Obsidian Faith

Obsidian Faith

1. Scarred Tensions

"An infusion of burdock leaves and...Hermione, I can't do this," Harry burst out, exhaling in a resigned manner. "Who cares about burdock leaves a-and all those ten other ingredients! How 'm I supposed to memorize all this?" He flung his blunt quill into a pile of essays and other parchments from various classes.

Hermione sat in the middle of an island of textbooks and charts. Her head was bent over her Arithmancy textbook, whispering as she read. Harry watched as Hermione's hand crept sideways to reach her pencil while her eyes were still fixed on the book.

"Hermione?"

"Just a minute, Harry. I've almost found...yes, got it!" She grabbed the pencil and a nearby essay then scribbled something at the end. "Done! What do you need help with? I've got a lot of work to do." Her eyes strayed to the collection of books around her.

"Let's forget this. It's nearly Christmas anyhow." Harry got up, straightening his pile of finished and unfinished work (which exceeded the finished pile by two inches). "I mean, no one else's working. I don't think the teachers meant to kill us off during the holidays. I wonder what Ron's up to."

"But Harry, I've got considerably more work than you. I do take more subjects," she pointed out.

"Homework's going to kill you before you graduate, Herm. Give it a break. Ron's probably in the dormitory wrapping presents."

"Oh all right. I suppose I could leave this until after Christmas. Oh, I haven't wrapped my presents yet!"

Harry took the staircase two steps at a time with Hermione winding her way through books after him.

Ron, however, was not wrapping presents as Harry had assumed. He, like them, had been catching up on homework. He was propped up on his four-poster bed with papers spread out before him. While he copied a table of statistics concerning how many wizards and witches had personal encounters with Muggles (for yet another pointless History of Magic lesson), he was at the same time busy biting the head and limbs off a Chocolate Frog off.

He glanced up at Harry and Hermione. "Sorry, got loads to do before Christmas. Has everyone left yet?" he asked absentmindedly.

"They left this morning, Ron. Thought you knew," Hermione said, concerned.

Sixth year at Hogwarts was slowly killing Ron with its enormous homework load (Neville Longbottom was practically dead already). Hermione had learned to judge her time and draw up a study schedule years ago in their third year when she attended about ten classes a day. Harry, who did not have as much work as Hermione then, still had Quidditch practices almost everyday, and during the winter, he also had to fit in Lupin's anti-dementor lessons. This left Ron, who did not play Quidditch or take as many subjects as Hermione, with almost no experience on time management.

Homework assignments had gradually, but surely, increased year by year, and Ron by all means was not surviving too well. He had bruise-colored bags under his eyes, and five minutes was all he could spare for meals. Now that sixth year midterms were slowly approaching, the teachers had even given homework over the holidays.

"Huh? I was in the library today doing research on the Mandrake Restorative Draft. Not much research, actually. Can't believe Snape would make us write a four page essay on some stupid antidote that could be described in one sentence!"

"Need help?" Harry offered, having already accomplished that himself.

"It's actually all right. I just finished it - had to elaborate and repeat a whole lot, but it's done."

"You could come and work on homework with us," Hermione suggested. "We thought you were wrapping presents, not doing homework."

Ron painfully flexed his ink-smeared fingers. "Wish I could do that instead of doing all this. I'd join you two if you guys would just clear away that mess in the Common Room." He grinned, knowing that Harry and Hermione were oblivious to the mess they had caused.

"Mess? We know we borrowed a lot of books, but..." Hermione trailed off, exchanging uncertain glances with Harry.

"Go out there and take a look at the Common Room yourself if you don't believe me."

Harry and Hermione filed out of the boys' dormitory and onto the first landing.

"Oh."

Yes, oh indeed. On every available chair, cushion, and couch, there were several piles of books, some neatly arranged and some not. There were books on the floor too. Harry spotted the place before the fire where Hermione's workstation had been. Books had toppled over and spilled onto the rug. Crisp sheets of parchment lay curled up everywhere. Several sheaves of finished assignments were organized by the subject they belonged to. There was a small pile for every possible subject. No wonder Ron had refused to work with them.

You couldn't go two feet anywhere without stepping on some crumpled piece of paper containing the beginnings of a discarded essay. The carpets and cushions were stained from where ink-stained fingers had wiped in frustration. Broken pens and quills strewed the floor like confetti, lacking only in color.

