Harry Potter and the Return to Godric's Hollow

- CHAPTER NINE -

The Letters’ Writers

Halloween had approached rapidly and everyone was looking forward to the traditional Halloween feast that would take place that night in the Great Hall. Glowing orange jack-o-lanterns decorated the school and its grounds, and their unnaturally radiant light served as a brightening effect, even in the dungeons, where light never seemed to penetrate the monotony.

The Gryffindors made their way from their last class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, and hurried to reach their dormitories to clean up before they went to the feast. They were all reasonably sluggish; Hagrid’s lesson had been very strenuous. They had been taking care of new creatures, Calpines, which seemed to Harry to be very much like Muggles’ pet dogs. The problems with the Calpines were their wings and abnormally large, sharp teeth. They were friendly enough, but there was always the looming threat of being bit by one of those razor-filled mouths; they never got very angry, but if you showed any lack of activity with them, for they liked to play all of the time, they would start to get agitated. Because all of the students were fearful of being bitten, they stayed moving, chasing and jumping in the air to play with the animals. So far, the students’ efforts had paid off and nobody had been injured.

After they had washed up and were ready for the feast, Harry, Ron, and Hermione met in the Gryffindor common room and then made their way down to the Great Hall, ready to eat after their long afternoon. They’d almost made it there uneventfully, until they turned a corner just as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle came along as well.

They all faltered for a moment, not knowing whether to stop and spit words at each other or to keep going so they wouldn’t cause any trouble. Of course, Malfoy and his gang chose to stop, and stared at the three with a superior scowl. Harry, Ron, and Hermione decided it would be best if they continued on their path; after Harry’s fight with Malfoy in Potions, Ron and Hermione had been doing their best to keep the two enemies as far away from each other as possible.

“Where are you going, Potter?” Malfoy drawled, speaking to Harry’s retreating back. “Too afraid to stay and...chat?”

Harry stopped and turned around but made no move towards Malfoy. “Not afraid, Malfoy,” he said coolly, “I just have better things to do than waste my time on you.”

Malfoy scoffed, but looked annoyed that his baiting wasn’t working. “Classic comeback. It’s too bad you can’t come over here and say that.”

He was about to take a step forward, watching as Malfoy gripped something in his robe’s pocket – his wand. Harry halted; an Auror, who had probably heard the two boys shouting up and down the hall at each other, walked around a corner and stood behind Malfoy. Seeing Harry’s gaze fixed behind him, Malfoy quickly let go of his wand and looked over his shoulder at the Auror. Glaring, he sauntered quickly forward towards Harry, Ron and Hermione, Crabbe and Goyle stalking behind him. As he passed he muttered scathingly, “Happy Halloween, Potter.”

The Auror, an older man with gray hair and an abnormally large nose, asked, “Are you kids okay? I know that Malfoy kid can start some trouble – we,” he was referring to the other Aurors who were working in the school but weren’t there with him, “have been having a heck of a time with him.”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Harry said, glancing at Ron and Hermione.

“Going to dinner?” the Auror asked. They nodded and he glanced at his watch. “It’s due to start in a few minutes; you should probably get on your way.”

They thanked him and got to the Great Hall a minute later, which was almost filled already by all of the students and professors. The same pumpkins that had been decorating the grounds hung suspended in midair, and bats fluttered around here and there, squeaking away.

Not long after they took their seats, the feast began and the table was covered with all kinds of dishes and platters of steaming food. The house elves even seemed to make their own drink concoction for the occasion – there were pitchers of a foamy, bubbling orange drink that tasted for the most part like butterbeer, and Harry wondered if somehow Winky the house elf had been the designer of the drink.

“How’ve you two been handling those new spells for Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Hermione asked well into the meal.

The plates covering the table cleared, and an instant later they were covered with desserts of all kinds.

“Good,” Ron said thickly, an already half-eaten éclair sitting on his plate. 

“You both seemed to be all right with your defense spells that we worked on last week, though Harry, I think you may need to practice your Obscuring—”

“I thought I had it fine...” Harry said, puzzling over which desserts he wanted to eat first.

“Well, I can help you out with it tomorrow night, if you want me to,” she offered.

“Ok – wait, no. We have practice tomorrow night. Our match against Ravenclaw is coming up.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Hermione said, biting her lip in thought. “Well, I suppose I could help you out Sunday afternoon. I was going to study up for something else, but I can do that later that night.”

“Sure you don’t mind?” Harry asked, taking a bite of a pumpkin tart with whipped cream topping it.

