Harry Potter and the Carnelian Key

If Hermione had been worried the night before, it was nothing compared to the wave of panic that washed over her the next morning when Ron and Harry entered the kitchen for breakfast. The both looked positively exhausted. They seemed to be avoiding each other’s eyes and were unusually quiet. She noticed that Fred and George had also become rather subdued when Ron and Harry joined the three of them at the table.

"Good Morning," she said after a moment, trying to sound cheerful.

"Morning," they muttered in unison. Harry didn’t look at her, just stared at his toast. Ron glanced up for a moment, caught her eye, and looked quickly in Harry’s direction before turning his gaze back to his own plate.

"Where’s mum?" Ron asked.

"Market," George responded.

They lapsed into silence, and Hermione let a few minutes pass before she spoke again. "So what are we going to do today?"

"I thought I’d go for a run," Harry said quickly, and without emotion, as though he’d anticipated the question and rehearsed the answer. "You know, get in shape for Quidditch."

Normally, Hermione would have expected Ron and George and Fred to immediately offer to join him, but something about the way he’d said it made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want any company.

She tried to catch Ron’s eye again, but he didn’t look at her.

Harry had only taken four bites of toast when pushed his plate away and rose from the table.

"I’ll be back," he muttered, and he left through the back door without another word.

No one said anything for several minutes. Finally Hermione spoke. "Um, I don’t know what’s going on here," she said quietly, "but should he be alone?"

"He’s fine," said Ron quickly, still staring at his plate.

George was glancing around at all of them with a concerned and nervous expression, and Fred said, "Ron, I really don’t think -"

"He’s fine," Ron snapped, jerking his head up to look pointedly at his brother.

"Okay."

They continued to eat in relative silence. Hermione’s mind was racing. She couldn’t imagine what could possibly have Harry and three of the Weasley brothers in such a discomforting mood, but she knew that whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Ron finished eating quickly, and left the table without a word. As he headed out of the room, he passed Ginny, who was coming in, running her fingers through her still-wet hair.

"Good Morning," she said happily. He brushed by her with a grunt.

"What’s up with him?" she asked, wrinkling her nose and taking a seat in the chair Ron had just vacated. She pulled a plate of waffles towards her, and glanced up at the other faces at the table. She froze. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, sure," Fred said a little too quickly, concentrating on his tea.

Hermione couldn’t stand it. She stood up and took her plate to the sink, hastily rinsing it off and depositing it on the pile before she headed down the hall. She found Ron in the parlor, sitting in the middle of the sofa. He was hunched over, with his elbows on his knees, and was running his hands distractedly through his fiery hair. He didn’t see her and she watched him from the doorway for a minute before she alerted him to her presence.

"Hey," she said quietly.

He glanced up at her and she could tell he was trying to hide distress behind a smile.

He sat back and sighed, and she walked over and sat next to him on the sofa, folding her hands in her lap. She sat close, so that their shoulders touched - she found it comforting. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then they both spoke at the same time.

"I couldn’t sleep last night -" Hermione started.

"You’re probably wondering -" Ron said.

The chuckled despite themselves, and Ron motioned for Hermione to continue.

"I couldn’t sleep last night," she repeated. "I wanted to talk to you, and I almost came into your room and woke you up, but I knew Harry was in there."

"I was awake," he said flatly.

"You were?" she asked.

He nodded, and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple moving up, then down. "Harry had a terrible nightmare. I mean to say, he didn’t tell me what it was about, but he screamed and it woke me out of a dead sleep." He turned his head to look at her. "I’ve never heard anyone make a sound like that, Hermione. It made my hair stand up." He shivered slightly as he said it and he looked away.

"Was he all right?"

"He said he was. He had woken Fred and George too, and he just told us all to go back to sleep. But he wasn’t okay. Not even close. He couldn’t even speak, when he woke up. Couldn’t even hold himself up."

Hermione was speechless. She had been worried, but she hadn’t realized they needed to be that worried. The anxiety etched on Ron’s face told her that he hadn’t either. She hesitated, and then reached over and put her hand reassuringly on Ron’s where it rested on his knee. He quickly turned his hand over and gripped her fingers tightly.

