Rise From The Ashes

Chapter 8: Prefects and Promises

"Harry, that's my foot!"

"Oops ... sorry."

"Ron, that's my arm!"

"Oops ... sorry."

Muffled giggles trailed behind Hermione like stray wisps of cloud. The echo in the hallway gave the sound an ethereal, almost enchanting quality. Hermione's reaction, however, was far from one of enchantment.

"You better be sorry, 'cause now you're in for it -"

"Be quiet, you two!" Hermione snapped, responding two apparently disembodied voices behind her. "You promised to behave, so start doing it, or I'll send you straight back to the common room. I know a spell that can do it in no time!

Ron would've have dearly loved to reply, but he bit his lip and kept his mouth shut. Just because his feelings for Hermione had changed last year, it didn't mean he found all aspects of her personality endearing. Her tendency towards bossiness, for example, was just as annoying as ever. Still, he supposed she was right.

The two boys followed as quietly as possible as Hermione strode purposefully down the hall. She stopped at an apparently random point, coming to a halt so suddenly that Harry and Ron nearly plowed into her. She took no notice, concentrating instead on the wall, and Ron heard mutter what must be the password to the prefects' meeting room: Ashwinder Eggs. Immediately, the wall gave way, and Hermione walked slowly through the opening, making sure to take her time so that her two invisible companions could scurry in after her.

As the opening closed behind them, Ron took a look around the prefects' meeting room, and he couldn't help but be impressed. He understood a little better why his brother Percy had so enjoyed being a prefect while he was at school. There was a surprising amount of space in here, most of which was occupied by comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs and a large, highly polished wooden table. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting the animals that represented the four houses of Hogwarts. Ron recognized some of the people there, but most of the faces were unfamiliar to him.

Although they were at least ten minutes early by Ron's watch, it appeared Hermione was one of the later arrivals. Groups of prefects seemed to be gathered in all four corners of the room, talking in low, solemn voices to their fellows. The groups were pretty much drawn along house lines; very few people were chatting with those outside their house, though Ron noted some oddly formal pleasantries being exchanged. He wondered if the recent incident was to blame for this, or if this was simply an extension of traditional house rivalry.

Ron's eyes darted back to the large table. On one side were parchment and a number of quills. At the other end was an enticing assortment of snacks, along with several pitchers of pumpkin juice. Ron licked his lips, even as Harry laid a cautionary hand on his arm, but he made no move towards the table. Sneaking food right now would be a very stupid thing to do. He could always go nick something from the kitchens later.

"Well, well, well, look who's finally decided to show up," drawled a unpleasantly familiar voice, one that caused both Harry's and Ron's hands to ball up into fists. Turning as one, the two boys glared at Draco Malfoy from under the invisibility cloak.

Surrounded by his housemates and flanked by Pansy Parkinson, Malfoy's expression belied his careless tone. Ron remembered what his twin brothers had said about Malfoy's reaction when the Dementor had been on the Hogwarts Express in their third year. He had been frightened then, and he was frightened now too, just as much as everyone else. Ron didn't know if this knowledge should make him feel better or worse about the whole situation. In any case, there was never a good reason for that self-righteous prat to insult his friends - especially Hermione.

But the target of his scorn held her head high. One of the things Ron had come to admire about Hermione lately was the quiet dignity with which she endured the taunts and jibes of others. By not stooping to their level, she made those harassing her look immature and foolish. It was no different now.

"I'm sorry," she said in a tone of icy civility, "but I was under the impression that I arrived at least ten minutes early for this meeting. Unless I've been misinformed -"

"You have not been misinformed, Granger," said a voice. "However, some of us find that arriving early helps us to get things done more quickly and effectively. Apparently, some of us take our duties more seriously than ... others."

Hermione and her unseen companions turned around to face this new verbal assault, and Ron felt himself start as he drew a sharp intake of breath. How could he not have realized she would be here? Momentarily oblivious to the Slytherins who were snickering at Hermione, Ron stared into the empty eyes of the friend he had been worrying about all summer.

Luna.

Luna Sloane usually returned from her summers in the states with a tan, and this year was no exception, but somehow she still looked pale, underneath. Her eyes had deep circles under them, like two large bruises. Her hair, which she usually cared for and styled most meticulously, was pulled back in a loose, lifeless ponytail, making her face look all the more taut and tired. It looked as though it was in need of both washing and trimming; the ends were split and scraggly. Her eyes were empty of anything familiar to him; they were spark-less and unsmiling as she surveyed Hermione Granger with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Save it," she said, as Hermione began an angry reply, and surprisingly, Hermione heeded the older girl and kept silent. "Early or late, you are the last one to arrive, and it's time we get started. There is much to be done before we can retire."

