The Scent of Trouble

Part 6/8 - To the Hills

Last night Hermione had dreamed of a perfect afternoon. Tonight she lay awake thinking of how badly the afternoon had ended, with the three of them stranded in the hollow of a tree in the Forbidden Forest.

She listened to the rain pouring steadily down on the leaves in the forest outside. An occasional clap of thunder would bring a howl from the red-eyed beast that still kept vigil at the foot of the tree. Ron and Harry shifted in their sleep, each small movement amplified by the dry foliage of abandoned nests crackling beneath them.

It had been a beautiful dream, and for a month they had all worked to realize it. A weekend away from the school, away from adults, away from supervision, studies, and responsibility. Just her, Ron and Harry, sitting around a campfire under the stars, and then going off to the tent . . .

Where had it all gone wrong? Ron blamed her for the enchanted perfume - Ron, who had magicked the butterbeer! Her golem spells had gone so well! She thought back. The day had really started so well.

After breakfast they had met in the kitchens. Leaving Hogwarts through the service entrance had been Harry's plan. They'd made no secret of their picnic, but their baggage was enough to raise questions. House elves are neither very curious nor very bright, and would think nothing of Ron's pack laden with tent and tools, or the bottles of butterbeer that Harry had brought down from the dorm.

Indeed, only a spell could have shown that the still sealed bottles had been magically fortified with the principal ingredient of the potions adults drank. Ron had been quite proud of the magic, even though they'd only been able to achieve fifty percent purity, or what the testing spell called "one hundred proof".

There was no need to ask the elves for enough food for lunch and dinner. They had already packed a picnic basket full to overflowing when Hermione arrived with her bag of magical ingredients and implements.

She knew that neither boys nor house elves know how to pack a picnic basket properly. She sent Ron and Harry to wait outside while she went through the basket with Dobby.

Finally she called in Harry to take charge of the basket and thanked the house elves profusely. . Harry hefted it with a certain strain, and the three set out.

In their shirt pockets they carried the clay eggs they had made on their first visit to the meadow two weeks before. Since then the eggs had been absorbing their patterns of thought and were now attuned to them. From the eggs they could hatch golems that they could sense and control from afar.

Hagrid had shown them the long route to the high meadow on that first trip, skirting the Forbidden Forest. When they reached the Forest Harry called a break and they set down their bundles.

"Boy, this basket is heavy," said Harry, "and from here on it's all uphill! If we just cut through the forest we'll shave three kilometers off the trip."

"The forest isn't really dangerous in the daytime, anyway," Ron added.

"No way!" Hermione glared at them. "We've planned for a month, and you want to risk it all to save half an hour of walking? You boys!" Harry and Ron exchanged looks but argued no further.

At the second stop the boys were sweating despite the morning cool. They took off their robes, rolled them up, and tied them to their burdens.

As they continued Hermione looked at the boys hiking ahead of her. In shirts and trousers they looked like ordinary English schoolboys. Hermione had grown so used to castles and robes, brooms and spells, that the sight jolted her.

She thought back to the years before she received the letter summoning her to Hogwarts, when she had had ordinary Muggle ambitions. She had wanted to be a doctor when she grew up. That seemed like another world, now.

But the two boys ahead, without their robes, looked not too different from the boys in her old neighborhood, the ones she had always played doctor with. She shook her head to remove the thought, and quickened her pace to join them.

It was well before noon when they reached the meadow. Harry set down the basket with a sigh of relief. Ron dropped the pack, undid the tent and picked up the shovel.

"Golems, here we come!"

"Just a minute, Ron Weasley. We have to set up the tent and prepare a place for the campfire."

"Why don't we make the golems first and have them do all that for us?"

"Because it will take hours to make them, and I am not going to try complicated spells on an empty stomach. So let's get the camp set up and have our picnic, and then we'll make the golems."

The boys grumbled but complied . When Hermione found a better location for the tent, they complained that it was already halfway set up. Boys just didn't understand some things.

Finally it was time for lunch. Again, the boys wanted to hurry instead of laying things out properly.

"We'll have to unpack the basket completely to get the picnic blanket from the bottom. "

"Just do as Hermione asks, Ron. Please." Harry shot Ron a glance. Hermione had a way of intentionally slowing down when she didn't get her way.

Ron unpacked. When he got to the bottom he let out a howl. "There are only four bottles of butterbeer here!"

"Well, it didn't fit, Ron. I needed space for the blanket, and the silverware, the dishes, the glasses, and the water pitcher."

Harry looked at her in disbelief. "You left the butterbeer behind, so I could carry plates and forks uphill for an hour?"

"Calm down, Ron! You too, Harry! I told Dobby to put the bottles back under Ron's bed. So if we drink all four bottles tonight we can have the golems fetch the rest when they come back here tomorrow morning." She handed the pitcher to Harry, who took it as if it were a dead rat. "Harry, could you fill up the pitcher at the stream? The water's pure here, and we shouldn't drink the butterbeer until we've finished the golem spells. "

Dobby had packed an excellent lunch. It wasn't possible to enjoy it fully, as the boys were so impatient to get started on the golems.