"Come on, Harry. Let's straighten this place up." Hermione flicked her wand at her own papers. Those completed stacked themselves on each other, still categorized by class. Everything uncompleted formed their own pile. She stashed all books not in front of the fire in one corner of the Common Room. Those were to be returned to the library. Harry did much the same, though his wand movement was not always as precise as Hermione's and books often ended up whizzing too close to the fire. Within ten minutes, the Common Room was decent again.

They trooped back to the dormitory, Hermione slightly flushed. Ron only raised his eyebrows as he slid out of bed. While they had been busy, he had straightened his own work. "All right, now I'll join you downstairs."

"No - let's go outside or something. I've done enough work for one afternoon. You need a break too, Ron. Hermione. Let's go visit Hagrid."

Ron seemed infinitely relieved by Harry's suggestion and tossed on his Hogwarts cloak at once. Hermione seemed somewhat reluctant to leave so much work only half completed, but she had to agree. They have been doing too much homework. She only said, "Don't you think it's a bit cold outside, Harry?"

"Hagrid doesn't live all that far away. Besides, the cold might sharpen your mind. You'll go all drowsy and sluggish if you just sit by the fire and read," Ron interjected.

Hermione hurried off immediately feeling slightly more hopeful. She needed all the sharp thinking she could muster to finish all her homework before the end of vacation.

Harry and Ron waited for Hermione at the portrait hole, staring off into the hissing fire. Harry suddenly spoke. "You know, I'm slightly worried about Hermione. This is third year for her all over again, except harder."

Ron sounded slightly annoyed and put-off, though Harry knew not why. "We're all as busy as her, Harry. She'll manage. She always does."

At that moment, Hermione came hurrying down the spiral stairway. She had on her thick Muggle coat, two scarves tightly wrapped up to the chin, ear muffs magicked to sport Gryffindor colors, and a bulky pair of wool mittens.

Ron laughed out loud at her rather lumpy appearance. "Really, Hermione. You'd think we were going off to the Arctic."

"Well, you certainly don't seem to be wearing enough," she sniffed. "I don't want to catch pneumonia."

"But Madame Pomfrey could just patch you up in a moment!" Ron protested, fingering his cloak.

The trek to Hagrid's cabin was more mind freezing than mind refreshing. The blizzard that laid siege to the castle in the early morning was still going, nearly blinding the trio. Snow lay two feet deep on the frozen ground, building up even as they walked.

It was so cold that within seconds, the frigid wind penetrated Hermione's mittens and turned her hands blue. It was obviously worse for Ron and Harry, since they wore only thick sweaters, their school robes, and flimsy capes. Harry's lips had turned a nasty light blue by the time they spotted the silhouette of Hagrid's log residence. Harry bent his head against the persistent wind and pressed on as hard as he could with Hermione and Ron walking in his footprints.

When they reached Hagrid's front door, the blizzard had reached its peak and wailed like a tortured banshee. Wind whistled like a teakettle past numb ears and wrapped around their heads, mussing up hair.

Harry banged with all his might at the massive door, calling Hagrid's name. "Hagrid, open up. HAGRID!"

Hagrid yanked open the door, unaware that Ron was leaning exhaustedly against it. Ron fell through and stumbled into the cheerful atmosphere of Hagrid's simple home. Harry and Hermione staggered in seconds after, making for the roaring fire.

"What're yeh doin' here? 'S freezing out there, yeh shouldn've come!" Hagrid protested with surprise. He forced the door shut and began making tea.

"W-we were doing work all day and d-decided we needed a breather. Decided to come see you, Hagrid," Ron explained through chattering teeth.

"Well, I ain't lettin' any of yeh leave afore the storm's over, hear? Ne'er knew you three were that stark raving mad!" Even though he reprimanded them, his beetle eyes shone with happiness that they had braved a massive blizzard just to see him.

Harry, who was still warming himself by the fire, peeked around. His eyes lit on The Daily Prophet folded neatly on the great table. His half-thawed fingers picked it up and scanned the headlines. What he read froze his blood.

"The Dark Mark Reappears."