"I could tell since he got here that something wasn’t right," he said in a rush. "I mean, he seemed fine, and I think that he is, most of the time. But there’s just something -"

"It’s in his eyes."

Ron seemed to consider this, and then he nodded. "Yeah," he said, and he swallowed again. "Yeah, it is."

Ron’s face was laden with anguish, and Hermione resisted an urge to reach over and touch his cheek. "Hey," she said softly. "You’re doing the best thing possible for him right now, you know." He scowled. "You are. Just being there - that helps more than anything. Just imagine what it would be like for him today if it wasn’t for you and your family. How do you think he’d feel if he had to face the Dursleys after having that nightmare?"

Ron was silent for a moment, and then said something completely unexpected. "I never should have treated him like I did after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "Are we going to relive that again? You have to let go of that guilt. Harry forgave you."

He nodded. "I know."

There was a long silence.

"So are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, smiling slightly and squeezing her fingers before he released her hand and stood up.

"Good," she said, rising from the sofa. "Now come help me wash those dishes for your mother."

"Hermioneee..." he whined, but he followed her out of the room.

* * * * *

The Weasleys’ yard was huge, and Harry got a good workout just doing several laps around the perimeter of the property. He’d hoped that as soon as he got out into the sun, he’d feel somewhat better, but he didn’t. He was never quite prepared for how deeply his nightmares affected him, but he had gotten pretty good at recovering quickly. He had to, or he’d never have any peace. For some reason, though, this particular dream wasn’t leaving his consciousness easily. He couldn’t get the image of his friends’ dead, floating faces out of his mind.

He ran hard, and after six laps, he had a stitch in his side. He stopped, slightly bent over with his hands on his hips, trying to catch his breath. He looked out down the property line and his gaze fell on a pile of old junk that was stashed, apparently forgotten, at the edge of the yard. He crossed over to it, still panting, to take a closer look. It looked like a bunch of muggle stuff that had been taken apart and never put back together again, or had been used temporarily and then discarded once someone (most likely, Mr. Weasley) had broken down and admitted that the magic way really was much easier. Harry’s eyes fell on a crate of what looked like croquet balls. He couldn’t imagine any reason whatsoever that Mr. Weasley would have wanted those, but he didn’t really care. He bent down and lifted one out, testing its weight in his hand. Without thinking, he dropped it back into the box and lifted the entire crate in his arms. He carried it twenty or thirty feet, and dropped it onto the grass with a thud. Facing away from the junk pile, Harry bent and withdrew a red ball. He tossed it gently into the air and caught it in his hand, then whirled around and hurled it as hard as he could at the pile of rubbish. It struck an old wooden tub, which was near the top of the pile, propped up with its underside facing out. The ball hit the flat bottom with a thump and rolled out of sight. It had left a deep dent. Harry smiled.

He picked up another ball, a yellow one. He flung that one too. It hit below where the first one had, and left another dent. Harry was impressed by his own excellent aim. ‘Maybe I should be a chaser,’ he thought.

He threw a green ball. Thump.

Another - harder. Thump.

Another. That one missed, but Harry didn’t care.

"Fuck you, Voldemort." he said, bending and picking up another ball.

"Fuck you." Thump.

"Fuck you!" Thump.

"Fuck you!" The wood splintered.

"FUCK YOU!" The last ball, a black one, struck the tub, and the wood split clean down the middle, the two halves falling away with a crash, knocking things out of their paths.

Gasping for breath, Harry straightened up slowly. "Now stay...the hell...out...of my head."

He picked up the empty crate and tossed it aimlessly onto the pile before turning and heading back towards the house. Despite the aching throb in his shoulder, Harry felt considerably better.