Hermione patted her lips with a napkin. "Well, that was good. Now let's get started. We'll need to dig clay."

"How much?" Ron asked.

"Our weight or a little more. The spell just won't use any leftover. We'll have to make an approximate doll on the grass, then cast the spell."

Ron let the way along the stream bank, followed by Harry and Hermione carrying her bag of magical tools, until they came to the hole where the boys had dug the clay for the eggs two weeks before. Harry and Hermione sat on a rock that had warmed with the sun, while Ron started to dig. After only a few shovels of clay, he stepped back.

"I've already got my shoes half covered with mud, and I didn't bring a change of clothes. This isn't going to work."

"I'll dig for a bit, Ron. Hang on a sec." Hermione turned to see Harry removing his shoes. He tucked his socks into them, then stood up. Hermione was surprised to see him unbuttoning his shirt, and her gaze stayed on his chest when he dropped the shirt on the rock. Then Harry's hands went to his belt buckle. Hermione watched as he unbuckled the belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers.

Harry lowered his trousers with both hands, and took out first the left leg, then the right, and stood on the rock in boxer shorts.

"Hey Hermione, you're mouth's open!" said Ron, and she realized that it was and shun it hastily and looked away from Harry. "What's the matter? Harry's swim suit shows more than that." Hermione blushed. She kept her eyes on Ron, but her mind was on Harry's red plaid underwear.

Harry jumped from the rock and grabbed the shovel from Ron. "You can do the next one." Unconcerned with neatness, he shoveled clay onto the grass, and the pile rose quickly as mud spattered his legs. Hermione watched him, then realized that she was staring again. She turned to the magic bag and set out what she needed for the first spell, glancing at Harry from time to time.

"Enough," she said finally, "Ron, we're doing yours first. Give me your egg."

Ron handed over the clay egg reluctantly. He'd carried it for two weeks now. The spell had needed a week to attune the clay to him, but he'd grown fond of it. Hermione put it in a pestle and raised a heavy mortar.

"Hey! You're not going to break it, are you?"

"We need to mix it with the rest of the clay, Ron," Hermione answered. As she brought the mortar down Ron braced himself, but when the egg shattered he felt nothing. The lightly baked egg was quickly ground into powder. "Now it's got to be mixed in. There's no magic in that, only muscle. Harry, would you?" She smiled.

Ron seemed to resent the reference to "muscle", Hermione noticed. While Harry stirred the powered egg into the mass of clay Ron came over to the rock where Hermione sat and also stripped to his undershorts. A faded purple paisley, she noticed, a hand-me-down from his brothers. Though faded, the cloth looked as if it had the softness acquired only through countless washings. She wanted to reach out and run her hand over the fabric, but restrained herself.

"That'll do, Harry. Ron, you lie down on the grass over to the side, and Harry and I will make the doll." Hermione took off her shoes and socks, and saw that both boys were gazing at her raptly. She stood up and starting at the collar slowly unbuttoned her shirt, pretending to fumble to stretch out the process. She had bought new underthings for this trip. Her bra was white cotton as always, but unlike her usual severe, practical models it had a bit of lace.

She looked at Harry and Ron. They were frozen where they stood. She looked down at her waist, and unfastened her skirt. She carefully folded it and placed it atop the rest of the clothes.

She looked at the boys. Their eyes were riveted to her panties, and somehow Hermione didn't think they were noticing how they matched her bra.

"Ron, like you said, this covers more than my bikini does. Stop staring and we'll get to work. You're the model, Ron. Lie down on the grass beside the clay. Over there."

Ron lay down, and Hermione noticed how rather than laying spread-eagled he lay like a mummy, feet together and arms by his side with his hands cupped over his crotch. She had an impulse to tell him to spread his arms and legs, but really this way the doll would be easier to make.

She directed Harry to shovel the mound of clay into an approximate form, and then the two of them set to work with their hands. In about twenty minutes they were covered with mud to their elbows, but they had a rough model.

Hermione stood up and examined it. If Ron's looked like a mummy, the mound look like the mummy's case. It was comfortably larger in every dimension than the boy laying on the grass beside it.

"That looks as much like Ron as a mud pie looks like a pie," said Harry.

"If a witch could turn the Gingerbread Boy into a boy, there's no reason we can't turn this clay into a golem," said Hermione.

"Stand up, Ron. Stand back, both of you. Here goes." She picked up the red book, ran over the spells again. Candles had to be set around the golem, powders poured into a brazier. Finally all was ready. She raised her wand.

The incantation was only four verses. The pile of mud suddenly quivered like gelatin when its plate is shaken. The form altered, seemed more firm, and in places mud slid and pink flesh was visible.

Ron cried out, swayed, and sat down.

"Ron! Are you all right?" Harry was at his side, arm around his shoulders.

