the enormous table would be enough of a deterrent to the crowd. “Are you all right, Harry?” Neville’s eyes were open wide, as though he’d seen a wild pack of lions devouring a hyena carcass. “Think so. Don’t know what to make of that, though,” Harry said, gesturing loosely to the crowd where Hermione was still trying to take control. “NO! No climbing over the table! You first years should find your prefects and go to your common rooms now,” she said loudly, gesturing with her wand, “and you older students should know better than this,” she added severely. “House points will be taken if you do not move now!” Harry watched in relief as most of the crowd turned away, the girls seeming disappointed, most of the boys polarized between highly amused or highly irritated. Most of the students in his year seemed to belong to the amused group. They could have stepped in and helped, Harry thought. Ron was clambering over the table now to join them, his long limbs spread out spider-like, a comparison he surely wouldn’t have appreciated. Neville smiled hesitantly, “Must have been sort of nice, though, right?” Harry stared over at him. “What?” Neville shrugged. “Just seemed like fun, you know, having that many girls trying to touch you and . . . you know—well, kinda… fun.” He blushed and looked down when Harry frowned. “That was about as fun as being attacked by a Manticore.” “Yeah,” Ron joined in as he touched ground, “not that you know what that’s like, though, right?” “Er . . .” Harry said, suddenly remembering that he actually hadn’t told Ron or Hermione about the Manticore, the Portkey or the mind-duel with Tom. “Ouch! Oh, ouch. OUCH!” A sudden chorus of yells came from across the table, and the boys whipped around just in time to see the crowd pulling away from Ginny as she crammed her wand back in a pocket, her face savage. When she saw Harry looking at her, she put her hands on her hips. “What? Just be glad you didn’t hear what she said!” she called across to him, chin raised in the air, then joined Hermione in pushing their way toward the doors of the Great Hall. They passed Cho, who was standing there with hands on hips, watching Harry with no expression. After a nod to him, she turned away as well. “Girls. Completely mad,” Harry murmured, cementing his opinion of the year before. He turned to Ron and Neville, expecting agreement, but Ron was openly grinning. “Guess Ginny and Hermione did all right, though, didn’t they?” Ron said with a self-satisfied grin. “Oh, Ginny’s fantastic,” Neville joined in eagerly. Harry nodded, but his thoughts were already back on the crowd and their hysteria over the very idea that he might have taken his shirt off. Him? He couldn’t think of anything he’d be less willing to do than take his shirt off in front of a group of girls while standing on a table in the Great Hall. Harry shook his head. He was beginning to understand Dumbledore’s decision to have Ron be his bodyguard. He gave Ron a grim smile, “Thanks, mate. I owe you one, too.” “Uh, yeah, right,” Ron nodded gamely, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All I know is you better not make any more bloody speeches. All those people pressing close like that? Anything could happen.” Then he straightened and looked beyond Harry. “Hey Cho! Cho, did you see this over here? There’s got to be a rule against this! Someone needs be docked House Points. What?” As she called back, Ron took a few steps forward to gesture the Head Girl over and someone took that opportunity to slip around him and beside Neville. Harry suddenly found himself face to face with a Twitchtie. “Er—hello,” he said haltingly—ready to bolt if she threw herself at him, requested that bits of his clothing come off, or tried to do Dark Magic. “Uprima Twitchtie,” the girl in front of Harry offered, her solemn brown eyes never leaving his. “My friends call me Prima. Don’t listen to what other people say about me and my sisters. I always believed you about Voldemort and I want to help you any way I can.” “Er—thanks,” Harry said, finding himself leaning back slightly. “This is my friend, Neville Longbottom,” he introduced him with a wave, more to distract the girl than anything else. “How do you do,” Uprima said properly. Neville stammered back, “F-Fine. And you?” “Spiffing.” The girl couldn’t have been older than eleven, but there was something unnerving about the intense burning of her brown eyes as they never left