Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Strinx

Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Strinx

By Moon Weasley

Chapter Twenty-One:

Duels and havoc

After two and a half days of continuous wailing, nagging and pleading Harry was finally released from the hospital wing. Despite Madam Pomfrey's most adamant claims that he was nowhere near recovery Harry had astonishingly managed to persuade her to perform a meticulous check-up with the promise that he would willingly and quietly retreat to his bed if he didn't pass. After being poked and prodded with the matron's frighteningly large wand and numerous medical instruments (not to mention a particularly embarrassing incident involving a cloth and a catheter) Harry was free to go.

Safely back in Gryffindor Tower Harry entered the common room only to find it completely deserted. This was hardly surprising he realized after consulting the clock above the fireplace. Afternoon classes had just begun and it was still hours before Ron and Hermione would return.

Deciding to cut the waiting short by reading up on the latest Quidditch magazines Harry collected issues of Which Broomstick and Quidditch Illustrated from Ron's trunk and kipped down on one of the couches. He was in the middle of a very riveting article about the creative use of illicit potions among Beaters on the Estonian National Team when the portrait hole swung open and someone climbed through. A loud bang made Harry jump in his seat and craning his neck he peered over the back of the couch to scowl at the person who'd just disturbed his precious Quidditch-time.

It was Ginny.

Harry immediately felt his limbs go weak. Quidditch Illustrated slipped out of his non-working fingers and landed on the hearth. A spark from the fireplace landed squarely on the nose of Puddlemere United's Chaser Jack Rooney causing his picture self to fly about flailing his arms in what looked to be extreme agony.

Harry however didn't notice.

His eyes were fixed dazedly on Ginny's pale face, his heartbeat racing at a lethal pace. They hadn't been alone like this since the New Years Ball and Harry couldn't help feeling incredibly self-conscious and awkward. He'd been downright avoiding her for weeks and the comfortable tone they'd shared before Ginny's mystifying sixth sense had started to unnerve him was now completely gone.

Not counting Quidditch practices Harry no longer stayed in the same room as Ginny if he could help it. He'd done his damnedest to make this avoidance as inconspicuous as possible, not wanting anyone to notice. Taking his lacking acting abilities into consideration Harry personally thought he'd done a fine job of it, though Hermione had given him a piercing sort of look now and then that left him with a queasy sort of feeling that she knew exactly what he was aiming for and didn't approve. But that was just Hermione for you.

Ginny's ability to predict what would happen to him was the chief reason for his elusion. Given the little information they had on the prophecy Harry couldn't help but wonder if she perhaps could be his Strinx with all the danger that implied. In addition to this Harry grudgingly had to admit that the fluttering feeling that always appeared in his stomach whenever Ginny entered the room was in all likelihood a good indication that yes, he did fancy her. He also feared that if he continued to spend time with her these emotions would only grow stronger. The thought of what Voldemort, or worse Ron and the rest of the Weasleys would do if this became public knowledge was far too terrifying for words.

And yet here he was, face to face with her with no plausible excuse to leave the common room. The utter silence that only seconds before had felt so soothing to him was now almost unbearable. The tension in the air was so overwhelming Harry felt like he was slowly suffocating.

It was Ginny who spoke first.

"Hi," she said in a barely audible voice.

"Hi," Harry replied squeakily. Damn his stupid voice for cracking.

"How's your head?"

Harry managed a weak smile gingerly massaging his still tender scull. "Much better, thanks."

The conversation stranded there and once again an awkward silence descended on the room. Ginny was giving him a tentative smile but it was a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She seemed to have developed a newfound fascination for the ornaments above the windows. Harry for his part was fiddling with one of the couch's many cushions. We're pathetic, he thought glumly but couldn't bring himself to do or say anything to rectify the situation.

One minute passed then another and still not a single word were spoken. This is just stupid, Harry thought miserably. He chanced a glance at Ginny. She was still staring at a point above the window, a haunted and guilty kind of look plainly visible on her pale face. Harry immediately felt an intense wave of anger and annoyance rising within him. How could he not have thought of this before? It was so obvious!

"You knew, didn't you?"

It came out sounding more like an accusation than a question and the harshness in his own voice almost made Harry wince. But the words had been spoken and he knew it would be impossible to retract them. And looking at Ginny's flushed cheeks he knew he was right. She was chewing on her lower lip and absentmindedly scratching her left arm something which Harry knew she was prone to do when she felt pressured or was being untruthful. Obviously not aware that he knew these signs, Ginny pretended to play dumb. This was an act she did not perform well Harry decided.

"Knew what?" she asked in what she obviously hoped was a convincingly confused sort of voice. Harry however was not fooled.

"Don't play dumb, Ginny, it's not very becoming!"

Surprised at his own callousness (but effectively hiding it) Harry stared angrily at Ginny, his glare not even wavering when she let out a strangled sort of sob. His icy tone of voice had clearly taken her aback.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" she asked bleakly. Harry sneered.

"What am I talking about?" he mimicked agitatedly. "I'm talking about bloody Stuart Smythe's plan to whack me over the head during the game! Why didn't you warn me beforehand? Or better yet, why didn't you storm the field yourself to ward him off like the time you saved me from Malfoy's enchanted Bludger? Lately you seem to have developed a very unnerving ability to predict mishaps and accidents that are waiting to happen to me. Do you need me to reel up the by now very lengthy list of examples?" Ginny stuttered but Harry cut her off, continuing to verbally bash her.

"Why didn't you say anything this time? You've been doing a pretty good job of avoiding me lately, if you don't mind me saying so," Harry pushed on choosing pointedly to overlook the small fact the he'd been avoiding her too. Ginny started to protest but her attempt to speak was effectively drowned out by Harry's continuous rant.

"And after you warned me, rather cryptically I might add, about Peeves' stack of water balloons at the New Years Ball, you looked so remorseful for having said anything about it in the first place. Why? And why did you suddenly stop warning me now? Found out something about why you're able to do this, perhaps? Decided you don't want to draw any more attention to this new "gift" of yours, did you?

Harry stared defiantly at her, daring her to explain herself but Ginny remained mute and motionless.

"Don't you have anything to say at all?" he asked incredulously.

Swallowing hard Ginny shook her head.

"I don't know what to say to you, Harry," she whispered shakily. "I mean, haven't you ever had a gut feeling that something specific would happen and then it actually does?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, occasionally but never in the magnitude that you have shown this fall. And how come I never hear you warn anybody else besides me?"

Ginny didn't seem to have an answer to that because she refrained from retorting. Still feeling agitated and betrayed for some reason Harry flopped back against the couch.

"Well, whatever this "thing" of yours is, don't play me for a fool with stupid excuses like women's intuition and the like. You're hiding something, Ginny I know you are. I don't know what or why but sooner or later I'll find out. I trusted you this summer and let you in on all our secrets."

Harry looked her straight in the eye. "And this is the way you repay that trust - by purposefully shutting us out. Remember your first year? You should think that had taught you something about the importance of sharing strange secrets."