That was when things got a little less interesting. Luna's voice was one that always commanded attention, whether she was trying out a speech for class on Ron, or humming absent-mindedly to herself while contemplating her next move in one of their chess matches. But even with her voice guiding the meeting, Ron felt his attention start to wander. He was only vaguely aware of what was being discussed. The meeting seemed to drag on and on, covering every suggestion for help students to cope, from forming support groups for first the younger students to beginning a new dueling club. An effective dueling club, Luna emphasized. Her expression remained impassive, but the tone of her voice caused a few small smiles in a sea of solemn and scared faces. When she finally put it to a vote ("All those in favor of asking permission to start a dueling club, please raise your hands.") it passed almost unanimously, and the official meeting came to a close.

Some of the prefects left immediately, but many lingered to talk further, in a slightly more relaxed fashion then they had when the meeting began. Across the room, Harry and Ron could see that Luna and Hermione were deep in conversation. Though both their expressions were solemn, their talk did not appear to be hostile. Ron was keen to hear what they were discussing, but the room was still full, and he and Harry couldn't risk bumping into someone while they tried to walk across it. More and more people trickled out. Had he not known Luna, Ron would have felt as impatient as Harry looked, frowning as he watched the two girls continue to chat.

Malfoy was among the last to leave. He turned, as if to deliver a parting shot at Hermione, but Luna silenced him with a look. Ron felt a rush of gratitude towards her that he wished he could express openly. Soon it was just the two of them - or rather the four of them, if you counted those hiding under invisibility cloaks.

Harry and Ron risked moving a little closer, but they didn't need to; Hermione's words echoed clearly in the now-empty room. "Ok, Luna, you've kept me after for a reason. Now that everyone's gone, I'd appreciate if you'd tell me what that is."

Luna looked at her for a minute, and then smiled - not her real smile, but a slow, cold smile that reminded Ron exactly what house she was in. "I'm sorry. Did I say it was okay for you to call me by my first name?" she said. As always at the beginning of the year, her American accent was highly pronounced. "But as to your question, Granger," she paused, "I think you know someone in this room who can answer that better than I." The cold smile grew wider at Hermione's surprised expression. "Honestly, do you take that famous little boyfriend of yours everywhere? I do hope you leave him outside when you go to the bathroom," she sneered, but Hermione was too stunned to be affronted by the insinuation. "You shouldn't have tried this, Gryffindor girl. People from your house don't have the cunning or the intelligence to carry off this level of deception convincingly."

For once, Hermione didn't have a comeback. Luna, meanwhile, was looking expectantly around the room. "Come out, golden boy. Come out, come out, wherever you are ... or I'll report you to a certain teacher, once he gets out of the hospital wing ..."

Before Ron could react, he felt Harry fling the cloak off of them. Harry strode across the room, his attention on Hermione, but Ron hesitated, looking at Luna. For an instant, their eyes locked.

The face of stone melted away. Luna had the haunted look that Sirius got when he talked about Azkaban, except that instead of being deadened and dull, her pain was searing and fresh. Stamped on her face was a look of such anguish that Ron felt tears start in own eyes. She looked as if she would say something to him, seek some comfort from him, but the instant Harry turned around to face her, the expression vanished and the mask of derisive of amusement was flawlessly back in place. Not knowing what else to do, Ron joined Harry at Hermione's side.

"Well, well, well," Luna drawled, in a manner surprisingly similar to Malfoy's. "First Potter, then Krum, and now one of the Weasley boys. My, my Granger, you do get around."

Hermione's cheeks burned as she finally recovered her voice. "He's not - they're not -"

"Oh, please, I don't care to know all the sordid details." Luna held up a hand. "But good for you, Granger. I like a girl who knows how to keep her men in line ... though in that category, I'm not sure if these two exactly qualify," she said, looking Harry up and down, seeming to delight in making him feel uncomfortable. Then her tone grew more serious.

"I can guess your reasons for bringing along your boyfriends, Granger. These are troubling times. But if you try to pull a stunt like this at one of my meetings again..." and here Luna moved so close to Hermione that their noses were practically touching, "I'll serve all three of you up to the head of my house on a silver platter. Don't you dare try me. You wait for five minutes after I leave, and then you go back to your tower and you fret over your homework or play with your boy toys or whatever it is you do with your spare time. And you'll keep your mouth shut, or I'll rip it right off your pretty little face."