Harry’s. “Harry, I meant to ask you—” “—Here, what do you think you’re doing,” Ron was suddenly there in a flurry of motion, grasping Uprima by the shoulders and shunting her over to the side. “Go on—find your house mates or I’m taking Points—oh, bugger!” Ron interrupted himself, remembering that he wasn’t a Prefect this year. Uprima turned back and said, “Goodbye, Harry. I’ll try another time.” She walked away to join the throng heading out the doors, a good few of them still glancing in Harry’s direction. Ron was watching them with a nervous gaze. Neville turned to look at Harry. “Wonder what that was about?” “Dunno,” Harry said. “None of this makes any sense to me,” gesturing to include the crowd. “I mean, how am I supposed to deal with that?” “Well, I do know one thing,” Ron said, finally turning back to Harry. “Whatever you do—Bloody hell, mate—don’t make any more speeches.” ****** Harry didn’t make it straight to Gryffindor Tower after the Feast. Dumbledore caught his eye as he was leaving, and for some reason, Harry understood that he was needed in Dumbledore’s office now. With a sigh, he headed that way, arguing with Ron futilely over the redhead accompanying him. “Nothing’s going to happen to me in the office of the Headmaster!” “Right. And nothing’s going to happen to you on the way there or on the way back to the Tower, because I’ll be with you. See how that works? Easy peasy.” Harry fumed inwardly, fighting the mad urge to run a long, roundabout way to the Headmaster’s office in an effort to ditch Ron. Harry didn’t like this. At all. He would take it up with the Headmaster. At the entrance to the office, Ron crossed his arms and leaned against the wall to wait. Harry stared at him, unaccountably furious, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “What if I trip and fall going up the twisty stairs, Ron? Who will protect me then?” Ron flushed bright red to his ears, but looked away. He yelled loudly at the opposite wall, “I WILL!” Then he huffed out a breath, sniffed and mumbled, “thick-headed clot,” under his breath. Harry said nothing, but turned on his heel and marched up the stairs. He tried to pause and collect himself, but as soon as he was at the entrance, the door opened for him. “Ah, yes, come in Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore’s warm voice came from inside. Harry entered hesitantly, wondering how the Headmaster had gotten here before him. “Mr. Weasley sounds a bit unsettled. You haven’t been baiting him, now have you?” Harry flushed as he sat in the chair. “Not exactly. Just . . . well, yeah, I guess so. I mean,” he straightened up and looked steadily at the Headmaster, “I HATE this idea that he’s my bodyguard! How could you do that to him? He already felt responsible enough for me and now it’s just going to be ten times worse!” Professor Dumbledore’s eyebrows furrowed and he leaned forward. “How do you mean?” Harry pressed his lips together, then relented. “What if something does happen to me? What if he can’t stop it? How’s he going to feel then?” The old man’s blue eyes lit up. “Oh, I do know the answer to that one,” he chirruped, leaning back in his chair and looking self-satisfied. Slowly, his smile disappeared. “He will feel exactly as you felt last year after your godfather was killed. He will feel responsible.” Harry’s chest felt as if someone had chucked a fifteen-stone weight on it. He swallowed and let anger inflate his lungs again. “Then why do it? Why make him my official bodyguard? How could that help at all?” “Oh, Harry,” Dumbledore murmured, “neither you nor I can control how others feel about us. The simple fact is that you are loved, my boy, and there are many people who will grieve if you are lost. They fear that outcome every day and must rise up to face it and fight it every single day, much as you yourself must do.” The sorrowful grief in Dumbledore’s eyes left Harry no doubt as to whether or not the Headmaster was describing himself. “To give those people no relief, no steps to take to prevent the loss of their loved one, is to condemn them to suffer needlessly. I simply gave permission for Mr. Weasley to do what he had purposed already to do in his heart.” Agonized, Harry burst out, “He won’t even go to his own classes! He’s going to mine!” The Headmaster smiled, “That is simply one way of looking at it. I prefer to think of it this way: you and he chose the same career path and must take the