Ginny gasped mortified and in a split second all colour was drained from her face making her freckles stand out even more dominantly then usual. A long, very uncomfortable silence followed. Completely out of steam Harry was seriously starting to regret his outburst. Especially since Ginny now appeared close to tears. That had never been his intention and his tactless reference to the incident with The Chamber of Secrets had really been below the belt. Cringing in his seat Harry wondered earnestly how he could repair the damage his flare-up might have done to their newfound friendship.

Casting a quick glance in Ginny's direction he noticed she was holding a very old and tattered book in her hands. The book looked oddly familiar to Harry but he couldn't really place where he'd seen it before. Apparently it was of some value to Ginny though because she was gripping it very tightly, her knuckles all white.

"If you're finished bashing me, I'd like to go to my dormitory, please," Ginny said her voice quivering. Harry suddenly felt worse than Bubotuber pus and Skrewt droppings combined. Sure he'd been a little bit peeved with her lately, but that was really no excuse for lashing out at her like this.

"Oh, Ginny I'm really sorry. Honestly, I didn't mean to loose it like that..." Ginny quickly wiped her eyes and shook her head.

"It's okay really, don't think about it..." she began but Harry cut her off.

"Please don't make excuses on my behalf, I completely lost my head just now and it was really uncalled for. Let's just forget it, okay?"

Ginny nodded and smiled warily. "Good," Harry said returning her smile. Deciding that a more neutral topic of conversation was appropriate, Harry pointed casually to the book she was still clutching firmly to her breast.

"So, what's that you're reading? School related or sappy romance?"

Never in his wildest imagination did Harry think such an innocent question could shake a person to the core like this one did Ginny. Her smile wavered, her cheeks paled again and her eyes suddenly resembled those of the people who'd been petrified: glassy, terrified and shocked. Harry didn't have time to ask what was wrong before she with a squeak whirled around and fled the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

Stunned Harry watched her bolt out of the room. Now what the hell was that all about, he thought perplexedly? Needless to say Harry found it difficult to concentrate on his Quidditch magazines after that...

* * *

As expected various rumours about what had caused the Hufflepuff Beater to run amok and attack Harry were soon circulating the school like a flock of very busy bees. And apparently there was no end to the creativity the student body managed to put into their gossiping and speculations.

From the moment Harry showed his face in class the next day he was bombarded with questions. Keeping his promise not to talk about what had really happened out on the pitch Harry confined himself to shrugging indifferently and ignoring the nosy inquiries as best he could. Naturally this feeble response (or rather complete lack thereof) didn't satisfy his schoolmates' cosmic curiosity. Unable to wrestle an explanation out of him they opted for the next best thing, namely creating their own colourful versions.

It was mayhem.

One minute the word around the school was that Stuart Smythe's family had a long history of mental illness and that poor Harry had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time when he'd finally snapped. Next people claimed that Smythe's secret ambition was to be in Slytherin and that he'd struck a deal with Malfoy to be included in his group if he bashed Harry Potter.

And it kind of escalated from there. Knowing the real story Harry, Ron and even Hermione had to fight to suppress their mirth whenever a fresh wave of gossip came their way. However, one day and numerous farfetched rumours later Harry had stopped laughing.

Sure, it had been amusing at first listening to the increasingly mind-boggling hearsays that was circling the corridors. But the entertainment value dropped significantly when the rumourmongers started telling people that Harry most callously had made a pass at Stuart's long time girlfriend and that this was the reason behind his rage. The entire Hufflepuff house was in an uproar at this news and the normally so humble and harmonious students were now acting with a hostility and resentment worthy of Slytherin.

For half a day Harry was the most hated person at Hogwarts (Peeves and Filch included!). Fearing another beating (Justin Finch Fletchley had looked murderous at lunch) Harry had little choice but to shirk off Divination and Charms to hide in his dormitory. Not until the next day when someone brilliantly pointed out that Stuart Smythe had never had a girlfriend could Harry emerge from his hideout and move around the castle again without risking bodily harm or verbal harassment.

Eventually the students grew bored of the topic and life returned to normal, or as normal as life had ever been for Harry Potter and his friends. Knowing that someone within school grounds had cast the Imperius Curse only made Harry, Ron and Hermione even more convinced that the Prophecy of the Strinx was authentic.

Given the tight security systems Dumbledore was running these days (extended curfews, supervised Quidditch practises, trolls patrolling the grounds and even more wards around the castle) it was highly unlikely an outsider had been able to sneak in unnoticed. With that in mind they concluded that the person casting the curse had probably been someone they, at least up till now had considered "friendly".

So for the umpteenth time the trio huddled together in an inconspicuous corner of the common room to discuss the topics of whom, why and how to expose the traitorous bastard. The mysterious parchment Hermione had seen Max send off had given both Ron and Harry new ammunition in their personal persecution of the German. Together they'd elected Max their prime suspect as betrayer and both were solemnly convinced he was the perpetrator.

Hermione however was less than convinced, claiming that he really didn't have a convincing motive for supplying the Dark Lord with information. This because, Hermione recited from her encyclopaedic memory, even though it had been his intension to also rid the rest of Europe of Muggleborns Voldemort hadn't managed to reach this far by the time of his fall. It was therefore highly unlikely for Max to be a Death Eater, she argued, as the belief in Pureblood supremacy had gained very little ground among wizards in Germany despite the Muggles' Nazism during Grindelwald's time.

Though Harry had to admit this made sense he was still reluctant to abandon his and Ron's theory altogether. A part of him desperately wanted Max to be the culprit. And not just because the smug git had been acting a bit suspicious lately Harry sheepishly had to admit. No, it had rather been the nauseating display Max had put on during their last Quidditch practise that had caused Harry's dislike for the bloke to flare up again with new intensity.

Shuddering he had to fight to suppress the bile he felt coming on just thinking about it. Swearing under his breath Harry wondered which inconsiderate prick that'd confounded the Sorting Hat to place that dimwit in Gryffindor. Surely the old bonnet wasn't that cruel and spiteful unless tampered with?

The practice has started out quite normal. Inspired by their latest victory Ron had arrived with several newly composed Chaser formations and play tactics up his sleeve. Eager as they all were to be in top shape for the upcoming game against Slytherin they'd immediately embraced Ron's new schemes and started what promised to be a very good training session. About halfway through the practice Ron had instructed Max to engage in a series of exercises to enhance his reflexes while the rest of the team practised Ron's latest defence formation.

Busy as they'd been following Ron's detailed coaching it had taken them a while to notice that Max had chosen to ignore his instruction altogether. Harry almost lost control of his Firebolt and just narrowly managed to avoid ramming straight into Katie Bell when he'd caught eye of a most sickening display: At the foot of one of the three hoops Max had been standing closely behind Ginny, his hands busily massaging her shoulders. Ginny had looked to be enjoying the backrub a little too much for Harry's liking. Her eyes were closed and a content and dreamy smile had been visible even from Harry's height.