~

Draco didn't know what to think. At first he had thought he was angry - enraged even - but then the so-called anger had ebbed away. A sense of relief (that's what he called it anyway) had immediately replaced that anger, but now he wasn't so sure if he was relieved either. Something like frustration kicked in, but it soon left him. He felt empty all over again, not knowing what to feel, unless emptiness itself was a feeling.

After welcoming Draco, Voldemort invited him to step into the ring. To his surprise, the fire was cold, and it felt like there was only air when he stepped through. Immediately afterwards, the Death Eaters had turned around to face him, leaving an opening for their master to walk through.

Voldemort slowly approached him, scrutinizing. Draco, unsure of what was expected of him for the first time, stared straight ahead. He tried to spot Lucius among the crowd without averting his gaze, but the results were futile. All the Death Eaters' heads were bowed and hooded. Somehow, Lucius had managed to don his ceremonial garb without Draco noticing.

"Insolence..." Voldemort hissed, stretching the 's" sound. "Luciusss, your boy does not seem afraid..." The crimson eyes glittered like rubies behind the hood, and something gray and decayed moved. Voldemort was not unlike a dementor.

"Bow to the Dark Lord!" someone whispered behind Draco.

Draco whirled around to come face to face with Wormtail. He despised Wormtail's pathetic being, but he could not insult him in front of the Dark Lord. Instead he turned around again and bowed his head to Voldemort. However, he did not apologize.

Voldemort ignored Wormtail and continued to advance upon Lucius' son. A decayed, skeletal hand wormed its way out of the cloak's stifling materials and reached to touch Draco's face. It first encountered the perfectly sculpted chin, elongated fingernails tracing the jaw. Next the revolting limb felt for the lips and then onward until the fingers found the eyes.

For a moment Draco had thought the Dark Lord would gouge his eyes out, but the fleeting thought passed.

"Such cold eyesss...sso cruel...expresssing nothing. You have raised a copy of yourself, Lucius. I only hope he is as capable as you have been."

Someone shifted and Lucius said, "He is yours, my liege. I, like you, hope he will be of use."

"Mine...yesss, mine. My...property, and now you must be marked as one of my own."

Draco tensed. He was to be made a Death Eater now, at this moment. He would officially be a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"Master," Lucius intercepted. "Do you believe that he is truly ready for your service?"

It was odd, extremely odd. Lucius, for as long as Draco had known him, had wanted his son to become a Death Eater. Since the age of four, Lucius had forced the history and knowledge of the dark arts onto Draco. Yet now, Lucius seemed to hesitate, some trepidation in the way he spoke. It sounded almost as if he didn't want Draco to become a Death Eater.

Voldemort opened his distorted mouth and laughed his shrill laugh. Over the years, he must have perfected his spine tingling cackle to blend in with a banshee and a rusty gate. The highest pitch nearly disappeared out of the range of hearing. Faintly, ever so faintly, the baying of Lucius' pack of vicious hounds trained to kill could be heard.

"No, I do not mean to make the boy a Death Eater right now. I said I would mark him, not brand him." His mouth stretched to form some deformed, lopsided leer. The inch-long nails tapped over Draco's skin, groping for something.

A sudden flash of intense pain exploded in Draco's head. His mind reeled and tottered on the edges of sanity. His hand flew up to the source of the pain on his face and found, to his surprise, no blood. His fingers delicately crept up his face and met with a clean cut that started at the corner of his right eye. More pain blossomed, but he could feel the minute thin incision. Despite that it was newly made, the cut felt as if it belonged on his face. He could imagine it - a swift, sharp cut from the corner of his eye slightly curving downward an inch or two. It was so thin, that he imagined only someone close by would be able to spot it.

The Dark Lord had withdrawn his hand and surveyed his handiwork. "Yesss, a little something to...remember me by, Lucius' son." Again, he laughed that horrible laugh of his. "This binds you to me in a way that the Death Eater brand does not. You should not forget that pain easily - I have the power to make it worse. You can never forget now that you are mine. Disobey me and you shall experience pain beyond imagination. I have decided that I will not make you a Death Eater after all, not tonight. I have a task for you. I guess one would say that you were on...probation."

The crowd behind shifted uncomfortably. What their master was doing had not been in their plans tonight, but they were in no position to question his authority. They only wondered what special task he had in mind for Draco.

"Your first task: Harry Potter."