* * * * *

When Harry reentered the kitchen, his two best friends stood at the sink with their wands out, directing dishes from the soapy water to the faucet for rinsing, and into the drainer. Their eyes fell on Harry, and they both froze, several dishes suspended in mid-air. He knew he must look a mess; he was drenched in sweat. He walked over to the sink and stood next to Hermione, leaning back against the counter. He looked at them and then looked down at the floor. He raised his left hand and touched the soap suds in the sink, tracing figure eights with his fingers. He could feel his friends’ confused eyes on him, but he continued staring at his feet. Then he cupped his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, scooped up a handful of water and splashed Hermione all down her front. He grinned broadly and then splashed Ron, too.

"You are so dead," Hermione said, beginning to giggle, and she reached into the suds with both hands and threw a huge handful of water at him. In the same instant, Ron thrust his wand at the stream of running water, and shot it straight at Harry, who spluttered as he was hit in the face. Ron was so focused on his aim that he didn’t notice Hermione turn on him until he was coughing and wiping soap suds off his nose. She laughed and brought both hands up to his cheeks, slathering his face with dripping suds. He shifted his aim and she shrieked as she was pelted on the neck.

"You traitor!" she squealed at him.

"You were a traitor first!" he retorted.

Harry was rolling with laughter and Hermione smiled at the huge wave of relief that had spread over Ron’s face. Grinning widely, he turned the stream of water back on Harry.

"Okay, truce!" Harry said, raising his hands in defeat. After making sure Harry was good and soaked, Ron withdrew his wand.

"Sorry," he said, wrinkling his nose, "but you needed a shower. How many laps did you run? You stink."

Harry laughed.

"I’m serious," Ron said.

Harry lifted the front of his T-shirt to his nose. His face contorted. "Right," he said and he headed for the stairs.

* * * * *

Ron knocked softly on the slightly ajar door before he pushed it open. "Ginny?"

She glanced up from her writing desk. "Yeah?"

"I just came to tell you, dinner’s almost ready," he said, motioning lazily towards the stairs.

"Okay."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he walked towards her. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to Grandmother," she said, taking in his mildly apprehensive expression. She chuckled. "What’s up, Ron?"

"I’m sorry about this morning."

She screwed up her face in confusion. "What?"

"When you said good morning, and I pushed you out of my way. I’m sorry I did that."

She laughed. "Ron, I have six older brothers. I’ve endured much worse."

He nodded. "I know."

She paused. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah...yeah, I’m fine," he said. "I’ve just been thinking a lot lately...you know...about what I have. How lucky I am. To have a family."

She stood up and put her arms around her brother, hugging him tightly. "I love you too."

"I also wanted to ask a favor," he said after she released him.

"Oh," she chuckled, "Ulterior motives."

"No," he said, smiling.

"What is it?"

"Well, this might sound weird, but...do you have any old toy necklaces?"

She wrinkled her nose. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, obviously not wanting to clarify.

"Um..." she stared at him. "Yeah, I might." She walked over to her dresser and opened a battered jewelry box. It was overflowing with plastic bracelets and ribbons and tangled knots of unidentifiable things. She dug through the lot of it, tossing things aside.

"It has to be something you don’t want back."

"Like this?" she asked uncertainly, drawing something out. She held it up for Ron to see. The charm was a thick and rounded red plastic heart, and it hung from a thin red satin rope.

Ron laughed. "When did you ever wear that?" he asked, reaching out and taking it from her.

She shrugged. "Probably when I was six."

He turned it over in his hands. "Well, it should work fine. Thanks."

"Okay," she said, and her brother left her standing bewildered in the middle of the room.

* * * * *

"And at long last we begin yet another year at Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore said, his arms spread open in welcome. "I’d especially like to welcome our new first year students, and to them I say, may your years at Hogwarts be joyful and fulfilling. The next seven years will be unlike anything you have ever experienced before or ever will again. But do try to learn a little something along the way." He chuckled, his pale blue eyes twinkling, and many students laughed. Then he paused, as his expression turned somber. "The last days that the rest of you spent here in this castle were not happy ones," he said candidly, his eyes scanning the faces of his beloved students. "There is no point in denying or ignoring that." Harry felt many pairs of eyes fall on him as he kept his own on the Headmaster. "However, there is also no point in dwelling on the past. We will never forget the memory of the dear student that we lost. But Cedric Diggory would have wanted life at Hogwarts to continue as it had during the years that he enjoyed here. So rest assured," he said, his voice brightening, "that this castle will remain a haven of unity and friendship and learning, throughout whatever the days that lie ahead may bring." Dumbledore’s eyes quickly flittered across Harry’s, and the Headmaster’s smile widened into a large grin. "So with that, I say...let’s eat!"