Cursing and spluttering Harry had to restrain himself from diving straight for Max and beating the seventh year to a pulp. But knowing that it would've looked just a tad too suspicious if he came down on Max like a ton of bricks, Harry had done the next best thing: He'd gotten her very overprotective brothers to do it instead...

Smirking like there was no tomorrow he'd thoroughly enjoyed watching Ron, Fred and George advance on the git and give him a very memorable lecture on sister-handling-etiquette. To sum it up briefly their message had been this: No dating, no kissing and no touching of any kind allowed - ever! Naturally Ginny had thrown a tantrum and stormed off in a big huff, but hey, it was all for her own good really.

So if Harry had disliked the guy before he positively hated him now. Ginny was too good for such a prat and just the thought of the two of them together romantically made him feel physically ill. Priding himself on being a touch more perceptive than Ron, Harry realised it was jealousy that made him feel this way. But that said he had no intention of throwing huge screaming fits or storm of ranting and raving like Ron was prone to do. That would only give his feelings away and Harry was most certainly not planning on acting on these emotions any time soon. Not as long as Voldemort was around, and he feared that might be a while. And Harry knew perfectly well that he couldn't expect Ginny or anyone else for that matter to put their lives on hold because of him. But by Merlin's wand she could do better than that!

Having listened to the boys verbally abuse Max for a good fifteen minutes Hermione had clearly reached her limit. Impatiently she suggested they might want to look at other candidates too at the offhand chance the guy should turn out innocent.

"But Mione," Ron wailed heatedly, "he's the obvious suspect! He's Slytherinishly arrogant; he's traipsing around the Owlery sending of secret messages, he's assaulting naive and innocent girls in broad daylight! And I'm guessing we can add "putting Unforgivable Curses on fellow students" to this list!"

Hermione rolled her eyes witheringly.

"I very much doubt a friendly backrub qualifies as an assault," she implied offhandedly. Ron instantly began spluttering but was expertly ignored by Hermione. "Besides I think Ginny would resent being referred to as naïve."

"Whatever," muttered Ron tetchily, but wisely dropped the subject of Max.

Listening only half-heartedly as Ron launch into his "If-it's-not-Max-than-it's-got-to-be-Malfoy-or-Snape-or-at-least-some-Slytherin-scum" speech, Harry's mind began to wander. Something had been bothering him lately but for obvious reasons he didn't quite know how to approach the subject, especially to Ron.

It had been during one of his many sleepless nights that he'd first started thinking about it. Having surrendered to the fact that he was incapable of conquering his insomnia Harry had decided he at least should try to put the time spent awake to good use.

So behind the hangings of his four-poster bed and in the light of his wand he'd begun to meticulously and systematically consider each and every piece of information they had, however insignificant, in hope of finding some lead to what and whom they were up against.

And he had come up with something. But it might not be anything, Harry thought dispiritedly. He'd postponed talking about it for days now knowing it would probably upset Ron. How did one go about voicing a theory that implied one of your best friend's brothers as a suspect Harry wondered?

Well not really a suspect, Harry reasoned. It wasn't like he honestly believed that this Weasley, or any Weasley for that matter was involved, but there was definitely something distinctly odd about his behaviour.

It was while reviewing the meagre information he'd gotten from the portraits in the corridor where Dobby had sighted the Dark Wizard on New Years Eve it had come to him. The only piece of reliable information Harry had been able to retract from his questioning was that three red haired wizards had stormed past in varying degrees of uproar during that night. He'd assumed this had been three of the Weasley brothers and he still believed this to be true.

Not that the Weasley siblings were the only red-haired students at Hogwarts, not by far. But having spent the next couple of meals in the Great Hall scrutinizing red heads Harry felt certain his first assumption was right. There was just one other red haired wizard (though several witches) and this was a first year Hufflepuff barely the size of a goblin.

Harry had asked Ron if he'd stormed down that corridor that night something, which he'd confirmed. He'd just snogged Lavender senseless and had understandably not been in the most stable of moods. Harry was further pretty certain that Percy was the second redhead scampering down the corridor. He had after all looked quite shaken as he'd fled the Great Hall with Millicent Bulstrode hot at his heels.

The third redhead Harry had assumed to be Charlie, Fred or George. But for some reason he'd never really bothered finding out which one or why the concerned had been upset. It hadn't seemed important at the time, but in the dead of night as he was battling his insomnia Harry had been tempted to kick himself for being so careless. Not because he really thought any of them had anything to with the spell cast that night, but they might have seem something, or better yet someone...

Harry had been ready to seek out the three Weasley's in question when he'd remembered that it couldn't have been Fred or George. They'd been very much present in the Great Hall in the time following "The Snog" as most students probably could attest to. Harry could most vividly recall the twins bobbing up and down around the hall; talking non-stop about irresistible Weasley-charm and how little ickle Ronniekins finally had come into his own. That effectively ruled them out and left Harry with just one alternative: It had to be Charlie.

It was now several nights since Harry had come to this conclusion but still he hadn't asked Charlie about it. But he hadn't told Ron and Hermione of this discovery either for that matter. Because as Harry wondered what reason Charlie might have for running down corridors looking upset, he remembered something else. This certainly wasn't the first time professor Weasley had acted peculiar lately.

He'd acted very suspiciously when Harry and Ron had bumped into him in the dungeons after their detention with Fleur. Charlie had looked flustered with his robes all wrinkled and hair standing on end. He'd seemed almost embarrassed and had kept glancing over his shoulder for some reason. Both Harry and Ron had been too tired to care at the time, and later they'd simply forgotten about the whole incident.

But when Ron had told them about bumping into his brother after the Quidditch match acting strangely odd again, something had started to churn in the back of Harry's mind. Could this somehow be connected? What had Charlie been doing during the Quidditch match? Why wouldn't he tell Ron his reason for missing it, and how come he looked as though he'd been wrestling a manic Manticore?

Glancing at Ron, Harry found him still engrossed in a heated discussion with Hermione. He wouldn't take any hints, however subtle, about Charlie in good stride Harry knew. However much he bitched and complained about his family and how it was such a drag having so many siblings, Harry knew Ron was fiercely protective of them when push came to show. And if there was one thing Harry dreaded it was falling out with Ron again. Maybe he should talk to Hermione first. She could probably help him decide if this was something they should follow up on or not. Better not agitate Ron unnecessarily...

* * *

Three days later however Harry still hadn't found an opportunity to talk to Hermione alone. Somehow Ron always managed to find a reason to hang around her and with him hovering by her side twenty-four seven it was impossible to even make arrangements to talk in private. Harry was seriously considering setting Ron up for a detention just to assure him a few precious hours with Hermione to discuss his Charlie-predicament. As he slumped down in his usual seat in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom he decided to put that plan into action if nothing else had presented itself within the next day.

Harry's shrewd plans to frame Ron were however cut abruptly short with the arrival of Professor Figg. She strode up to the blackboard with an air of great determination and turned to face the class.