The tension increased. Harry Potter? An inexperienced sixteen-year-old boy trap the infamously protected Harry Potter? What was the Dark Lord thinking? What every single Death Eater could not do, he had asked a naïve student to do it? Not only did this request anger and set some teeth on edge, but it was belittling to many of the more prominent supporters. That included Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius once again stepped forward to object. The Dark Lord, who had sensed his action, put up a single handand prevented Lucius from speaking. "Are you, or am I, the master here, Lucius?" he asked almost demurely.

"My liege, you are. I am forever in your service." Lucius bowed stiffly and melted back into the crowd.

"The task seems outrageous, and many of you feel insulted, yes? But," he held up his hand again to stop the whispers and murmurs. "But, Harry Potter is well protected - too well protected. While he is at that school, he is under the protection of the fool headmaster. It is impossible to capture him while he stays with the Muggles as well, as the wards are ancient and unbreakable. No, we need someone who can step through the protections and seem a part of the student body. There is only one among us today who can accomplish that."

Dead silence. Great, heatless flames danced and unfurled about them. The shadow pictures of horrific deaths came faster now. Draco felt his mouth go dry. In the corner of his eyes he watched someone being skinned alive and then set on fire limb by limb. His thoughts ran along those of the Death Eaters. It seemed almost an honor of sorts to be entrusted with the duty of Harry Potter, but it was also rather a bizarre task. Draco, indeed, was inexperienced. None was more coveted on the Dark Side than Harry Potter. Yet, the Dark Lord had thought him quite capable.

"So be it. No one objectsss..." The change had gone unnoticed, but Voldemort had lost his Parseltongue hissing while making his speech. His eyes glittered maliciously and then turned back to his followers, back facing Draco.

After that, Draco's patience had been called upon. The Dark Lord sat motionless on an ivory-backed throne while Death Eaters went forward and reported their most recent doings and findings to him.

"My liege-"

"My lord-"

"We hope that forgiveness is in your mood today."

"We have made a great mistake."

"But we swear it'll never happen again."

Draco's ears strained to hear the low mumblings. He recognized the two to be the Goyle and Crabbe seniors, and he wondered what great mistake they had committed this time. Goyle and Crabbe seniors were slightly more intelligent than their sons, although Draco still wouldn't credit them with proper intelligence. It looked as though the Goyles and Crabbes lost a bit of intelligence through each new generation.

"My lord...a Muggle spotted us while we were doing our work-"

"She escaped us, and we tried to find her..."

Voldemort hissed displeasingly. "You were careless as to let a Muggle see? What were you thinking?"

"The McBonnes lived in the countryside...we attacked at night. Evidently the Muggle was on her way back from visiting one of the other families living on the farms. We didn't think anyone could see us, since no one was supposed to be around for acres."

"But she sssaw you, did she not? That is the point. Have you found her yet?"

"No, m'lord. We were both inside. She must've been attracted to the flashing lights and screaming. Gertrude McBonne put up a racket before we could put her down. And then Goyle set the Dark Mark in the sky. She must've gotten away and alerted the Muggle authorities. It's been on their news."

"Enough. Perhaps such tasks are too hard for you two pathetic loafers. And I suppose it's reached wizard ears by now. No doubt Hogwarts security is even tighter now. Enough. From now on, you two shall find my missing Death Eaters for me. Leave the killing to others." Voldemort waved Goyle and Crabbe away, malcontent evident in his impatient movements.

Goyle and Crabbe, sensing this displeasure, stepped away quickly. They did not know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Voldemort had dismissed them so quickly. He sounded like they were forgiven, but the Dark Lord didn't forgive easily. Silently, the two blamed each other.

After that, there was nothing of importance, at least to Draco, to note. It seemed that he had been forgotten and would have to stand unmoving until the end. A sudden thought struck Draco. Where was Wormtail? This was a particularly nasty thought, as Wormtail was a disconcertingly pathetic and lowly being. He was capable of deceit and stalking, and Draco had an extremely uneasy feeling that Wormtail had been watching him the whole time. Wormtail had been behind him, but Draco knew that he couldn't possibly be there anymore. Wormtail would want to be near his master. He should be standing next to the throne.