“I’m sure. Ron, do you want any help with anything? You may be able to use some as well...”

“I guess, if you two are going to be practicing stuff anyway.” He chewed and swallowed the rest of his éclair and picked some sort of apple pastry off one of the golden plates. “When do you want us to help you with your flying?”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her tone somewhat guarded. Ron looked up at her; he wasn’t teasing her, he was serious. “Er, well we’re not starting the flying unit next week. I was thinking I’d wait until after the first week, to see if I really need any help at all—I think I’ll probably be all right, really.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you do need help...”

“I know,” she replied quickly. “I’ll ask if I find the need—”

Hermione stopped abruptly, looking curiously over Harry’s shoulder.

Ron, following her gaze, said, “Where’s he going?”

Harry turned around to see what the cause of their distraction was: Professor Snape. Harry could just see the back of his black robe whip around the corner of a door behind the front tables.

“Maybe he was just done with his meal earlier than everyone else...”

“Maybe,” Ron said uncertainly. He and Harry couldn’t quite believe that excuse, though. They never let it past them that Snape could be up to something; he was a spy for Dumbledore, who trusted him entirely, but there was still something about him that bugged Harry...

***

When all the students had eaten as much as possible, they went back to their common rooms to celebrate Halloween a bit more. Hermione told Ron and Harry that Dumbledore had given the Prefects permission to allow their houses to stay up later than normal, and it seemed Gryffindor was going to take full advantage of their privilege.

Many students were in groups, playing various games such as Exploding Snap, Gobstones or Wizard’s Chess. Fred and George had brought out a few of their products in honor of the occasion, and they were being sold fast. Ron conned the twins into giving him a few tricks for free and was delighted to give unsuspecting Ginny what she thought was a new deck of Exploding Snap cards; when she tore off the seal to open the box, it exploded at once and singed a few pieces of her loose hair.

“Ron!” she yelped, lunging at her brother, who was doubled over laughing. He stopped shortly as she punched his arm, hard, and left him rubbing his shoulder and, in turn, being laughed at by Harry and Hermione.

Remembering that he had a few Wet-Start Fireworks in his trunk in the dormitory upstairs, Harry told his friends he would be back in a second and ran up the winding stairs to his dormitory. He had just closed his trunk and was picking up the fireworks he’d thrown on his bed in a hurry when he heard a thud against the window. He looked up and saw a few owls flocking around it, trying to push it open by flying into it.

“What the...” Harry trailed off, walking hastily to the window to open it before the owls shattered the glass panes. He immediately regretted it.

Owls, of all sizes, colors and breeds, streamed through the window and showered Harry with folded pieces of parchment. He covered his head just in time as they started to pelt his face. Ducking down, he crawled to his bed and hid behind it as bird after bird flew through the window, dropped a letter, and flew back out again. After they had stopped, Harry waited a few more minutes to make sure no more would rocket in and bombard him with even more letters, and then ran to the window and pulled it shut with a clatter.

He looked down at the pile of letters he was standing on. There had to be about fifty of them, all the same: addressed to him in identical green writing. Knowing what they would say already, Harry picked up a few and opened the first one.

We have the power to harm.

He opened the next one, and one after that, and a few more after that. They were all the same. They were from the same person he’d been receiving the strange letters from all year. Harry got up, went to his bedside table and pulled the drawer out, and took out the stack of letters that were tied together with a thin string. He’d obtained a few more since the last one he’d gotten, but tonight he had gotten far more than he had so far put together. He ran back to the heap of letters beside the window and frantically began to sweep them into a stack. Giving up on trying to make them into a neat pile, he picked them up in his arms and was about to dumb them into the small table’s drawer when the dormitory door creaked open.

“Harry? What’s taking you so long—” Ron’s mouth hung open as he looked from the guilty, surprised look on Harry’s face and his crooked glasses to the sloppy pile of notes in his friend’s arms and the few that he’d dropped, leaving a trail of letters from the window.

Ron looked at him suspiciously. “Harry, what’s going on?” He walked across the room and picked up one of the letters off the floor. Harry discarded the letters he was holding into the drawer, not caring about the ones that bounced off the edge and floated to the floor. Flopping down on his bed, he sighed.

“This looks like that letter you got in the beginning of the year, that one that we didn’t know who it came from...” He stared at Harry, who nodded, and then ripped the letter open. His face went pale as he read it, and he picked another off the floor, reading the same message again.

“I think there’s something I should probably tell you and Hermione...” Harry said, getting off the bed and picking up the remaining letters from the floor. He tossed them onto his bed, and Ron went to get Hermione.

