|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: Imogen Story: Carpe Diem Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-OotP Status: Completed Reviews: 4 Words: 62,032
"Listen? Me listen? Oh that's a good one coming from you!" Hermione retorted bitterly. Ron snorted derisively. "When was the last time you bothered to listen to me? To think about me and my feelings?" she yelled at him. "That's right! I forgot. It's me, me, me all the time!" Ron snapped. "Ha!" Hermione was gradually turning as red as Ron, but she advanced towards him, glaring at him furiously, crowds of new first years scattering out of her path like frightened sheep. "And tell me just how you would feel if I'd been reading letters sent privately to you? ...Well?" There was a dangerous pause. Harry and Ginny exchanged worried looks. "Oh so now it's my fault you leave your love letters in books you lend to me for my homework?" Ron replied tartly. "Honestly, Hermione! I couldn't avoid seeing it." "Seeing it is not the same as reading it," she hissed. "Well it's certainly explained a lot," stormed Ron. "Like why you didn't visit this summer. Oh no, we're not good enough for you now that you can go swanning off with the likes of Viktor Krum." "I knew you'd behave like this," she fumed. "Why do you think I didn't tell you?" Ron grew even redder. "I'll tell you one thing Ron Weasley," she continued in a threatening voice of deadly calm. "You might not have noticed I'm now a prefect, and you might not listen to a word I say, but hear this:" She jabbed him hard in the chest with her finger to emphasise every syllable she spoke, "If you ever, ever, ever read my letters again, I promise you I will find a curse so bad you'll wish you'd never been born." With that she snatched up her book, turned on her heel and stalked off towards the dormitory stairwell. The common room breathed a sigh of relief, and Ron stood watching her, mouth gaping like a goldfish. "Nice one Ron," came the amused voice of Fred Weasley from over by the fireplace. "Oh shut up!" he yelled and flopped down into a nearby chair, burying his head in his hands. "He never learns," muttered Ginny under her breath, and Harry, in all honesty, had to agree with her. *** The days and weeks flew past, and the early warmth of autumn retreated to the advances of the chill dampness of October mists. Harry had never been busier at school; when he wasn't in lessons or doing homework, he was out on the Quidditch field, or planning match strategies for the Gryffindor team. His reluctant perseverance with the Imperius curse was surprisingly starting to pay off. Once or twice Ginny had managed to throw off the curse entirely, and her hopes were high for the future. The only real problem was, Harry's headaches had started again. Rubbing his scar fretfully, Harry thought enviously of the rest of Gryffindor who were obviously still in bed enjoying untroubled dreams this Saturday morning. He gazed at the dancing flames in the common room fire, then closed his eyes, trying to recall every detail of the dream which had prompted this latest attack of pain. It was somewhere he'd never been before; soaring over a forest, down, down to a ramshackle stone cottage which appeared to be totally deserted. The windows had long since been boarded over, and mossy fingers clung onto every surface of the place in an attempt to claim dominion. Weeds tangled together, stretching and competing for what little light there was, grasping at his ankles as he had moved forward to peer between a gap in the rotten planking. A faint flickering light illuminated the dank interior, and a tall shadowy shape, which made Harry's scar begin to burn on his forehead. "We must kill him soon," came the oddly high-pitched hiss which Harry recognised all too well. "Harry Potter has lived too long already. He must not stand in my way." "But my Lord," came the stuttering, wheezing voice which had betrayed Harry's own parents, "you know how difficult it is to get hold of the boy." "Have faith Wormtail. It is taken care of." A peal of mirthless and cruel laughter filled the air. "Yes my Lord," came a new voice, which Harry was certain he recognised. "It has been done." Harry's eyes snapped open to see Ron peering anxiously down at him. "Are you OK?" "Yeah. It's just another headache. Couldn't sleep," Harry replied vaguely, his mind still concentrated on the voice in his dream. Who did that voice belong to? "It's not You Know Who again is it?" Ron asked cautiously. Harry had been reticent to speak of Voldemort since the third task in the Triwizard Tournament the previous year, and the little he had told his friend about the horrors he had experienced witnessing Voldemort's rebirth and Cedric Diggory's murder made Ron approach the subject more delicately than usual. Harry began to pace restlessly around the room, rubbing his scar distractedly. "He's after me again," he said quietly after a long pause. "I saw it in my dream. He's got it all planned out and someone I know is going to help him." Ron looked aghast at this news and stammered, "But who? Who do we know who would do something like that?" Harry shrugged, his thoughts were racing. He knew that it was only a matter of time before Voldemort caught up with him, and it was sheer good luck that he had survived so long already. Would this ever stop, or was this going to be it? "Still," Ron persisted, "he can't hurt you while you're here can he? I mean, Dumbledore's around and everything. Hermione'll tell you about all the enchantments there are to stop people getting into the castle." He mimicked her voice, "I read it in ‘Hogwarts, A History'." Harry smiled wryly at this reference to Hermione's favourite book. As far as they knew, she was the only person to have ever waded through the thing from cover to cover. "It didn't stop him last year though," he answered thoughtfully. "Portkeys obviously work, even inside Hogwarts." He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and glanced out of the window and across the grounds which were still shrouded in the early morning mist. "He's out there somewhere." With effort, Harry shifted his attention back to Ron, sank into the armchair opposite him and continued in a low, yet urgent tone. "Ron, why is