Draco strained his eyes and peered closely at where the Dark Lord sat. Aside from the ivory throne, everything else was black. Wormtail was nowhere to be seen. Odd. Wormtail had always bothered Draco, but the absence of his presence near his protector, the Dark Lord, was truly disturbing. Wormtail was much despised in the Death Eater community - he was safe only with Voldemort, as Voldemort did consider him a faithful follower when Wormtail had nursed him back to health two years ago.

"We must move quickly," Voldemort was saying. "After Crabbe and Goyle's little blunder, the Ministry of Magic will have cautioned everyone. There will be forces gathering against us. You are all expected to do your jobs quickly and without fusss...I will not tolerate such abysmal results next time."

Even the idiots among the group knew a dismissal when they heard one. The crowd milled around, many Disapparating. Lucius remained to speak privately with his acquaintances. Within ten minutes, everyone had Disapparated. Only Lucius, Draco, Voldemort, and a shadowy figure who must be Wormtail remained (and indeed, Wormtail watched him).

Lucius looked at Draco and signaled that they should leave. They were about to leave when the Dark Lord spoke.

"Luciusss...I expect no more objectionss from you..."

Lucius turned around and bowed stiffly once. "As you wish, m'lord."

The Dark Lord let them go this time. The trek back was much less exciting, as Draco now knew the way.

Upon re-entering the manor (or perhaps they had been in it the entire time), Draco immediately went to his darkly furnished room and locked the door. He walked past the massive four-poster bed and stopped before the floor length mirror that hung on a panel of the wall. He had wanted to inspect his scar.

His fingers pored endlessly over the now imperfect skin. He had been right; you could only see the cut from up close. It gleamed a faint silver in the weak moonlight. There was hardly any pain except for a distant throbbing. I said I would mark him, not brand him, Voldemort had said. But it made no difference now. The scar was enough to remind Draco that from now on he would be faithful to the Dark Side only, and that he had to follow his orders. There really was no difference, actually.

Harry Potter, he silently mused. Harry Potter, my sworn enemy. This should be interesting. Wryly, he noted that the scar made him look like he was crying. Yet, Malfoys didn't cry.

~

"Hagrid, what is this?" Harry's hand shook as he pointed at the foreboding headlines. The words were printed large and clear in bold, defining itself for all the world to see.

"Yeh've heard, then?" Hagrid didn't meet Harry's eyes, but he did stop brewing tea and sat down rather hard on his bed. "Blimey, it's a shocker, ain't it?" He wiped his large hands on a stained apron.

"The Dark Mark...oh dear..." Hermione's eyes widened as she read. Her hand went to her mouth and she leaned closer to read the article.

"The Dark Mark!" Ron exclaimed. "You-Know-Who's been quiet for two years, and now he's started again! Who was he after this time, Hermione?" Ron sounded extremely worried, as his family was an old, pureblood family. His father, Arthur Weasley, was the Minister of the Ministry of Magic (Cornelius Fudge had resigned when he had a particularly rough spot in his career dealing with trolls - at this point, Dumbledore had intervened and declared that Mr. Weasley was more than fit for the position) and not unknown in the wizarding world. Although not very rich, the Weasleys had steadily gained respect through the years and even the Slytherins had ceased to tease Ron as much. And yet, popularity had its consequences and since Arthur Weasley was the Minister, the Weasley family was a likely target.

"I don't know...no, it was the McBonnes!" she exclaimed. Clearly, she had heard of them.

"The McBonnes?" Ron asked. It was not ringing a bell in his head. "Harry, d'you know the McBonnes?"

Harry shook his head slowly. Hermione had probably read about them from some book. His concern, however, was not with who the McBonnes were, or had been. Voldemort had come back. Of course, Harry had been expecting something like this ever since the end of his disastrous fourth year, but the fact that it had come so soon was mind-boggling. He supposed that two years was more than enough to regain strength and start another killing spree, but Harry could not get the surprise through his head.

"The McBonnes," Hermione explained, "are - were - some of the most powerful wizards and witches of this century. They, er, were Dumbledore's friends and helped scheme the defeat of Grindelwald. And...it also says here that this was first spotted by a...Muggle! This is messy."

The four companions sat in heavy silence for a few minutes, different thoughts running through each mind. It was Hagrid who spoke up first.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hagrid said, playing with the corner of his frilly apron (homemade).

Harry looked up quickly, puzzled. "Sorry? It's not your fault Voldemort's back."