A minute later, Hermione came breathlessly into the boys’ dormitory.

“You know, this is really abusing my privileges of being a Prefect...”

She gazed, perplexed, at the letters Harry had taken back out of his table’s drawer and put on his bed. The old ones were still bound together, and the new ones he’d just acquired were mounded into a small mass.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asked in a voice slightly higher than normal.

“Well, you both remember that first letter I got at the beginning of term; we didn’t know who it was from, but decided not to worry about it unless I got more—”

“And you got more,” Ron stated, examining the letters.

“Yeah,” Harry said, feeling foolish because he had never mentioned the letters to his friends before. “Well, I was only getting one every now and then, so I thought it was still no big deal... But I came up here to get those fireworks,” he pointed at the edge of a firework which was mostly covered by the letters, “and a bunch of owls started slamming into the window. I opened it and then a ton of them came flying in and started dropping letters everywhere. I think one of them actually gave me a bruise...” He rubbed the back of his head, but Hermione and Ron continued to stare at him, waiting for him to continue. “So, they finally stopped bringing letters and I closed the window before anymore could get in. Then I opened a few and they all said the same thing as the other mystery letters: ‘We have the power to harm.’”

“I told you to tell us if that kept happening,” Hermione said, sounding neither angry nor forgiving. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I... I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“But Harry, look at all of these letters. There has to be at least fifty...”

“I know,” Harry mumbled. “I figure the next thing I should do is open them all up and make sure they’re all the same, or see if there’s any clues.”

“Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” Hermione agreed.

The three sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed and grabbed a handful of letters. There were only a few more to check, and so far they were all the same—almost.

“This one’s different,” Ron said suddenly, breaking the semi-silence of the room (they could still hear the Gryffindors downstairs celebrating). He held up an opened letter.

The letter closely resembled the others; it was folded in thirds, which was the same as the other letters, and was also written in green ink. However, its message was different, as was the handwriting. It simply said:

Happy Halloween, Potter.

“That was creative,” Ron said, handing the letter over to Hermione to examine. Harry looked at it over her shoulder and the writing looked a bit familiar to him. The message even rang a bell in his head...

“That letter is from Malfoy!” he exclaimed, tearing it out of Hermione’s hands. “Earlier, when we were on our way to the Great Hall for the feast, after I was arguing with Malfoy, he walked past me and said, ‘Happy Halloween, Potter.’”

“And that writing,” Hermione said excitedly, “it looks a bit like his but with a bad Forging Charm on it.”

“You think Malfoy wrote all of these letters, then?” Ron asked while picking up one of the normal ones and comparing it with the one they thought was from Malfoy. “It’s too different from the other ones and I don’t think he’d be smart enough to keep doing it anonymously all this time, and then give it away as stupidly as this.”

“You’re right, Ron,” Hermione said. “He wouldn’t want us to catch him now. But why would he write one after all of this time and give himself away?”

“Because,” Harry said, a thought suddenly striking him, “he hasn’t been sending the other letters.”

“Hasn’t been sending the other letters? Then why would he send a letter, unsigned with a Forging Charm on it, to you?” Ron asked, confused.

“Because, he already knows of the plan, somehow. He knows someone else is doing this to me and probably knew that I would be getting a lot of these tonight. He thought it would be funny if I got all of them and this one from him, but of course he didn’t think I would know it was from him.”

“You’re probably right,” Hermione said, her face lighting up. “I bet he’s known of this since before it happened – since the summer – with his dad being in with You-Know-Who and all. I’d bet it’s a Death Eater doing this to you—”

“Maybe even Malfoy’s dad,” Ron put in.

“—So Malfoy knew from being around his house and overhearing things that this would be taking place.”

“And he thought it would be a good Halloween prank to pull on me to send me an extra one, throwing me off course,” Harry concluded, his head pounding.

They sat there for a few moments in silence, until Harry spoke.

“So, what do we do now?”

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “We have to do what we should have done in the first place. We have to tell Dumbledore.”

~*~

Harry, Ron and Hermione had pretended for the rest of the night that nothing had happened. They’d packed the letters into Harry’s bedside table, hoping they would be concealed long enough in there until the morning. After that, they had gone back down to the common room and tried to enjoy themselves, or at least look as if they were. Luckily, whether it was because they hadn’t noticed or they didn’t care, nobody had asked Hermione why she had gone up to the boys’ dormitory.

