Rehearsal

Harry could tell they had rehearsed this conversation... --Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter Eleven

A stair creaks; a head turns. "Is he asleep?"

"I don’t think so, but he’s doing a good job of pretending." Footsteps; a chair moans with new weight.

"What do you think we should do?"

"I dunno." A pause. "Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he is asleep."

"You know he’s not, Ron." A long exhale of breath. "I wouldn’t be able to sleep, if it were me."

"Yeah."

Silence.

"There must be something we can do. We’re his friends. We could go talk to him, at least."

"And say what? ‘Gosh Harry, I’m so sorry that your godfather betrayed your parents and is trying to kill you, but don’t be upset, all right?’ That’d go over well."

"But--"

"I don’t think he wants company, Hermione. Leave him alone."

A long, resigned breath. "I hate not being able to do anything."

"He’s all right for now, and anyway we’ve got another problem."

"What do you mean?"

Creaking chair legs; a shift in weight. "This is Harry we’re talking about. When he gets up in the morning, what d’you think he’s going to want to do?"

Shocked. "You don’t think he’d go looking for Black, do you?"

"Wouldn’t you?"

"Of course I wouldn’t! Black is dangerous, Harry won’t stand a chance against him!"

Grim. "I don’t think he’ll care about that."

Another silence.

"But Harry can’t go after Black. He just can’t. We can’t let him do it, he could be killed."

"What d’you reckon we should do, then?"

"Talk to him, of course! Make him see sense!"

"You really think he’ll listen?"

Fingers drum on the table, staccato punctuation to words. "We’ll make him listen. He can’t ignore both of us."

"Hermione, I don’t think--"

"I mean it, Ron. He’s going to talk to us about this. I’ll hex him if that’s what it takes to get him to see reason."

"We’ll have to bring it up ourselves then."

"I know." A sigh. "Harry’s not very good at talking about himself, is he."

"Yeah, he’s so bloody reserved sometimes. Honestly, it’s maddening. I know something’s been bothering him lately, something more than losing the Nimbus. Today in Honeyduke’s was the first time he’s smiled in weeks."

The drumming fingers stop abruptly. "Well, isn’t it obvious?"

"Maybe to you it is. For all I know he’s just worried about his Potions marks; I know I am."

"Don’t be stupid. It’s the Dementors."

Shuffling. "Well, yeah, but that’s just a temporary thing, isn’t it? I know Harry doesn’t like them, but--"

"No, I mean...I think he’s bothered by whatever he remembers when they’re around."

"Why? We’ve all got bad memories. You should hear Ginny talk about her time with that diary last year. But she doesn’t brood about it all the time, even when Dementors have been about."

"That’s just it. Harry has an awful lot of those sorts of bad memories, more than the rest of us. The basilisk, and meeting You-Know-Who our first year, and those relatives of his..." Another pause. "They’ve locked him in his room, you said. They were practically starving him. What’s Harry’s life like when he’s not at Hogwarts?" Almost a whisper. "He must have been so lonely before coming here."

Fierce. "Well, that’s why we’re here for him, isn’t it? I don’t care what he remembers when Dementors are around. Whatever it is, it’s just a memory. Right now he’s safe, isn’t he? He’s at Hogwarts, and Black’ll have to come through us to get to him."

"But Black can get into Hogwarts, he’s already tried to get at Harry once--"

"I don’t care. We’re not going to let Black get Harry, and we’re bloody well not letting Harry go after Black."

The rest of the common room buzzes innocent conversation; Quidditch, sweets, classwork. It’s another world.

"How do we do this, then?"

"Everyone else is leaving for the holidays tomorrow, so the common room’ll be deserted. We can just wait here for him."

"Yes, that’s true. He’ll probably sleep late, so it’ll be easy for us to catch him."

"So we meet here, tell Harry not to be daft and go after Black, and then all go for breakfast."

"Somehow I don’t think it’s going to be that easy."

"All right, I’ll tell him not to be daft and go after Black, you hex him when he tries to argue, and then we’ll all go for breakfast."

A giggle escapes. "It’d be hard for him to go after anyone if I take his legs off."

"Or we could ask Hagrid to sit on him. Or--"

"But Ron, I really am worried. You saw the look on Harry’s face in the Three Broomsticks. He must be really upset."

"It’ll be all right, Hermione. He’s got us, hasn’t he?"

"Yes, but--"

"Do you ever stop worrying? We’ll talk to Harry tomorrow and it’ll be fine, enough said. I’m going to bed, I’ll meet you here in the morning. ‘Night."

"...’Night, Ron."

Footsteps creak on stairs; a door opens and closes.

A shudder of breath; a sigh; time weighed down with thought. The chair squeaks as it’s pushed away from the table. More footsteps cross the room; more stairs creak.

A pause by a door; a whisper.

"Good night, Harry."