Ron flinched almost invisibly; he was gradually getting used to Harry calling the Dark Lord Voldemort. "Yeah, it's not your fault," he repeated gloomily after Harry.

"No, but I can't stop thinkin' 'bout how everyone was so hopeful fer awhile, an' now...he's back, and he...he..." Hagrid left his speech unsaid, not knowing whether he should say what he had meant to say.

Harry knew what Hagrid tried to convey. "It's all right," he said quickly, not wanting Hagrid to finish. "I know what you mean."

They lapsed into silence again. The half-prepared tea was cooling quickly away from the fire's heat. Hagrid silently poured a cup for everyone and drained an entire cup himself. Harry, Hermione, and Ron slowly sipped theirs.

Harry's mind slipped in and out of coherent thought. At times, he felt extremely detached and thoughtless. One could almost call it numbness, but he wasn't, not really, because he wasn't traumatized or shocked. The surprise had lasted a minute or so, before he realized that he had actually been expecting this.

"It's stopped snowing outside. We'd better go before it starts again. Otherwise we'll miss dinner," Ron said awkwardly.

They silently gathered their cloaks and bid Hagrid a grave farewell. The snow was now three feet deep, and all footprints were buried.

"Harry, yeh can come anytime ter talk 'bout this," Hagrid kindly said, before they left his front door.

"Thanks, Hagrid." Harry didn't know what else to say. He knew Hagrid meant well, but he also knew Hagrid could not help him, if it was help he needed. Not even Ron and Hermione could help him. He had discovered that long ago. They could not understand what was on his mind, even if he explained it to them. If he mentioned "Voldemort," he only got a reply of fear and hurried reassurances.

They wouldn't understand the premonitions that sometimes came to him, of facing the Dark Lord in his glorified evil. No, if it ever came to another battle with Voldemort, he would be all alone. This he knew for sure.

When they got back to the castle, they were already late for dinner. Harry and Ron hurried to the Great Hall and saved a seat for Hermione as she went to shed her outside garments.

Inside the Great Hall, there was almost an air of subdued moods. Many turned to look at Harry but then turned away guiltily. There were no loud laughs and jokes tonight; even Dumbledore looked grave. All the other teachers looked as somber as they usually did. Hagrid was not among them as his cabin had practically been snowed in. It seemed that the news of the Dark Mark had reached the student body.

Dumbledore stood up halfway through dessert (which many did not touch - even some of the treacle pudding went unscathed), and the low clinks of china subsided. They all wanted to know what Dumbledore had to say.

"Many of you subscribe to the Daily Prophet and have heard the news. Therefore, I will get to the point," he said. "Some of your parents may disapprove of what I am going to do, but sooner or later, the news will spread. The Dark Mark has been imprinted onto the sky again."

Uneasy murmurs broke out. The students furiously whispered rumors back and forth, fear evident on most faces. At one point or another, they all pointed to Harry and whispered something to their comrades. Most of the Slytherins had gone home for the holidays, but those who remained hissed loudly and glared at Harry.

"Please, I did not want to give you such tidings right before Christmas, but alas, I did not wish for rumors to spread. I want no students to venture forth from this castle without a large group of friends. Even then, no after dark jaunts. As of right now, there are no guards at the entrances, but I am placing my confidence in your all that none of you will attempt to sneak out." There was no doubt about it - Dumbledore had definitely looked in Harry's direction when he said the last part.

People were slightly less nervous now. Everyone knew that they were safe under Dumbledore's protection. Plus, even if Dumbledore went away, there were wards around Hogwarts grounds, and the teachers together were almost as powerful as Dumbledore.

"But what about our friends?" someone asked anxiously from the Hufflepuff table.

Some Slytherins laughed, amused at such a corny question, but they were silenced with a dead cold glare from Professor McGonagall.

"Your friends are safe - you need no worry overly much. Those with Muggle parents are almost as safe as they might be here. And undoubtedly, as any wizard family will have been alerted."

Dinner soon concluded with most students still chatting about the Dark Lord. Naturally, the Slytherins were not surprised. Their Death Eater parents would have informed them long before.

"Ron! Ron!"