They had decided that the next morning they would go to see Dumbledore. It wouldn’t be hard to find the time to get there – it was Saturday – but what would be hard was stuffing all of the letters into Harry’s knapsack without anyone noticing it was bulging and lumpy.

So, the next morning, Harry and Ron waited around the boys’ dormitory until Neville, Seamus and Dean finally left for breakfast. Then, they went to work on shoving the letters into Harry’s book bag. They had objected to Hermione’s demands the previous night of bringing every single letter, but she explained to them that Dumbledore would probably want to see all of them.

When they finally were packed and had made Harry’s bag look as normal as possible, they headed down the stairs to the common room to meet Hermione, who was already waiting for them.

“What took you so long?” she hissed as they made their way together to the portrait hole.

“Seamus wouldn’t get out of bed,” Ron explained.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “We finally had to whisper a few Waking Charms to get him up without being too obvious.”

“All right, good work.” Harry and Ron glanced at each other, trying not to snicker; Hermione, since last night, had been acting as if she was on some top-secret mission. “Now, all we need to do is act as if we aren’t up to a thing – no, whistling makes it obvious, Ron – hopefully the Aurors aren’t going to be around too much this early...”

To their dismay, around almost every corner they turned there was an Auror close by.

Hermione let out an aggravated sigh. “They’ll never let us go talk to Dumbledore...”

“You three again.”

The three stopped sharply and turned around to find a brawny Auror face-to-face with them. It was the same man that had talked to them in the Three Broomsticks: McMurry.

“Er, hello,” Harry said nonchalantly as Hermione managed a weak smile and Ron looked around for means of escape.

“What are you doing around here?”

“We were just – just,” Hermione stuttered, looking for a reasonable answer in her mind.

McMurry raised an eyebrow suspiciously, holding each of their gazes in turn.

Harry was about to tell him that they were on their way to the library (even though they were heading in the completely opposite direction), but McMurry spoke first.

“I noticed,” he said, “that the students have been at a calm lately; there’s been a minimal of talk about You-Know-Who and Death Eaters lately. Am I right to think that you three followed my request and told no one about what you overheard in the Three Broomsticks?”

“Yes,” Harry said steadily.

“Good.”

There was a silence for a few moments and the three students could plainly see the Auror brooding over something in his mind.

“Er, so, can we...be on our way now?” Ron said finally, shifting uncomfortably.

“Leave? No,” McMurry said, and Harry felt his head pound with frustration and worry. What was he going to do with them, if they couldn’t leave?

“You still haven’t answered my question of where you’re going. By the looks of it, though, I’d say you were on your way to do something important and,” he furrowed his brow, studying the group, “urgent?”

Hermione and Ron watched Harry, waiting for him to answer.

“Well,” Harry paused and, because he couldn’t think of a good excuse and knew the Auror would know he was lying anyway, said, “Yes.”

McMurry grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Look, we need to go talk to Professor Dumbledore. There’s something that’s been going on and we really think it’d be best if he knows.”

It was McMurry’s turn to look worried now. “It’s something that important?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione nodded their heads in unison. “All right then. Normally, we wouldn’t let kids go waltzing around the school on missions to talk to the Headmaster, but I think you three may actually have a good reason. Besides, Professor Dumbledore has been meaning to talk to you, Harry.”

He led them to the stone gargoyle that obscured the entrance of the stairway to Dumbledore’s office.

“Sugar quill.” The gargoyle sprang aside and the group walked up the winding stone staircase. As they were lifted to Dumbledore’s office, Harry wondered why the password was still sugar quill; it was the same as when Snape and Arabella had come to see Dumbledore so hastily. They had said the password was changed...every time. What could they have meant by that?

They stood outside the door now and McMurry knocked on it. Harry heard a shuffling of papers and then Dumbledore’s clear voice.

“Come in.”

McMurry opened the door and escorted the trio in.

“These students said there was something they needed to talk to you about, so I brought them up here.”

Ron and Hermione looked around in amazement, taking in the elegant and fascinating objects that lined the shelves on the walls, as well as the many leather volumes and ancient books. Lastly, their eyes settled on Fawkes, sitting as he always was on his golden perch.

Dumbledore smiled at them, but his face was lined with apprehension.

“Thank you,” he said to McMurry, who was making his way to the door to exit.

“It was no problem,” he replied, and then shut the door softly behind him.

Dumbledore motioned to the seats in front of his desk and the three students sat down eagerly.

“Now, what can I do for you three today?” He looked tired, and Harry could see the multitude of papers, work, and letters on his desk; they were in neat piles, ready to be completed.

