A Bit of History

The fourteenth was proving to be a crisp February day, as Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley made their way out of Honeydukes. A white hot sun blazed in the light blue sky, clear, without a cloud, in a manner that might have indicated a warm day. From the north, however, a cold breeze swept down from the arctic. It kept the temperatures low, and the barren trees in constant motion.

Almost immediately, Hermione drew her cloak around her, wrapping her scarf around her neck with a flourish. "Honestly, Ron," she began, "I don't see why you overreacted. You very nearly took out the entire display of chocolate spiders!"

"Overreacted?" Ron stopped in the middle of High Street and looked to Hermione. His incredulous expression matched his tone. "*I* overreacted? If you'd seen what Harry and I saw in the middle of the Forest, you'd be 'overreacting' to *any* spider, even a chocolate one!" He straightened his jumper. "Never did talk to Hagrid about that Aragog thing..."

Moving ahead, Harry chuckled to himself. Honeydukes' newest confection was a chocolate spider. Not unlike the famous chocolate frogs, the spider was enchanted: it crawled up your arm until you ate it. One of the younger sales girls had decided to demonstrate this particular feature on Ron's arm. Immedately, Ron jumped. His arms flailed wildly as he flung the chocolate treat across the room. Behind him, the prominent aquarium display for the chocolate spiders shattered against the slate floor, with half a dozen of the charmed chocolates making a break for freedom; to his left, a rack of Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans followed suit. Given Ron's distaste for spiders, however, his reaction hadn't been a surprise. "Relax, Ron," he said, stuffing his cold fingers into his pockets. He looked to his friend, squinting in the oddly bright sunlight. "I'm sure Hagrid won't ask us to go feed him or anything."

"I bloody well hope not! Just imagine bringing *that* into Care of Magical Creatures!" Ron shook his head and stepped up onto the pavement. A cold breeze swept over his bare neck, and he gave an involuntary shiver. "Should've brought my cloak today." He nodded in the direction of the Three Broomsticks. "Want to stop for a butterbeer before heading back?"

"I'm all for it," Hermione said. "I wanted to ask Madam Rosmerta about the history of Hogsmeade. I might use some of the information for our History of Magic essay." A spring in her step, she took the lead as the trio headed down the sidewalk.

"I keep tellin' ya, Harry... Mental. Utterly mental." Ron shook his head, then hurried to catch up to Hermione

.

Harry stared after the two, amused. It never ceased to amaze him how much Ron and Hermione loved to antagonize each other. Funny thing about friends, he thought. As he watched the two fell into step, swapping gummy worms and Every Flavor Beans, however, his attention was drawn up the street.

Two taller figures rounded the curve into the small town. As they approached, recognition settled on him: Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. As was usual for outside the school grounds, McGonagall's black cloak billowed about her, her tartan plaid deerstalker perched atop her head; Dumbledore simply wore one of his heavier, rust-colored robes, his head covered by a burgundy cap. Their presence struck Harry as rather odd. While he had become accustomed to Professor McGonagall's occasional trips into the Three Broomsticks, it was very rare to see the headmaster anywhere but Hogwarts.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry murmured to himself.

Hermione looked up from a yellow and orange gummy worm as it squirmed in her palm. "What was that?"

"Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, indicating the direction of the approaching professors. "I was just thinking that it's odd to see Professor Dumbledore outside Hogwarts."

With a grin, Ron snatched the squirming worm from Hermione's palm and shoved it into his own mouth. She frowned at him, causing his grin to widen. He looked to Harry. "Eh," he said, between chews, "can't expect him to stay locked in the tower all the time, can you?"

Harry watched after the two professors. "No, I suppose not."

"I s'pose they're heading for a pint or two at the Three Broomsticks."

"Just like us, remember?" There was a hint of impatience in Hermione's voice, and she stood with her hands on her hips, a brow arched.

"Yeah, right," Harry agreed. He smiled. "C'mon, let's go." He waved them on, and they walked straight to the Three Broomsticks, entering the small pub several paces behind the two professors.

A low murmur of voices greeted them as they stepped into the room, the door closing slowly behind them. Small candles flickered on each of the wooden tables, and cast-iron chandeliers provided light from the plank ceiling. Behind the bar, Madam Rosmerta's face lit up. "Harry! Ron! Hermione!" she called. "Come on over and have a butterbeer!"

The trio exchanged smiles, then headed to the bar. Each scrambled onto a slightly towering stool, their feet dangling toward the wood floor. Hermione was the first to speak. "How was your holiday, Madam Rosmerta?"

The kindly pub keeper drew three butterbeers from the tap. With a wave of her hand, Madam Rosmerta then levitated them gently before each of the students. "It was wonderful, Hermione," she replied. "And yours?"

"Pretty slow. Instead of me going home this year, Mum and Dad wanted to visit Hogwarts. I spent most of the time explaining everything." Hermione took a sip of her butterbeer. A second later, she gave a contented sigh, feeling the warmth tingling in her toes.

Ron chuckled. "Good thing Dad wasn't around. He'd have badgered them with millions of questions!"

"Aw, they like your father, Ron," Hermione said.

"Well, that's something, I guess." Ron gave a sheepish grin, wrapping his hands around the thick glass mug for warmth. Sipping his butterbeer, he allowed his gaze to wander about the room over the rim of the mug. His gaze finally stopped on a table in the far corner, where Dumbledore and McGonagall sat. "Hey, look at that," he whispered.