Ron turned around as he was leaving the table. His fifth year sister, Ginny, was pushing her way through the Gryffindor crowd. Ginny ha grown extremely pretty over the years. Her Weasley hair had, if possible, reddened, and her freckles had not gone away, but they added a touch of childish spunk which was definitely in her. She had also gotten paler and her rounded face had lost some of its baby fat. All in all, one would not be exaggerating when one said that all Gryffindor males and a few Hufflepuffs were besotted with her.

"Ginny!"

"Ron, did you hear Dumbledore? You are not to go outside after dark."

"I heard, Gin, I heard! An I'm not really planning on breaking the rules right now."

"Ginny!" Ginny's fellow fifth year, Adele, seized Ginny's arm and pulled her away from Ron. "We have to talk!"

Ginny was soon swept into the crowd, and Adele could be heard remarking on a "devilishly handsome" Ravenclaw.

"You'd think my mum paid her to say that" Ron said, looking after Ginny.

"She's only worried about you, Ron," Hermione said.

"Yes, well, it really is the other around, you know. Have any of you noticed that she's been rather odd lately?"

"I haven't really noticed anything out of the ordinary for a fifteen-year-old girl madly in love with someone..." Hermione commented, smiling at Ron and brushing past him.

"In love?" he echoed stupidly. "She can't be in love! She would've told me already. Besides, when's Ginny ever been in love? Come on, Harry, I've got a little sister to interrogate. She can't be in love!"

Harry trotted to catch up with Ron, who had started to run. He had to thrust away many people who glared at him angrily. He knew it wasn't exactly up to him, but it didn't seem like Ron was being a very sensitive brother. It was Ginny's business who she liked, after all. But then, Ron had always tried to be a protective big brother. Not only was this one of the roles that was naturally a part of him, but the Weasley twins had made Ron promise to look after Ginny when they graduated.

Back at the common room, Ron had spotted Ginny and was speaking quietly to her.

"Excuse me," Harry said, pushing past someone.

"Ginny, you're not in love, are you?" Ron was whispering furiously.

"What?"

"Hermione said that-"

"I'm not in love, per se, Ron - what did Hermione tell you?"

"Nothing, except that you might be madly in love..."

"Look, whatever she said, it's wrong. I'm not in love. Really! Why're you so worked up?"

"Well, if you were just in love, I wanted to know with whom..."

"Ron! I would prefer to keep these things to myself! It's rather private."

"Can't a big brother lookout for his little sister?"

"Yes, but you're being overly protective and paranoid."

"So are you in love?"

"Ron, I'm not telling you! I said I like to keep these things to myself! And I think I know an idiot when I see one, so you don't ever have to worry about me falling in love with a thickheaded git."

Many people were becoming increasingly aware of the brother-sister dispute rising in the corner. What had started out in whispers was now carried in full with angry protests. Hermione quickly joined Harry at his side. "Oh no, he hasn't gone and questioned Ginny about what I said, has he?"

"I really don't need you butting into my love life, Ron!" You're really going overboard now!" Ginny exclaimed loudly. She left the common room in a hurry and ran to her dormitory.

"Ginny!" Ron made to leap after her, but Hermione caught him by the back of his robes.

"Don't, Ron! Just leave her alone for now!" she said, pushing him into an armchair.

The common room was now silent. The few students had remained for the holidays that had gathered in the common room were now staring openly at Ron. Most of them had only heard bits and snatches of the conversation.

"What are you all staring at? The show's over!" Ron shouted, waving his arms around as if dispersing the onlookers.

"Ron, teenage girls are best left to their own devices when going through adolescence. You have the right to be protective, but she is entitled to her privacy. She's had more people looking after her in her life than she can remember. There's either always been a parent around or a brother. She wants independence, and I think you're depriving her of it," Hermione explained.

"I am not deliberately trying to deprive her of her own life!"

"No, but that's how she feels. The last thing a girl does when she likes someone is to run to her parents - in this case, you - and tell them all about it. Ginny's not a fool. You don't need to worry about her as much as you do. Harry would agree with me - don't you, Harry?" Hermione turned to look at Harry. "Harry?"

But Harry wasn't there.

"He's probably up in the dormitory. Harry doesn't need to bother with brother-sister issues," Ron said bitterly.

Harry was, in fact, not in the boys' dormitory. Feeling completely detached while Ron and Ginny were arguing, he had gotten the invisibility cloak and left through the portrait hole, feeling like he needed to think. And there was one specific person he needed to think about. Hermione.