"Today dear students," she began with firm voice, "today we're going to practise duelling."

An exited murmur immediately broke loose. Duelling hadn't been on their agenda since the disastrous Lockhart show in their second year. This was big news! It was about bloody time in Harry's opinion, what with Voldemort and his Death Eaters on the loose. They needed to be prepared to defend themselves and apparently Dumbledore was of the same opinion. Duelling was normally only taught to sixth years and above.

And so began a very memorable lesson. The lack of a smug and useless Lockhart and his sourly assistant Snape was a welcome change and Professor Figg turned out to be an excellent teacher. She expertly demonstrated how to block unfriendly spells using various forms of Shield Charms whereupon the students were paired up to practise on their own. When they all had gotten the hang of it, she moved on to show the proper duelling stance as well as how to dodge spells if one should be unable to block them. They switched to new partners and continued practising for about twenty minutes.

Harry had just managed to successfully block Hannah Abbot's Impedimenta hex when Professor Figg signalled for them all to stop duelling and form a circle. Standing in the middle she smiled happily at them.

"This," she said with evident pride, "is one of the best performances I've ever seen from beginner's class regardless of age." The high praise made quite a few of the fifth year students to blush proudly. Even Neville, who usually managed to botch up the simplest charm, had put on an acceptable performance. He'd even managed to win his duel against Pansy Parkinson, much to the pug-faced girl's chagrin. Draco Malfoy was giving her a look of utmost loathing and Pansy seemed to be fighting to keep her composure.

Professor Figg however was not done with her appraisal.

"I'm very tempted to award each and every one of you ten points for your fine performances, but seeing as house points only should be handed out to exceptionally good accomplishments or answers I regretfully have to desist from doing so."

"She's absolutely right about that," Hermione whispered loftily while absentmindedly rubbing her Prefect badge. "It's clearly stated under the section about Inter-House tournament rules in Hogwarts: A history." Harry caught Ron rolling his eyes and bit down a grin.

"But that said," the professor continued, "I'd like to propose another way for you to earn points for your house."

At the sound of possible house points to be won Hermione was literally bobbing on her heels. Her hand shot up so quickly that she, in her enthusiasm to ask the professor something, almost lost her footing. Ron and Harry wisely hid their snickers in the sleeves of their robes knowing Hermione would probably punish them with a day's worth of silent treatment if caught making fun of her.

"Yes, Ms. Granger," Professor Figg called on Hermione.

"I was just wondering if we would be allowed to do some real duelling any time soon. No offence to this lesson, I've enjoyed practising blocking and duelling stances immensely, but I feel it's rather pertinent that we learn how to deal with the unexpected too."

"I heartily agree, Ms. Granger and if you'd had the patience to hear my suggestion before interrupting you'd known by now that real duelling was exactly what I was going to propose," the professor said with a slight twinkle in her eyes. Hermione blushed and bowed her head. "But eagerness to learn new things is a commendable trait, Ms. Granger," professor Figg continued. "Take five points for your wonderful initiative."

The prospect of real duelling (unlike the pathetic display of mock-combat Lockhart had put on in their second year) had its effect on the students. Wide grins were visible as far as the eye could reach.

"I hereby propose that the classes from now and to the second last week of term should be reserved for real duelling. But make no mistake, dear students," the professor said sternly, "by real duelling I do not mean deadly duelling."

Harry could have sworn she was looking especially intently at the Slytherins and Draco Malfoy in particular. He on the other hand wore an expression of highest indifference as if her warning didn't concern him at all. Better watch our backs around that git, Harry thought resolutely.

"I've taken the liberty of establishing a roster that will tell you when and against who you'll be duelling. If we keep to this timetable everyone should have duelled each other at least once by the end of term. I'll be keeping score of your wins and losses and the one with the most wins will receive a small prize." Eager chattering broke loose and Professor Figg had to send up a shower of lilac sparks to calm the students down again.

"I'm pleased to see that you're all looking forward to this small tournament, but please bear in mind that this first and foremost is meant to be a learning experience. I will deduct points for any foul play, and by that I mean spells or hexes cast with the intention to deliberately hurt your opponent. Points will be awarded for creative use of spells and charms, the ability to handle the unexpected without panicking as well as blocking and dodging. Remember that hiding, running or dodging is not to be considered cowardice when duelling. You'll never win the duel if your hurt or otherwise disabled."

Harry caught Malfoy rolling his eyes in a bored manner as Professor Figg explained the rules. Next to him Crabbe and Goyle were grumbling unintelligently and Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini was busy mimicking the professor behind her back. Harry felt it was safe to assume that the Slytherins would do their best to disregard the rules Professor Figg had just stressed.

"Okay, we have half an hour left before lunch and I propose we get started straight away. I'll go easy on the students duelling today seeing as they haven't had time to prepare by researching new spells and charms for their duels." She rummaged around on her desk and pulled out a very lengthy roll of parchment that she unfolded with a flourish.

"Never the less," she said looking slightly amused, "I'm positive they'll give us quite a show despite this disadvantage. The following pairs will be duelling today: Susan Bones versus Dean Thomas, Terry Boot versus Justin Finch-Fletchley and Draco Malfoy versus Ronald Weasley."

*

Focus! I'll give that pathetic and miserable excuse of a wizard a real thumping. Knock him straight on his bum, that's what I'll do. The git won't know what hit him. You can do it, Weasley! Flick and swish, how hard can it be? Just focus!

Ron was giving himself a mental pep talk as he rather inattentively watched the two other pairs have it out in the middle of the circle. Professor Figg had barely blown her whistle signalling that the battle should commence before Susan Bones swiftly and mercilessly disarmed Dean Thomas with a nippy "Expelliarmus!"

The Hufflepuff fifth years immediately burst into a thunderous applause clearly relishing the fact that one of their own had defeated a Gryffindor with such ease. Dean Thomas on the other hand had rapidly escaped the circle and was now pacing the back of the classroom clearly searching for a hole in the ground to disappear into. Needless to say the Slytherins were having a field day with this.

Fortunately the duel between Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchley lasted significantly longer and Ron gratefully spent this time rummaging his brain for possible charms and spells to use on Malfoy. Ever since the incident where Ron had used what he assumed to be wandless magic on Malfoy, the Slytherin had given him a wide berth and looked almost frightened whenever Ron had been in his vicinity.

But now they had to face each other in a duel and Ron felt it safe to assume that Malfoy was fairly eager to avenge their last encounter. And with an audience this size the Slytherin would probably resort to any means to win. It was one thing loosing to Ron without witnesses around to testify to his defeat. Ron was pretty sure the Slytherin would have denied all knowledge to their little scuffle if Ron had started telling people about it. Yes, better prepare for some rather unfriendly hexes, Ron thought full of fight and turned his attention back to the ongoing duel.

After almost fifteen minutes of increasingly hostile spells and some rather spectacular diversions and rolls, Justin Finch-Fletchley had to face defeat as Terry Boot managed to hit him square in the chest with the Immobilus Spell, whereupon he cockily sauntered over to the Hufflepuff and nipped the wand out of his hands. The Ravenclaw students were beside themselves with joy and Professor Figg once again had to put her wand to good use in order to calm the crowd down.