Hermione, Harry, and Madam Rosmerta turned, following Ron's gaze. "You didn't expect them to part company as soon as they walked in the door, did you?" Hermione regarded Ron with her brows raised in question.

"I dunno," Ron admitted. He shrugged. "Just seems... odd."

"You mean to tell me that, after all the trouble you three have gotten into, you still haven't heard all the rumors about Minerva and Albus?" Madam Rosmerta arched her own brow. She was rewarded with blank expressions. "I'll take that as a no."

"You mean --" Hermione began.

Ron's eyes were wide. "McGonagall and *Dumbledore*?" Rosmerta nodded. "But he's gotta be *at least* 120! Yuck!"

"Oh, Ron, it's not as if it's a new rumor," Madam Rosmerta replied with a smile. "Rumors about them have been running around Hogwarts -- and even Hogsmeade -- since well before you or your father were born."

"Back during the war against Grindelwald?" Hermione asked.

"Exactly. Minerva came to Hogwarts shortly before the war. When war broke out, Professor Dumbledore recruited Minerva into the Ministry, and they spent a great deal of time together -- all over England and Europe. Of course, no one really knows what -- if anything -- has happened between them, but she hasn't left his side since." Madam Rosmerta looked at the two elder wizards, the slightest hint of wistfulness touching her eyes. She sighed and dropped her chin into her palm. "It must be wonderful to have a companion that faithful."

Hermione glanced back over her shoulder, and Ron glanced over to Hermione. Madam Rosmerta's wistfulness, it seemed, was contagious: it had filtered into Hermione's eyes, which were now looking upon the two professors with an expression neither he nor Harry had seen from her. Horror crept across Ron's features. "Oh, don't you start on it!" he exclaimed.

"Start on what?"

"On... *that*!" Ron gestured as discreetly as he could toward McGonagall and Dumbledore. "We saw what happened when you took on the 'plight of the house elves'! They didn't need your help, remember?"

"No, they didn't," Hermione conceded. "But this is different. This is about two people who want to be together."

"Hermione, I hate to point this out," Harry began, speaking for the first time in several moments, "but they might already be...together. And it's not as if they don't see each other every day." He glanced over at the two professors, then back to Hermione. His voice was quiet, contemplative. "It's not really any of our business."

Hearing his tone, Hermione frowned. "I--I guess you're right, Harry." She smiled weakly. "But it would be interesting to know, one way or the other, wouldn't it?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. But there are more important things for us right now -- like a History of Magic essay?"

"Oh! I completely forgot!" Hermione exclaimed. She turned abruptly to Madam Rosmerta. "I meant to ask you what you knew about the history of Hogsmeade...."

Harry's comment had the desired effect. For the rest of the afternoon, Hermione listened as Madam Rosmerta regaled them with tales of Hogsmeade's past. So enraptured was she with Rosmerta's stories that she didn't notice as Dumbledore and McGonagall paid their bill and made for the door just before sunset. After all, he thought, what business was it of Hermione's if the professors found happiness together? While she and Ron had learned much about wizarding over the past few years, they had learned precious little about life.

Living with the Dursleys, however, had given Harry a bit of a head start. Not that he felt his life was terrible, just...different. Before Sirius Black appeared in his life, Harry spent the summers in tedium, acting more as an unpaid servant than as a child and a nephew. Now, with the threat of Sirius looming like the blade of a guillotine over the Dursleys, he had gained a bit of freedom. It bothered him, of course, to use Sirius' reputation -- especially knowing his godfather was truly innocent -- but it was the price he paid. A slight pang of conscience weighed next to freedom was well worth it, in his opinion.

Coming to Hogwarts in the fall, then, was a relief. It was there that Harry had a true family: Ron, Fred, and George had become brothers; Hermione, the brainy sister who had all the answers; even Oliver Wood had become a cousin of sorts, annoying though he was with his quidditch practices. At the head of this adopted family were Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Together, the two elder wizards provided the guidance and wisdom of both parents and grandparents. They tried to keep their distance, tried not to show favoritism, but Harry could still feel warmth and affection from both. That he had not felt this from his own parents made it all the more special.

A flood of daylight snapped Harry from his reverie. Turning, he watched as Professor Dumbledore opened the door for Professor McGonagall. McGonagall stepped through delicately, holding up the bulk of her cloak and Dumbledore placed his hand lightly against the small of her back. Once out on the pavement, she paused, waiting as the headmaster adjusted his bell sleeves, and offered his arm. She hooked her own arm through his and beamed up at him. Her eyes were warm, and a smile gently curved her normally taut lips. As the door eased closed behind them, Harry couldn't help his own ridiculous grin.

"What are *you* grinning about?"

Harry snapped his head around, looking to Ron. Both he and Hermione regarded him with puzzled expressions. "I don't know about you, but I don't find the Inquisition particularly funny," Hermione said. She scowled.

Feeling the burning in his cheeks, Harry knew he was blushing. He shifted uncomfortably on the barstool. A glance to Madam Rosmerta, however, told him she had seen the whole thing. The pub keeper gave a knowing smile and winked. "Just thinking, Ron," he said, finally. "Thinking about something else."