“Well, Professor, I got this letter at the beginning of term...” Harry swung his knapsack in his lap and then fished out the stack of bounded letters, removing the one on the top and handing it to Dumbledore.

He took it in his hands and studied the front for a moment, then unfolded it and read the message inside. His eyes flashed and he folded it back up and set it down on his desk.

“Have you received any more of these letters, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “Quite a few. At first, I was just getting them every now and then, so I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. But last night, I went up to my dormitory to get something out of my trunk and I heard something tapping on the window. I opened it and all these owls came flying in, dropping letters everywhere.

“Now I have all of these,” Harry pulled his bag open as far as possible and leaned it sideways so Dumbledore could look inside.

“And they’re all the same?”

“Almost,” Harry responded. He opened the front pouch of his knapsack; he’d put the letter that was suspected to be from Malfoy in there, so he wouldn’t lose it amongst the other letters. “This one’s a lot different.”

“We think it might be from Malfoy,” Ron helped.

Dumbledore opened the letter in his hands and read it.

“It looked to me, Professor,” Hermione said, “that whoever had written it had put a weak Forging Charm on the handwriting. It would make sense if it was Malfoy; the writing does look a bit like his, and he wouldn’t know how to do a proper Forging Charm yet; we’re supposed to learn that next year.”

Dumbledore smiled at Hermione and nodded, studying the letter. “And do you know how to reverse the Forging Charm?”

“Oh,” Hermione said, thinking. “Yes, I think so.” Dumbledore set the letter in front of Hermione and she sat up straight in her chair. She took out her wand and tapped it on the parchment while saying, “Scriberne.”

The writing seemed to shiver on the paper; it expanded, then contracted, and then settled in its final, original form.

“That is Malfoy’s writing!” Ron exclaimed, looking wildly at Harry and Hermione.

“So it is,” Dumbledore said calmly; he didn’t look very surprised. “Harry, have you idea who could have written the other letters?”

“Well, we don’t think those are from Malfoy... But, we did think that maybe they could be from a Death Eater.”

“Yes, just as I was thinking,” Dumbledore said, comparing the two letters openly on his desk now. “You see, we found out a little bit ago that Voldemort’s Death Eaters had been planning some sort of small “joke” to play on you. I can only imagine that this is what they were talking about, and that young Mr. Malfoy had somehow found out and taken the liberty to include himself in it.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged dark glances.

“These letters may continue, Harry. However, I will make sure that those who planned this will find out that what they’ve been doing has been solved, and then I’m sure they will find all of the fun is gone.”

Harry’s stomach twisted for a moment out of anger. How could Death Eaters find anything that they did, even something as small as this, fun?

Dumbledore continued, “I would like to see the rest of the letters, though, if you don’t mind. We’ll have to get them tested, to make sure no hexes or curses have been put upon them, and then we will probably destroy them all.”

Harry removed all of the letters from his bag and, as neatly as possible, placed them on Dumbledore’s desk.

“As for Mr. Malfoy, I assume he won’t try to send a letter to you again. If he does, I would like to know right away so I can take some action.” Ron’s shoulders drooped slightly; it seemed Malfoy was going to get out of a punishment this time.

“I’ll be sure to tell you, Professor,” Harry said.

“Now, I believe that all of this letter business is cleared up, then?”

“I think so,” Harry said as Ron and Hermione stood up with him.

“Thank you for telling me,” Dumbledore said as they headed to the door. “And Harry, could you stay for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Harry consented. Ron and Hermione thanked Professor Dumbledore and then left, leaving Harry alone with the Headmaster.

“There hasn’t been anything else going on with you, Harry, has there? No dreams lately?”

“No,” Harry said. “Those letters were the only weird things that have been going on.”

“Excellent.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles propped at the end of his nose. “And I assume that Hagrid has done as I have asked him, and given you back the Marauder’s Map?”

“Yeah, he has,” Harry said uncertainly. “Er, Professor, can I ask how you knew about it?”

“I have my ways of keeping watch over this Hogwarts, Harry. Your father and Sirius, when they were here, used that map quite a bit, as did Remus sometimes, and Peter. Now, what they used it for, I cannot be so certain about, or from where they got their “Marauder” names. I do have my ideas, however,” he saw Harry’s apprehensive face, “but rest assured that I could never prove what they have done, nor do I know for sure if they could have even achieved such an amazing feat. They did no harm in my eyes, though, so if what I know is true... I will not be telling anyone.