"Well done, Mr. Boot. Ten points to Ravenclaw!"

Padma Patil let out a loud shriek in pure ecstasy and began smothering Terry with kisses much to his evident distress. Professor Figg looked to be suppressing a grin but managed to keep a somewhat straight face.

"I'm delighted to see that the performances of your fellow students are appreciated," she commented dryly and Padma had the good grace to look somewhat embarrassed.

"Would someone please unfreeze Mr. Finch-Fletchley so that he can exit the circle to make room for our final duellers of the day?" Professor Figg requested as she turned her attention to the scoreboard. Surprisingly Neville hurried forward and helped Justin regain the use of his limbs. Professor Figg smiled gratefully at Neville before she sought out the next contenders.

"Weasley, Malfoy, you're up next. Please assume the proper duelling stance. The duelling will commence at the sound of my whistle."

With great determination Ron strode forward to greet his opponent. Malfoy moseyed into the circle looking almost jaded and seconds later they stood face to face. Ron bowed reluctantly only to be awarded with a snort from the Slytherin.

"Malfoys do not bow to inferior creatures, Weasleys included," he hissed venomously. "I am however pleased to see that you extend that courtesy to me. Realized that I am your superior have you?"

"Hardly," Ron replied icily. "Just felt I should salute the fool that willingly walked into this circle to face me. Remember last time we "met"?" Ron raised a suggestive eyebrow and turned to walk the designated ten steps. Malfoy now looked pasty and somewhat apprehensive but quickly hid it behind his usual mask of aloofness.

"Prepare to lose, Weasel," he spat coldly and then they began walking.

As predicted Malfoy hurled the first hex at Ron before Professor Figg had even raised the whistle to her mouth. Exasperated she immediately called a foul and deducted five points from Slytherin but neither Ron nor Malfoy stopped for that reason. Having anticipated Malfoy's first move Ron easily dodged the hex and wasted no time sending off his first spell. The Leg-locker curse was however easily blocked and cursing loudly ("Five points from Gryffindor for swearing, Mr. Weasley!") Ron threw himself behind a nearby desk as Malfoy's infamous "Serpensortia" spell sent a huge snake flying towards him.

Not very original are you, Ron thought sarcastically? Hearing the snake hissing and spitting at the other side of the desk he quickly leapt out of his hiding and eradicated the serpent with a simple flick of the wand. Out of the corner of his eye Ron saw Malfoy preparing for his next hex, and swiftly he turned to block it. Had he been a millisecond slower The Rotator charm would have hit him full force. The close call however made him feel a fresh wave of impetus to get the bastard good rush through his veins. "Showtime," Ron muttered determinedly and spun around his wand at the ready.

The curses were sent of simultaneously, gleams of red and blue passed each other in midair. Ron was hit first. Malfoy's "Expelliarmus" hit him in the stomach and with a jerk he felt his wand being violently yanked out of his grasp. As in slow motion he watched it fly through the air and heard the sickening sound of wood clattering against stone floor as it landed somewhere behind him. Closing his eyes in despair Ron felt like screaming. It wasn't fair! Why should Malfoy win?

The sound of Malfoy crying out in pain a second later however almost made Ron break out in celebratory dance. The Bruising Curse had evidently hit its intended target, and knowing that his time was scarce Ron scampered to his feet and ran to retrieve his wand. But he never got that far...

"Accio wand!"

Ron watched in silent disbelief as his wand (willow, fourteen inches with one unicorn tail-hair) soared past him towards Malfoy's outstretched arm. Feeling his heartbeat quicken Ron on instinct raised his arm pointing it at the Slytherin. Experiencing a very pleasant feeling of déjà vu, Ron mentally pictured casting the Stunning Charm, and for a split second he could have sworn he heard the word "Stupefy" being said inside his head. The familiar tickling feeling instantly travelled the length of his arm and the next second a jet of light materialized from his hand. Malfoy hit the ground with a sickening thud and quick as a panther Ron leapt forward and collected both his and Malfoy's wands.

The joy of victory lasted for approximately four seconds. A deafening silence had descended on the room and twenty something pair of eyes was staring disbelievingly at him. Oopsies, Ron thought penitently. In his eagerness to beat Malfoy he'd completely forgotten the students watching. That was bloody stupid he silently admonished himself. He had no intention of exposing this new gift now, and cursing under his breath he idly began searching for a plausible excuse to serve the waiting masses. Excited murmurs had already broken out and Ron saw both Harry and Hermione watching him wide-eyed and inquiring.

Ron decided to try his luck with a blatant lie.

"Okay you guys, please tell me who just saved my sorry ass from that prick."

Ron pointed casually towards the lump formally known as Draco Malfoy, who was still lying motionless on the floor.

"I know when I'm beat, and I honestly didn't need anyone taking pity on me and curse the bastard!" He tried to sound annoyed and let his gaze sweep angrily over the still flabbergasted crowd. No one said a word, though Hermione looked like she was about to erupt with questions. Guess I'm not much of a convincing actor Ron thought dejectedly and braced himself for the coming inquires. He was definitively not prepared for the next utterance.

"So sorry about that, Mr. Weasley, but I feared you'd be seriously hurt unless I stunned Mr. Malfoy." Professor Figg strode into the circle, cast a quick glance at Malfoy and proceeded towards Ron. "Mr. Malfoy had a second wand up his sleeve and I had a sneaking suspicion that he was preparing to use it to cast a rather unfriendly curse."

Ron had to fight to keep his composure. What the hell was she playing at? Second wand my ass. And how could she know what kind of curse Malfoy was planning to cast anyhow? Professor Figg might be a lot of things, but she was certainly no Divinator. Or was she? Ron was very confused.

"I have a Sneakoscope you see," the professor explained and conveniently procured such a device from one of her robe pockets. "This particular Sneakoscope detects the intent to use unfriendly charms and spells. Quite handy in situations like this, don't you agree?" she said with a slight smile tugging at her lips. Ron could little do but nod, still too blown away with the turn of events to move or speak.

"Seeing as Mr. Malfoy was planning to flounder the rules and Mr. Weasley didn't manage to disarm his opponent without help, I declare this duel as invalid and a new one will be scheduled for a later time. Please consult the roster on the wall outside the classroom to learn who'll be duelling next time. Class dismissed!"

*

On their way to lunch Harry and Hermione kept giving Ron some very inquisitive looks. His attempt at aloofness lasted two corridors and one staircase. By that time he was about to go crazy trying to ignore their gazes.

"What?" he barked impatiently as they rounded a corner and he nearly rammed straight into a very petite second year Ravenclaw in his hurry. Yelping in fright she barely managed to leap out of his path. Tossing a half-hearted apology over his shoulder Ron continued sprinting towards the Entrance Hall with his two best friends close behind.