same courses. Had I not matched your schedules, Mr. Weasley most likely would have found all manner of excuses to miss his classes and find his way over to yours, anyway. Now he will at least continue his education while also giving him the mental benefit of being of some use to you. In the outcome, you get a protector, he gets his education and I get the relief of knowing you will not be walking these halls alone.” Harry sat back in his chair. It did make sense, in a way. Whether or not Harry wanted him to, Ron did feel responsible for his friend. Giving him a title made him feel useful. Harry looked up as the Headmaster went on. “Perhaps you, being so familiar with Mr. Weasley as a friend, do not see the very real threat he presents to those who would do you harm.” Harry’s eyes widened. “Your friend has grown to be the tallest of all his brothers, with considerable strength from his Quidditch training. He has a passionate temper that his years of conflict with Mr. Malfoy have brought under strict control—well, most of the time,” Dumbledore added at Harry’s doubtful look. “He also has quick reflexes, a strong right hook and a good background in defense techniques, thanks to the D.A. In addition, he has an instinctive and highly developed head for strategy—defensive and offensive. In short, your friend makes the ideal companion for someone accustomed to finding himself in danger,” the Headmaster concluded with a smile. Harry shook his head, pleasantly surprised to see Ron in a new light. But then the memory of how flustered he’d been during the crowd scene came back to Harry. Ron had a long way to go before he could handle anything they threw at him. Harry sighed. “I suppose, then, that you’ve given Hermione something to do as well?" “Official researcher of the Order of the Phoenix,” he said with twinkling eyes. Harry stared, but could find no reason to object to something so seemingly safe. “Ginny?” “Occlumency/Legilimency trainee.” “With Snape?” Harry asked, horrified. “Professor Snape,” Dumbledore corrected mildly, “and no. She will be learning from our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Joanna Haverlime.” A sudden thought struck Harry. “Neville?” Dumbledore smiled. “Assistant of the D.A.” “And Luna?” “Well,” and here, the Headmaster’s eyes twinkled, “she will be our official press liaison. If there’s anything Mr. Fudge feels he needs to print that is in error, we will have access to the Quibbler, to get the truth out. She will be fantastic in that capacity.” “Oh—I saw Charlie earlier—has he decided to stay, then?” “I believe—” A sudden flare of pain in Harry’s scar clouded the Headmaster’s words. Harry bent over, fighting the instant nausea, panting to breathe through it. A sickening feeling of happiness coursed through him, of ecstatic joy that knew no bounds, encased in the familiar pain of his scar. “He’s . . . happy,” Harry managed to moan between breaths. “Something’s . . . happened.” “Can you discern anything else?” Harry tried to focus on the emotions ringing through his head, but could catch nothing else. “No,” he gasped. “Bring up your shield, then, Harry. Use your Procclumency if you must need,” the calm voice of the Headmaster urged. Without hesitation, Harry focused on bringing up the gray shield and felt the emotion and pain fade immediately. He sighed with relief. When he looked up, the Headmaster had a reassuring smile on his face. “Well done, Harry. Very well done.” ****** When Harry stumbled out of the Headmaster’s office, Ron fell into step beside him, immediately looking worried. “What’s wrong?” “My scar twinged a bit,” Harry said with reluctance, then added, “Voldemort was happy about something.” The use of Tom’s name was enough to keep Ron quiet for a while, which was what Harry wanted. He needed to think. “Harry?” A soft voice caught at his mind and Harry stopped. It was Susan Bones, stepping out from behind a pillar. She looked as confused and troubled as he had ever seen her. “Susan? What’s going on?” he asked, automatically concerned. “Here—how did you know where Harry was?” Ron stepped forward, suspicion lacing his voice. “Well, I followed him, of course,” she said with a smile, a blush creeping over her round cheeks. “And I saw you waiting there, so I knew that’s where he was.” “Oh,” Ron said, glancing at Harry, “hadn’t thought of that.” “I was just heading up to the Tower, Susan,” Harry went on, feeling edgy, “was there