Harry remembered Dumbledore’s words an hour later as he, Ron, and Hermione trudged up the many staircases to Gryffindor Tower. Their last day at the Weasleys’ and the ride on the Hogwarts Express had all passed quickly and uneventfully, and now Harry smiled at the familiarity of the stone steps underneath his feet. He wondered at his own happiness at being back in the school, after what had happened at the end of last term. He had been anxious to return, but wasn’t sure how he would feel upon actually stepping foot on the grounds. When they had first stepped off of the carriage and onto the vast lawn of the castle, he could see the Quidditch pitch in the distance, and all at once, the memories had hit him hard in the chest, like a cruel bludger. The hedges that had formed the maze were gone, the usual short grass in their place, but the hedges didn’t need to physically be there for Harry to see them - or to see himself lying beyond them, clutching Cedric’s dead body...he had shaken his head hard, as if to dislodge the image from the spot where it clung to his vision, and shifted his focus to the faces of his friends. Hermione had smiled at him firmly and reassuringly, and Ron had clapped him on the back, guiding him through the crowd and into the entrance hall. As soon as they had stepped inside, and he had seen the huge marble staircase, and the faces of Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and had heard the excited chatter of hundreds of students, Harry felt himself relaxing. He couldn’t help it. He was home. And although he knew he had a lot to face in returning here, he also knew he didn’t want to face it anywhere else.

"Tam-o’-shanter," someone said. The portrait of the fat lady swung open and students piled into the Gryffindor common room, shouting and giggling, and generally wreaking havoc. Harry stood in the midst of it all, and grinned.

"Now I’m home," he whispered.

* * * * *

"Hello, prefects," came a teasing voice. Harry glanced up from his breakfast and saw Fred and George, wearing wide smirks as they took seats across from him, Ron, and Hermione.

"Shut up, Fred," Ron said, angrily shifting his robes to conceal his prefect badge in its folds.

Harry cast him a sideways smile and Hermione tutted impatiently.

"Really, Ron," she said, exasperated, "You ought to be proud. Here," she said to Fred and George, "I have your schedules."

"No, you should be proud. I am not in any hurry to follow in Percy’s footsteps," Ron said, shoveling porridge into his mouth.

"I don’t know how they made you two prefects, anyway," said George, reaching for the maple syrup, and motioning towards his brother and Harry. "Only eight prefects picked in each year, and they pick you two as role models for the rest of your class - amazing, the two biggest rule breakers in your year. I used to be proud of that, mind you, but now...well, this is a disgrace to troublemakers everywhere."

Harry laughed at George’s outburst, but Hermione turned defensive.

"They only break the rules when they have to," she said sharply, "...usually. Anyway, leadership can be demonstrated in ways other than following rules."

"Like getting the highest marks of anyone in the history of Hogwarts?" said Fred.

"Yes," she replied, unabashed.

"Well, I wish they would make a rule that there has to be an even number of fifth year prefects in each house, instead of just at least one," Ron said, "then I might have been spared this humiliation."

"Would you really want more than one Slytherin prefect in our year?" Harry asked. "Your spot could have gone to Malfoy."

Ron grimaced. "Point taken."

"Who is the Slytherin prefect?" George asked.

"Blaise Zabini," provided Hermione.

"Yeah, the lesser of ten evils," Harry said, reaching for his own schedule. "Hey, we’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing."

"You’re so lucky," Fred grumbled. "We have to wait until Friday."

"I daresay you aren’t upset about that because it’s your favorite class," Hermione said pointedly.

"Are you kidding?" he replied. "Did you see that new professor? She’s hot."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "She can’t be older than 22. I hope she’s properly qualified."