he after me? I mean, it can't just be because he didn't kill me when I was a baby. There has to be something more to it than that. I've been thinking; there has to be a real reason why he wanted to kill me and my dad. You know, he always said my mum needn't have died – the only reason she did was to protect me. There has to be something more to it." "How about writing to Sirius? He's bound to know," Ron suggested practically. Then he continued in a bracing tone, "Let's go out for a bit of Quidditch practise; it looks like you need something to take your mind off things." "Yeah," said Harry, beginning to sound more like his normal self. "It's a Hogsmeade weekend today as well. Perfect timing for a trip to Honeyduke's." As the rest of Gryffindor slowly came alive again to the hustle and bustle of Saturday morning in the common room, two figures could be seen distantly on the Quidditch pitch, soaring together through the crisp morning air. *** Harry, Ron and Hermione strolled through the main street of Hogsmeade, companionably munching on chocolate frogs and hunting for a birthday present for Ginny. "You should have been better organised, Ron," said Hermione severely. "I bought one for her back in August in Diagon Alley." "Oh plenty of time," replied Ron airily "Her birthday's not until the end of the month." Hermione laughed. "That is so typical of you Ron Weasley. You've only got three days to get her one. Oooh! What about something from there?" She stopped and pointed to a small shop on the left hand side of the street. "I treated myself to a gorgeous necklace from there last year to wear with my dress robes for the ball." She caught Ron's eye and flushed, but continued undeterred. "They're not too expensive, and I'm sure Ginny will find an occasion to wear something like that later this year." Her eyes twinkled with unshared information. "Not another ball," moaned Ron. "The last one was torture enough!" "You'll find out soon enough," Hermione grinned. " Now, how about this birthday present?" They had only just begun to look through the window when they heard a familiar drawling voice behind them. Draco Malfoy, flanked as ever by his Neanderthal cronies Crabbe and Goyle. "Surely you're not thinking of buying anything here, Weasley?" his clipped accent drilled the insult home. He laughed loftily, "It'll cost more gold than you and your brothers have put together." Ron turned scarlet and would have dived at Malfoy if Hermione and Harry had not grabbed hold of the back of his robes and hung on tight. "At least I've got people I care about to buy presents for," Ron retorted angrily, but Malfoy's sneer became even more malicious. "You mean you and that filthy mudblood have finally started a relationship? Well, well! My congratulations Weasley. No money and no breeding should be a match made in heaven." Before Harry had a chance to intervene, Ron wrenched himself free and landed full force on Malfoy, knocking him clean off his feet and onto the ground. Punches flew before the pair were finally separated, Malfoy's nose was geysering blood everywhere, and a nasty cut was oozing above Ron's eye. "You'll pay for this," Malfoy spluttered as he was led away down the street by the other Slytherins. "Serves him right," muttered Ron darkly. "Hope I've cracked his ribs. That would be worth a detention any day." "Ron! You shouldn't have! He's not worth it," Hermione exclaimed. "Let me look at your eye." Ron grimaced but stooped obediently to let Hermione examine the gash with gentle fingers. "It's nothing," he asserted. "I'm not having him insulting you. Hermi… Ouch!" He flinched. "Sorry!" She smiled at him, "I think I can fix this. I've been reading up on basic magical medicine recently. You never know when it's going to come in handy." "Go on then," said Ron through gritted teeth. "I suppose as it's you I'm not likely to come out as a three headed mutant at the end of the day." "That's what you think," she teased, and pointed her wand at the cut. "Integro." Harry stood watching this exchange, a realisation suddenly dawning on him. Now it made sense: Ron's irrational behaviour about Krum, flying off the handle because Malfoy had insulted Hermione, the ridiculous fights, and the tenderness with which she was currently treating him. He smiled inwardly. It made perfect sense. "Harry?" Hermione's amused voice cut across his thoughts. "Are you coming in or are you going to stand outside all day?" The perfect present for Ginny was quickly found. A delicate silver chain with a tiny star-like drop which twinkled and gleamed magically in the palm of Ron's hand. "It's too much," Ron said glumly, pulling a face. "How about we buy it for her between us?" offered Harry slowly, knowing money was a sore point. Ron regarded him suspiciously. "Well, I feel guilty," he explained hastily. "I've been putting curses on the poor girl all term. She deserves something nice after that!" "Yeah, I guess so," Ron laughed. "She's going to love this." Leaving Ron with his money bag at the counter, Harry wandered across to where Hermione was idly browsing the shelves. "How long have you been feeling like this about Ron?" he muttered in an undertone. She glanced swiftly at him and blushed. "You noticed then?" she murmured. "It is so difficult. I wish I knew what was going on." "Hermione, this is Ron we're talking about," Harry whispered, smiling at her. "You're going to need to club him round the head with something heavy and make him see what's staring him in the face. If you leave him to his own devices he'll never notice how he feels." "I know. That's exactly what Ginny said. But then there's the Viktor Krum complication," Hermione looked worried and glanced across the shop at Ron. "Listen, I'll talk to you later. He's coming over." The dusk was washing over them as they passed through the gateway on the way back to school and that was when it happened. A searing pain scorched through Harry's scar, so severely and so unexpectedly that he cried out as he clutched his hand to his forehead. Blinded by the ferocity of the attack, he stumbled, aware only of the pulsating agony in his head. The hammering blows of white hot pain rained down inside his skull, and he was falling; falling deeper and deeper into darkness.
|