"Did Figg really stun Malfoy?" Harry ventured sounding less than convinced. Beside him Hermione was wearing the biggest frown Ron had seen all year. Bloody hell, why couldn't they be a tad more gullible?

"Suppose so," Ron answered offhandedly. "I had my back to her at the time so I can't be sure, but why would she lie about something like that?"

"It's just that I could have sworn it came from your hand," Harry said firmly. Ron felt two pairs of very suspicious eyes bore into the back of his head. Just let it go, he thought pleadingly. I'm not discussing this now. Not yet anyhow...

Throwing his hands dejectedly into the air Ron whirled around facing his two friends. "How," he asked exasperated, "do you propose the Stunning charm managed to come from my hand? As I recall my wand was busy flying through the air heading for Malfoy's greasy little hand at the time, and I'd have a damn difficult time performing any kind of magic without that, wouldn't I?"

"Suppose so," Harry muttered beside him and with that Ron declared the discussion over. Hermione however still looked unconvinced. Throughout the meal she kept giving him the oddest of looks and squirming in his seat, Ron felt an increasing case of bad conscience develop for leaving them in the dark like this. But he just didn't feel ready to expose this to them yet. Not until he learned how to control it anyhow. But how in the name of Agrippa was he supposed to learn that?

*

The caretaker Argus Filch strained his eyes as he peered down the poorly lit corridor. It was an hour past the newly enjoined curfew and the castle was strangely quiet. A huge contrast to the insanely racket caused by students milling to and fro classes during the day, and quite frankly Filch preferred it like this. In the good old days students hadn't been allowed to raise their voices or run about like poorly trained dogs. Sighing nostalgically the caretaker turned his attention towards the creature rubbing its body lovingly against his legs.

"Did you hear anything, Mrs. Norris?" Filch asked the cat in a wheezing voice. "Are there students out of bed, my sweet? Can you smell them?"

The cat meowed and circled the caretaker's legs before pausing and pointing her bright yellow eyes at a point down the corridor. Argus Filch immediately lifted the lantern higher lighting up huge parts of the hallway.

"Can't see anything, my sweet," he whispered hoarsely to the shabby looking cat. "Perhaps it was a rat or mouse you heard." He chuckled. "Are you hungry, my sweet? Come on let's head back to my office for a quick snack. This patrolling business is tiresome work. Surely we've deserved a break by now." And with that the odd pair turned on their heels and hobbled out of sight.

Had the caretaker stayed a moment longer and perhaps listened a little more closely he might have heard the faint sound of fabric being dragged against stone. Suddenly the unmistakable noise of someone knocking uncertainly on a door pierced the silence and a moment later one of the doors opened only to be closed a moment later. No one was seen entering the room.

Inside the Defence Against the Dark Arts office Professor Figg was sitting behind her desk busily correcting third year essays. She didn't look up as an invisible hand closed the door to her office, but instead took her time to finish reading the parchment in front of her. She then removed her glasses and carefully laid them on the desk.

"I had a feeling you'd be paying me a visit this evening," she said a slight amusement detectable in her voice. "Please remove the Invisibility Cloak, Mr. Weasley. I believe we have much work to."

* * *

By the next weekend both Harry and Hermione had given up trying to worm some kind of explanation for the mysterious Stunning Spell out of Ron. This was largely helped by the fact that a Hogsmeade trip was scheduled and they were all too excited about it to care much about anything else. Even Hermione, who'd started showing disturbing signs of early OWL jitters, had abandoned her carefully planned revision table and was looking almost giddy with anticipation as they passed the gates of Hogwarts on the way to the village.

"What has got you all fired up?" Harry asked amusedly watching his bushy-haired friend perform a very silly-looking pirouette in the snow.

"Nothing in particular," she answered vaguely with a quick sideways look at Ron. "I'm just looking forward to spending some time away from the castle, that's all."

Harry nudged Ron pointedly in the ribs making the taller boy squirm out of his way. "Geroff Harry," he muttered grumpily. Harry proceeded to give him his most annoying "told-you-so" look, and was awarded with rather painful shove in the arm.

"Just drop it already," Ron snarled testily looking worriedly in Hermione's direction. "I'm not going to do it and that's the end of it!"

Shrugging dispiritedly Harry decided to do as he was told and drop it. As the Hogsmeade weekend had drawn nearer Hermione had started showing a very uncharacteristic lack of concentration and Harry had caught her goggling longingly at Ron on more than one occasion. Ron however hadn't picked up on her less than subtle hints and had reacted with sheer panic when Harry had asked whether he was planning on asking Hermione out on a date.

"A date? To Hogsmeade? This weekend? Have you bloody lost your marbles?"

Ron had looked as if Harry had just proposed a midnight stroll into the Forbidden Forest to visit Aragog, and not a romantic rendezvous. And if given the choice he'd probably do just that rather than walk up to Hermione with this simple request.

"But Ron," Harry had reasoned, "she wants you to ask her. Badly! For god's sake she's been tiptoeing around you all week, dropping hints like crazy." Ron had just snorted and mumbled "yeah right, as if."

But after pestering him for days Ron had finally agreed to ask her, and the event had been scheduled to take place Thursday afternoon right after Charms. But when push came to show, Ron had chickened out. The result had been a rather embarrassing moment consisting of huge amounts of stuttering, an unhealthy dose of blushing topped off by a pathetic request to borrow her Transfiguration notes before he'd fled down the corridor like his robes were on fire.

And that pretty much summed up the present situation. Ron adamantly refused to spend any time with Hermione without Harry around while she on the other hand was doing her best to attract Ron's attention at the expense of her studying. Quite frankly the whole situation was oddly bizarre and Harry couldn't help but feel that things had been easier when none of them realised how they felt about each other.

Two hours later the trio was huddled close together around a small table at the back of The Three Broomsticks, each nursing a steaming mug of Butterbeer. They'd been through their usual route around the village relieving their moneybags of some of its weight. At their feet lay several bulging bags of dungbombs, sweets, broomstick polish, owl treats and a brand new pair of mittens for Hermione. Their shopping spree had at least managed to eradicate the before mentioned awkwardness and Ron and Hermione were once again acting perfectly normal around each other much to Harry's relief.

Ron was just delivering the punch line of a very crude joke about Dennis Creevy and his unrequited crush on the fourth year Gryffindor, Amanda Jones when Madam Rosmerta rushed passed them with a large tray filled with mugs of mulled mead and bottles of Gillywater levitated above her head. She gave him a rather reproachful look having clearly caught the punch line of his story. Ron however expertly ignored her and with a sickened huff she trailed off to serve an impatient looking warlock at the other end of the pub.

Hermione obviously shared Madam Rosmerta's sentiments about Ron's rather tasteless piece of rumour.

"Honestly Ron, you shouldn't make fun of other people's feelings like that," she admonished with a frown. "The poor kid was only trying to give Amanda a birthday present. The gesture hardly qualifies as a full-fledged sexual advance as you so tastelessly imply. It was just a sweet little token."