"I’m sure Dumbledore wouldn’t hire anyone who wasn’t," Harry pointed out.

"He hired Lockhart, didn’t he?" Ron reminded him.

"Yeah, well, times are different," Harry muttered.

"We should go," said Hermione, standing and gathering her books, "We don’t want to be late on our first day."

* * * * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in three desks clustered together at the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The room was full of nervous, first day of school chatter as they waited for their professor to make her entrance. Harry heard the door open, and a dozen students swiveled in their seats to get their first up-close look at their new professor. Hermione was right, she couldn’t be older than 22 or 23, Harry thought, but she exuded an air of confidence beyond her years. Her short, stylish blond hair fell in heavy locks around her face and her startlingly large brown eyes glittered with excitement as she took in the faces of her first students.

"I’m sorry I’m late," she said, smiling broadly and shifting her load of books in her arms as she approached the front of the room. She dropped the pile onto the desk and turned to face the class, hands on her hips.

"Welcome to fifth year Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said breathlessly, blowing her hair out of her face. "I’m Piper Matlock, your professor." Her big eyes scanned the room and quickly fell on the cluster of desks that held Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"My God," she gasped.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and waited for the typical ‘Oh my goodness, it’s Harry Potter, in the flesh...yes he even has the scar...right there, it is, right on his forehead,’ routine.

"Are you Ron Weasley?" she said instead, and every student in the room jumped in surprise.

"Umm...yeah...yeah, I’m him...I mean, me," he stammered, red-faced and confused. "I’m Ron Weasley."

"My goodness," she said with a grin, "I was hoping to meet you," which Harry thought was dumb, since she’d be meeting every student in school by the end of the week.

"Er...what?" he asked.

She chuckled. "I’m sorry, it’s just...I was in school with your brother Charlie," she explained. "Class of ninety-one. We were good friends...we were in Gryffindor together." She seemed wistful. "And you’re the last Weasley brother, right? The only one that wasn’t here when I was."

Ron nodded, and smiled uncertainly. "Um...I guess."

"He talked about you all the time," she said, and then leaned towards him and whispered, "I think you’re his favorite."

Ron grinned. "Really?"

She nodded eagerly. "How is he these days?"

"Good," he said happily, his red face now fading to normal. "He’s in Romania. Working with dragons."

"Nooo," she said, obviously thrilled. She shook her head with a laugh. "I should have known it. Always a daredevil, he was. Well, tell him I said hello."

She glanced up at the roomful of students, who were all staring at her.

"Right," she said sheepishly. "Sorry. Back to the matter at hand, then. I understand you’ve had a myriad a professors for this course already." Students murmured their affirmances. "Well, you can rest assured that I am not possessed by the Dark Lord, I have never won a most charming smile award, I don’t turn into a frightening creature at the full moon, and I am who I say I am." She had ticked off the list on her fingers. Everyone chuckled nervously.

"In all seriousness," she said, her smile fading, "This course is very important. Maybe the most important you’ll ever take, especially in light of recent events."

Harry shifted again.

"No one really knows what the days ahead may bring, and it is crucial that you learn to protect yourselves."

"So," she said, her tone lightening, "Allow me to tell you a little about myself. I am a recent graduate of The American Institute of Advanced Magical Studies."

Harry heard Hermione make an impressed noise next to him.

"Defense was my specialization there, and I was member of a very elite group of six witches and wizards who were awarded a large grant to engage in extensive fieldwork during our last year there." She said this as though she knew it was an impressive qualification, but in a very un-Lockhart sort of way, which Harry appreciated.

"So, I assure you that I have had extensive practical experience in all of the areas that we will be studying this year." Her smile returned. "I also want to tell you how happy I am to be back at Hogwarts, and how grateful I am that Headmaster Dumbledore has entrusted me with this very important post. I promise you that I will do my very best to give you the sort of education that you all deserve."

Harry glanced at Hermione. "Still worried about her qualifications?" he whispered.

But she hadn’t heard him. She was scowling, her eyes on Ron, who was staring at Professor Matlock with a large grin on his face.