“As for how I came upon it: The night we discovered Barty Crouch’s true identity – that he was not Alastor Moody – I went back down to his classroom later that night to sift through his items. I found that map, which he had carelessly left showing all of Hogwarts grounds and its students.

“I must admit, how your father and his friends came up with such a map is beyond my reckoning. I found it quite amusing as I talked aloud to myself and their responses appeared written on the back of the map. That was how I knew they had made it; the handwriting, the personalities conveyed through the writing. I knew there was only one person from whom Crouch could have gotten the map from, and that was you.

“And so,” Dumbledore finished, “I thought it ought to be returned to its rightful owner. Though I hope, Harry, that you do use it for the right purposes...” He smiled.

“Alas, I have gotten terribly off track and have still not yet told you the news I have kept you here for.

“Sirius will be returning here to the castle soon. I think he will arrive just in time for your next Quidditch match, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Next week, then?” Harry said excitedly. He’d missed Sirius; his godfather had been busy with something – he wouldn’t tell Harry – and had very little time to write to him. The notes he did get were short, but relieving nonetheless; he at least knew Sirius was safe.

“Yes. And he will be staying around here, close to the castle, though I’m not exactly sure where yet. We think Hagrid may be able to accommodate him in his cabin, as long as we can be sure that there is no possibility that anyone will see him.”

Harry couldn’t fight the grin that had taken over his face.

“Well, thank you for coming Harry, and staying an extra bit to talk to me.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry replied happily as he stood up once more.

“And remember,” Dumbledore added. “If anything at all seems odd to you or if you have any dreams... Please tell me right away.”

“I will,” said Harry as he smiled and gave the Headmaster a final wave before closing the door behind him.

~*~

Harry talked excitedly to Ron about the upcoming weekend as the two boys searched together for Hermione. It seemed that Harry couldn’t push down his anticipation for Sirius’ arrival and the first Quidditch match of the season that would be taking place, Gryffindor against Ravenclaw.

The two boys were just getting into reviewing a few plays that Fred and George had made up when they realized Hermione was no where to be found in the Gryffindor common room. She had promised them that she would help them with their Defense Against the Dark Arts spells and had set up a time to meet, only she hadn’t shown up at that time. It was unlike her to be late – she’d told them she would meet them up in the Common Room at three in the afternoon, and it was now a half-hour later than that.

There was only one place where Ron and Harry could think of that Hermione would have lost track of time in, and they made their way there: the library. Sure enough, as they rounded a bookshelf in the back, ignoring Madame Pince’s narrowed eyes following them, they saw her in a small corner table, her legs under her and a book settled in her lap.

“Hermione,” Ron said quietly as they approached, “You’re supposed to be helping us with our Defense Against the Dark Arts spells, remember?”

“What?” she said loudly, caught off guard. They heard Madame Pince say, “Shh!” and mutter something under her breath from a few rows away.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I just—I just got caught up in this book.” She snapped it shut quickly and held it to her chest, hurrying to pick up the other ones. It seemed like she was trying to hide what she was reading...

Ron, sensing her concealment as well, asked curiously, “What are you reading?”

“Just a few books,” she responded quickly. “Nothing you two would be interested in.”

“Really?” Ron pressed. “We might be...”

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t. They’re just some books about old ancient runes and such.”

But she had missed a small book and left it on the table, and just as Ron noticed it, so did she. They both darted their hands out to reach it first but Ron beat her to it. Perhaps his quick arms were what made him such a good Quidditch Keeper.

“A Comprehensive Step-by-Step Guide to Revealing the Flyer In You?” he read off the cover, his eyebrows raised. “Hermione, you’re not trying to learn how to fly by reading about it, are you?”

She looked rather flustered. “Well, no, not really. A bit, I suppose.” She snatched the book out of Ron’s hand. “It was just some extra reading I was doing.”

“We told you we’d help you if you wanted us to,” Ron said as Hermione started to walk out of the library, Ron and Harry following suit.

“I know, Ron,” Hermione snapped. “And I just told you, I was just doing a little extra reading.”

“Really,” Harry said. “We can help you... You don’t have to be embarrassed. Nobody can be perfect at everything, not even you. It’s just not possible.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “And think of all the times that you’ve helped Harry and I. This will just be our way of repaying you.”

Hermione sighed and stopped. She turned around and said softly, “All right. I give in. When can you two help me?”

Ron grinned. “How’s Wednesday night sound? We can get it done before Quidditch practice, right after dinner.”

“Sounds good,” Hermione said. “Now, lets go work on those Obscuring Charms.”