Luna swept out of the room, bumping Ron's shoulder as she passed. Hermione was almost trembling.

"I ... I can't believe her ... what she said... about you and me and Ron ..."

Hermione looked on the verge of tears. Harry put a hand on her shoulder and murmured some words of comfort. Ron, however, was looking down at his hand, at the scrap of parchment Luna has hastily thrust into it as she walked by, reading the six words on it over and over until his brain finally took in the message:

Tomorrow, midnight. No talk. Just chess.

"Finally! Back to life."

"Such as it is."

"Always looking on the bright side, aren't you?"

Florence Riordan had flown out the hospital wing exactly like an owl that had just been let out of its cage, with Severus Snape trailing slowly after her. That their conversation had become free and easy seemed to be the one good thing that had come out of all this. She paused in the middle of the hallway to take a slow, deep breath. It was probably just her imagination, but she could've sworn the air was fresher out here. The next time she went to the hospital wing, she decided, they were going to have to drag her kicking and screaming all the way, even if she was on death's door. She took in another deep breath, and was puzzled by the vaguely floral scent that she caught on the air. Her confusion was soon cleared up, though, as a boy with a bouquet of flowers rounded the corner.

She smiled benignly at Draco Malfoy, thinking he must be on his way to deliver a gift to that Parkinson girl, the one who was always simpering over him and hanging on to his every word. She was surprised when he stopped right in front of her, blushing, and blurted out "Professor Riordan! You're - I'm so glad you're all right! Oh and you too, Professor Snape," he added, obviously as an afterthought. Florence's smile turned into an outright grin as she pictured Severus' expression, which she knew was a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "I just - " he stammered, growing redder, "I just wanted to give you - you know, as a sort of get-well ... er ... thing, I - here." He thrust the flowers into her hands.

For a moment, Florence was silent; she couldn't resist just taking the time to savor the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Making a tremendous effort not to laugh, she gave the boy what she hoped was a grateful look as she bent slightly to address him: "Why Draco, how very thoughtful. Thank you so much, my dear boy," and plant a kiss on his forehead. She knew she shouldn't have, but she just couldn't resist the urge to see his reaction. She was not disappointed. Draco grew even redder, and tried for several moments to manage to get out a "You're welcome," before giving it up altogether. He turned and fled down the hallway, with an expression on his face somewhere between terror and bliss.

Florence held her laughter in as long as she could. When it finally came tumbling out, she could only hope the boy was out of earshot. "Oh," she gasped, clutching her side and leaning against the wall for support, "Oh, I can't breathe... that was absolutely priceless... I needed that. Whew." Even Severus had to smile as he looked at her.

"I don't believe it," she said as she caught her breath.

"Yes well," said Snape, sounding highly amused, "like father like son, I suppose. But you needn't look so pleased with yourself," he added irritably as she began to grin again. Naturally, this statement caused Florence to look and feel even more pleased with herself than ever. Draco Malfoy, she mused, resembled his father greatly in appearance, but Lucius had always been highly adept at manipulating people and hiding his true feelings - for the most part, at least. Draco, in contrast, wore his heart on his sleeve. He face betrayed his feelings far too quickly, but Florence felt this openness of his was an improvement over his father's demeanor, which obscured far more than what it revealed.

"Hmm. He seems quite charming for a spoiled little rich boy."

"Decided to start dating the students now, have you?" Snape said acidly, and suddenly he was the one hurrying down the hallway, as Florence struggled to keep up. She made a dismissive noise, amused at his irritation with her. "Oh honestly, Severus," she said, "stop being so -"

"So what?" Snape had stopped, and turned around so that they were facing each other. Suddenly, his tone seemed more serious. Florence looked at him and swallowed.

"So ... you." Wary of the silence that followed, she continued, "I don't see why you have to take everything so seriously. In times like these, we need to find amusement wherever we can."

He avoided her eyes, but nodded. "I suppose you're right. I'm just ... tired ... tired of... a great many things." He sighed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. For just an instant, she wished she could do something comfort him.

"Goodnight, Florence. Promise me you won't go seducing anymore students between now and the morning, will you?"

"I'll try." Her smile felt less natural, more forced than before. They both stood there for a long moment, each thinking their own thoughts about the past, and the future, before Florence finally muttered, "Goodnight." Then, as they always seemed to end up doing, they went their separate ways.