Her words were met with loud guffaws from the boys.

"You're both horrible," she huffed and helped herself to a Cauldron Cake. "They boy's only twelve years old, give him a break."

"Sure thing your Prefectness," Ron said smiling cheekily. "We'll leave the poor bugger alone." He and Harry clanged their mugs together and took generous sips of their Butterbeer. Hermione stared at them disdainfully, shaking her head and watching as large amounts of Butterbeer dripped from their jaws and onto the tablecloth.

"How very tasteful," she commented wryly. "Remind me to get you both some baby's bibs next time we're at Gladrags."

Ignoring her comment Ron wiped the foam of his face with the back of his hand and smiled coolly at her. "By the way, speaking of birthday presents, what did you get Ginny?"

Hermione eyes lit up at the question. She instantly ducked under the table and emerged a second later with something that bore a very striking resemblance to a wrapped book. "I picked this up from the bookstore when you guys were busy examining each and every piece of joke item at Zonko's. It's a book on..."

"Ginny's birthday?" Harry interrupted sounding panicked. "Her birthday's up? When?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" Ron asked thickly with his mouth full of half-chewed Cauldron Cake. "It's tomorrow actually. Funny, I thought she'd told you about that, she's usually very good at hinting about it. Wants more presents, you know."

Harry jumped off his chair so abruptly that his half-full mug of Butterbeer almost toppled over and hit the floor. Grabbing his cloak and bags he stumbled to his feet and a second later he had exited the pub and could be seen running frantically up the street.

"Guess he has some more shopping to do then," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Obviously," Ron answered quietly.

And then the conversation kind of died.

With Harry gone the awkwardness had returned full force. For what felt like an insanely long time but in real time actually was only a few minutes, not a word was uttered. Hermione had resorted to folding napkins into fans and paper planes as a means to keep her eyes off Ron. But it was hard. Every now and then they would betray her and steal a quick glance at him. And by the look of things he was feeling equally uncomfortable, if not more.

This is just stupid, Hermione thought wretchedly. Is it really impossible for us to feel comfortable in each other's company these days? Although her feelings towards Ron had changed over the last year, that didn't mean they should stop being friends, now did it?

Sighing silently Hermione let her thoughts wander to less complicated days during their third year when she and Ron had roamed Hogsmeade on their own when Harry had been forced to stay behind at the castle. They'd had the time of their lives back then, laughing and talking freely about everything and nothing.

Oh how she missed those days! Something had definitively come between her and Ron this past year; there was no denying that. It had started with the wretched Yule Ball and grown steadily worse since. And now there was this great big grey cloud of unspoken tension and awkwardness hanging over them. Had they now reached a point where Harry was the only thing keeping them together? Was he their glue and without him they'd just - drift apart?

It was a discouraging thought, but this notion had hunted Hermione for weeks now. Something was greatly amiss between Ron and her but seeing as she didn't really know why things had progressed to this point it was rather difficult to find a way to fix it. The whole thing was so depressing Hermione actually felt tears coming on. A year ago we'd be huddled together discussion the latest gossip, and now look at us, Hermione reflected depressed. Why couldn't things just go back to the way they were?

Out of the blue her disheartening train of thought was rather rudely interrupted by two incredibly infuriating voices to her immediate right.

"Ah, look at them! Aren't they a sight for sore, yet amorous eyes?"

The misty voice of George pierced the uncomfortable silence and Hermione abandoned her napkin-folding frenzy to glare icily at the twins. As always her glower had no visible effect on them whatsoever. She briefly considered abusing her Prefect status to deduct a handful of points for their cheekiness but decided against it, as that would make her just as bad as Snape.

"Yes oh brother of mine," Fred chirmed in wearing a look of highest mock-bliss.

"It's so good to see that ickle Ronniekins hasn't lost his touch with the lasses despite having foolishly broken Ms. Brown's heart not so long ago."

They both proceeded to wink and nudge Ron very indiscreetly in the arm leaving no doubt as to what they thought he and Hermione was doing hidden away at the most inconspicuous table in the pub.

"Where's Harry?" George asked innocently while Fred, loudly and very out of tune, hummed "Love is in the air". Ron looked fit to kill but amazingly enough refrained from speech. Hermione had never seen his ears a more violent shade of pink and assuming her cheeks was matching them quite nicely she buried her head in her hands. Obviously content with the level of embarrassment they'd caused, Fred and George sauntered off laughing uncontrollably. Hermione could hear Ron groaning and swearing across the table, and for once she felt his profanities were appropriate.

But if it had been awkward before, the twins' little visit had added to that by a tenfold. Desperately Hermione checked her watch. It was still hours before they had to be back at the school. Either they had to break out of this stupid muteness or they should just walk away in opposite directions. Sitting here acting like complete strangers was definitely not a plan to build a future on.

Trying her luck at talking before running, Hermione lifted her eyes to meet Ron's and blurted out the first question she could think of:

"What really happened when you duelled with Malfoy?"

At Ron's end of the table things hadn't exactly been the epitome of perkiness either. After Harry had dashed off like a bespectacled flash of lightning Ron had been entertaining similar thoughts to those of Hermione. It really shouldn't be a problem being alone with her like this. They'd managed spending time together without him for years, so why should it be any different today?

But as soon as Harry had left, presumably to buy his annoying sister some fancy birthday present, Ron had been unable to get past one ironic fact: He now was very much alone with Hermione, at the most secluded table in The Three Broomstick and the whole thing looked suspiciously like the date he'd chickened out of asking her too earlier that week. He should really be thanking his lucky stars that he'd in fact gotten to this point without having to live through the horror of actually asking her.

But instead of putting on a charming and suave performance Ron had become completely paralysed. Nothing that even vaguely resembled a suitable topic of conversation had come to mind and when he realized Hermione had started folding napkins out of sheer boredom, his last shred of confidence had disappeared out the door and had probably caught up with Harry by now...

The very untimely arrival of his awful twin brothers had been the final nail in the coffin. Or so he thought... But now Hermione had brought up that. He thought that topic had been pronounced dead and buried by now. Reluctantly he met her gaze and swallowing he tried his best at an offhand answer.

"What do you mean what happened? As I recall you were there at the time."

"Off course I was there," Hermione retorted impatiently. "I never miss a class. But that is beside the point. What I mean to ask is who stunned Malfoy. I know for a fact that it wasn't Professor Figg. I stood directly across from her during the duel and there is no way that spell could have come from her wand. The light from the spell came from another direction," Hermione explained impatiently seeing Ron's puzzled expression.

"That again leaves me with two questions." She paused and looked directly at Ron for the first time that day. The intensity of her gaze made him shiver somewhat. She was scary when she got all brainy like this, Ron thought. Scary, but brilliant. Bloody brilliant actually. Too brilliant probably. Could she be on to him?

Her next question answered his worries in the affirmative.

"Who did cast the spell, and why did Professor Figg take credit for it?"