"I'm . . .I'm all right, but I feel . . . It's like double vision. Like I'm sitting here, I can feel your arm. But I also feel that I'm laying on my back covered with cold mud."

Hermione was at his side now, too. "Ron, you're feeling the connection to the golem. Just sit for a minute. Now, I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on the golem. Tell it to stand up."

Harry and Hermione turned to look at the golem. The arms lifted. Lifted! The whole doll sat up. A hand went to the head and came away with a handful of mud, then another. Eyes opened in the face, brown eyes that looked just like Ron's. Now the golem moved more quickly, till its motions seemed those of Ron. The golem rose to its feet.

Harry laughed. "Hermione, it may move, but it looks like a mud doll! We can't fool anyone with that!"

Ron's eyes flew open. "That's not me!"

"Don't be silly. Can't you see it just needs a bath?"

"Well, I could walk it into the stream . . ."

"Not running water, Ron! Harry, run back to the tent and get the pitcher. We'll give it a bath on the bank." He left at a run.

"Ron, try moving it."

"How?"

"Anything instinctive, or anything you did while carrying the egg, you just need to tell it. Tell it to walk over to that tree."

"Well, okay." The golem turned and walked to the tree. The walk was Ron's. Even covered in mud Hermione wouldn't have mistaken it for anyone else. Soon Ron had it doing jumping jacks. Chunks of mud flew from its arms and legs, and it looked like a very dirty boy instead of an animated mud doll.

Harry arrived with the pitcher and stopped abruptly at the sight of the jumping golem, which stopped and bowed to him.

Hermione laughed. "Give me the pitcher, Harry. Ron, walk the golem over by the stream."

She filled the pitcher and poured it over the golem's head while scrubbing with her left hand. Red hair shone through the muck.

"Ron, now try to walk around while leaving the golem standing here." The golem started to take a step, then settled back as Ron walked towards it.

Hermione resumed washing. After a few more pitchers of water Ron's head was visible atop the golem's muddy torso.

Hermione continued with the chest. The flesh felt warm under her hands. warm and resilient like a real body. Of course, she thought, you know what wizards make golems for. The nipples grew hard as her palm passed over them. Another pitcher and she was washing the ribs. Her little finger cleared mud from the navel.

She filled the pitcher again, poured it on the thick mud, already partly dissolved by the water dripping from above.

"Ron! I wondered if your hair would be red at both ends!" She turned to him and grinned.

"Here! I can finish that!" Ron took the pitcher from her and refilled it. He washed one arm, then the other. Then he filled the pitcher again and tossed the entire contents at the golem's lower belly. He reached forward to as if to use his fingers to comb mud from the slight hairs that had grew there.

He stopped. Hermione wondered what he felt, with Harry and her grinning at him. Of course he knew how to wash himself. But now he was, well, washing himself. Then Ron took the pitcher and handed it to the golem. "Wash".

He had an expression of concentration. Of course. They used bathtubs or showers at Hogwarts, so the golem couldn't remember how to wash with a pitcher. Ron had to tell it every step. Soon though the golem seemed to get the hang of it and Ron relaxed. He stepped back with Harry and Hermione and watched.

Ron seemed to have gotten his embarrassment under control. Hermione could see him sneaking glances at her. She kept her face straight so that he couldn't tell how much she was enjoying the show.

The show was getting better. The golem was now washing its crotch, and was doing a thorough job. So that reflex works, too, Hermione noticed.

Ron noticed too. The golem abruptly stopped and turned around. Ron took the pitcher from it, and washed its back. He washed the mud from his own arms and legs before handing the pitcher back and ordering it to continue.

Finally the golem was clean. "Ron, walk it and you over by the rock. Let's see how well the spell worked."

Hermione noticed that he was able to send the golem first, and did not need to move in lockstep with it. Good, the golems could operate independently.

"Stand beside it, Ron. Harry, help me look for flaws."

"Well, it needs a haircut too. Is that a flaw?"

"Harry, we're looking for differences."

"It's cleaner than Ron usually is."

"Stop it, Harry." She looked carefully at Ron, then at the golem. She tried to count freckles, but it there were too many. "Show me your fingernails.

"Lift your left foot.

"Turn around.

"Face front.

"Ron, you're not circumcised?"

That made him turn red again. "No."

"Well, looks just fine to me. What do you think, Harry?"

"We haven't heard the golem talk yet."

"Good point. Ron, make it say something."

They'd been studying Shakespeare that week, in one of their non-magical classes. Ron had had to recite a sonnet while wearing the clay egg. He sent a thought to the golem.

The golem was looking at Hermione as it said,

" Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

For a moment she believed it was really a naked Ron Weasley, reciting a love poem to her.

The golem stopped. "Sorry." it said.

"I mean, sorry," said Ron in the same voice.

Hermione was startled from her reverie. "Well, let's do the other golems then."

Her spell had worked, and the weekend would go as planned.

If she could believe the golem was Ron Weasley declaring his love, the golem would fool anyone.