something you needed?” “Well . . .” she looked at Ron pointedly, “I was hoping to talk to you alone.” Her gaze slid back to Harry. “No,” Ron said with firmness. “He stays with me.” “He can speak for himself, I’m sure,” Susan snapped, then looked entreatingly at Harry. “Just for a minute, Harry. It’ll be impossible to get you alone tomorrow.” “That’s right,” Ron said with a self-satisfied smile. “Impossible.” Harry glared at Ron, then turned his gaze back on Susan, who was now bouncing nervously on her feet as if she needed to go to the loo. “Harry . . .” she implored, “please!” “Okay,” Harry agreed, stepping toward Susan, “but just right there,” pointing to an alcove, “and Ron stays nearby.” “What?” Ron said in an outraged voice. “Ever heard of a Portkey, Harry?” Harry saw red. How DARE Ron remind him— “We’re not going anywhere, Ron,” Susan said in an edgy voice, “You’ll be able to see us the entire time.” Harry glared at Ron, biting back angry words, before walking over to Susan. “Just for a minute, Susan. I really need to get up to the Tower.” “Of course,” Susan said gamely. She slid her hand around Harry’s left arm, getting uncomfortably close to the antidote band. Ron blew out a huge breath and muttered curse words under his breath. But he stayed put and only watched belligerently as they walked to the alcove, jerking his wand out. Harry took her hand away from his arm and led her over to the alcove on the right, his anger dissolved by a sudden bout of misgiving. He trusted her, didn’t he? Susan had been one of the most level-headed students throughout all of his years here, and she had an aunt in the Ministry. He was half-hoping her talk might be inside information, maybe a hint as to what had Tom so happy. He wanted to be able to count on her. “Sorry to be so weird,” Susan apologized sweetly, looking a little nervous, “but this needed to be said alone.” Harry dropped her hand as they reached the alcove. “’s all right. What is it?” “I wanted to apologize again for not remembering what a rough summer you had,” she began with a strange look in her eyes. “Is that all?” Harry asked, looking past her to where Ron stood, wand trained on Susan, in the hallway. “There’s no need . . .” “Well, that wasn’t all, really,” she continued, stepping closer. Harry jerked his gaze back to her. “Then what is it?” he asked, dread lacing his voice. His brain chose this particular moment to remember Charlie’s words about what had happened on the train. “Several young witches who should have known better . . .” “We never got to finish this . . .” she said, then stepped flush to him and softly pressed her lips to his. Harry gasped and froze, his mind whirling. She was kissing him. A girl was kissing him. That was on his list. He wanted this, right? It did feel . . . good. Whoa. This was different than with Cho. Susan was sliding her hands into his hair now, opening her mouth and slanting it against his alarmingly. He had never thought of her like this—never. Beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead, and the pleasant feelings that swirled around in his stomach were suddenly tinged with nausea. What was wrong with him? She was too close—that was it. He had to get away and brought his hands up, but—what she doing? Unzipping his robe. Wait—she had a hand into his robes—that fast! His shirt was up, and her hand was leaving a cold, burning trail down his twitching abdomen and into the waistband of his jeans— Too close—too close—“NO!” A pulse of pure rage detonated inside him and then she was landing on the floor, feet away, her back smacking hard. Harry’s wand was trained on her, shaking. “Harry?” Ron was there, looking between the two of them, wand pointing at the ground. “I thought you were . . .” He trailed off and turned his wand on the now-crying girl. “That hurt!” she wailed, easing over onto her side. Harry stepped closer, wand aimed more carefully now. His voice was raspy as he spat out, “No one touches me. No one. Got it?” Susan’s eyes went wide, but there was a gleam in them just before she turned away. Harry’s eyes were watering. He could feel Ron’s stare, could feel the cool air against his suddenly feverish skin, but as he watched Susan scramble away, he felt no remorse at all. The fierce, burning anger consumed everything else. He’d meant what he’d said. No one would touch him like that again. Ever. ******
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