Feeling his ears starting to heat up again, Ron shrugged and began fiddling with Hermione's napkin-art-thingy. What was this supposed to be anyway? A flying object of some sort?

"Dunno," he mumbled uninterestedly. "But whoever did it saved my butt that day. It would be a tragedy for good people everywhere if a scum like Malfoy had won."

"I think we all agree on that," Hermione said jadedly. "But that's beside the point. From where I was standing it looked like the spell came from... Well, you actually... But your wand was busy taking the scenic route through the air, heading straight from Malfoy's grip at the time. How is that possible I wonder..."?

She fixed him with her most inquisitive stare and watched with interest as Ron squirmed in his seat. He looks almost guilty, she observed. Was Ron hiding something?

Ron suddenly felt horrible. The awful tension between them had been bad enough, and now Hermione managed to make him feel worse than Hippogriff dung for hiding this wandless magic stuff from his best friends. Feeling his fortitude falter Ron wondered if it might be a good thing sharing this with Hermione. Maybe it can help fix things between us if we have this to concentrate on while waiting for the books on the prophecy to arrive.

"Well, actually..." Ron began haltingly idly searching his brain for a good way to broach the subject. Hermione looked beyond curious, leaning eagerly over the table. "Yes?" she prompted and Ron felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

BANG!!!!

An enormous blast sent bottles and glasses falling to the floor, chairs toppled over and peopled cried out in fright. On instinct Ron grabbed hold of Hermione and dragged her down on the floor covering her with his body. The next moment pandemonium broke loose as students and pub-guests began a mad rush for the door. When craning his neck trying to find out what exactly had happened, Ron saw a large roguish wizard push a third year Ravenclaw violently aside causing her to topple headfirst into the bar and pass out. Luckily Lee Jordan had the good sense to rescue her.

"What happened?" Hermione asked shakily.

"I'm not sure," Ron replied. He was still busy trying to look over the herd of panicked people scampering for the entrance. "I think the explosion came from down the street somewhere. I can see smoke and it looks like it's coming from Gladrags."

"Harry!" Hermione cried out. "You don't think he went there to get Ginny's present, do you?"

A horrible sense of dread hit him. Death and trouble had an unnerving ability to find Harry. Why should this day be any different?

"There's only one way to find out!" Ron yelled determinedly.

They immediately jumped to their feet and ran to the door.

Out in the street chaos and disorder reigned. Wreckage and shards were falling to the ground like small pieces of snow on a winter's day. The setting however was anything but peaceful. Witches and wizards were running about, screaming and crying in fright. A couple of elderly women had apparently fainted, others was standing staring transfixed at the sky, a look of complete and utter terror in their eyes. A quick glance down the street and Ron and Hermione understood why.

Over the roof of what once had been a very elegant and posh-looking store for Wizard-wear the Dark Mark hovered, enormous and terrifying.

"Oh no," Hermione whispered horror-stricken. "Tell me it's not true, Ron. Please." Shaking with both anger and terror Ron grabbed her hand firmly.

"Believe me, Hermione I truly wish I could..."

A crowd had gathered outside the store and while frantically searching for friends and classmates, Ron and Hermione made their way towards it.

"Hermione! Ron! Over here!"

A little way passed the crowd Harry and Ginny stood waving madly at them. Drawing simultaneous sighs of relief Ron and Hermione made their way over. They both were covered in what looked to be debris from the house, but appeared otherwise unharmed.

"You alright?" Ron asked breathlessly.

"Look at the state of your robes!" Hermione cried and pointed at several burnt patches and the singed hems on Ginny's school robe.

"Don't fret, Hermione," she said reassuringly. "Harry and I were just passing the shop when it exploded and some burning wreckage hit us. Luckily though Harry saved the day with his Water Spell."

Ginny patted his arm and smiled brilliantly at him. Harry coloured slightly and shrugged awkwardly.

"The Dark Mark, huh?" Ron commented darkly. "Do you know if anyone was hurt?" Harry shook his head. "Don't know for sure. There are lots of wild rumours flying around already, but I don't know how much truth there is to them. An Auror squad arrived just minutes after the blast, though. Stormed in but no one has come out yet, dead or alive."

Hermione let out a small sob and began shaking forcibly. Instantly Ron grabbed her hand again and squeezed it comfortingly.

"And to think I was in there earlier today," she whispered unsteadily. "We could all have gotten killed over a stupid pair of mittens..."

"Be thankful we didn't go back for those baby bibs," Ron answered in an attempt to cheer her up and was awarded with a small giggle.

"Don't joke about that, Ron," Hermione admonished tearfully but the way she squeezed his hand back told Ron that she appreciated it all the same.

The door to Gladrags suddenly fell off its hinges and hit the ground with an earth-shattering bang making them all jump nervously. Apparently they weren't the only ones with thinly worn nerves, because half the crowd cried out in fright, jumped back and drew their wands. As the dust from the door settled a thin and nervous-looking wizard in his mid-twenties could be seen standing awkwardly in the opening. He looked every bit as scared and startled as the crowd did.

"Don't hex me," he shrieked sounding terrified. "I didn't do anything, honest."

A grim-looking Auror appeared behind him, giving the young man a slight push through the doorframe. "That's right, folks," he said brusquely. "This poor fellow was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's a witness and will be escorted to the Auror Division as soon as we've wrapped things up here. Please, do not bother him. The poor chap's been through enough without the lot of you pestering him for information."

Mumblings and muttering could be heard from the crowd. A particularly grumpy-looking wizard wearing a fur-coated cloak was all but spluttering in the front row.

"We demand some sort of explanation for this ruckus!" he yelled furiously and soon several others had chimed in. "This is the lowest form of robbery I've ever heard off. Casting the Dark Mark, what do they think they're playing at? Probably some hoodlum youth from Hogwarts that doesn't realize what terror and traumas that is associated with it! I say we send them to Azkaban!"

Loud clapping and yells of support echoed through the crowd. Frustrated and angry Harry wanted to scream that they were all wrong. Damn that Fudge! The way he'd refused to acknowledge the fact that Voldemort had in fact returned was nothing short of idiotic. All attacks so far had been hushed down, covered up or lied about. The Daily Prophet that once had been a relievable source of information was now nothing but a cheap propaganda magazine singing Cornelius Fudge's untrue songs. These people deserved to know the truth! And Harry wanted to tell it...

Apparently Ron and Hermione understood exactly what he was contemplating.

"It's no use, Harry," Hermione said despondently. "If you start hollering about Voldemort and his resurrection here now, people will just think you're even nuttier than Witch Weekly and Rita Skeeter has already made you out to be."

"Hermione's right," Ron added. "The truth will come out eventually; this just isn't the right time, that's all."

Biting his lip in frustration Harry angrily kicked an empty bottle of Butterbeer into the ditch. "I know," he said a slight edge to his voice. "It's just damn frustrating not being believed."

The Auror was trying to calm the crowd down serving them standard phrases such as "No comment at this time", "more information will be given later" but this was not well received to say the least. In the end he just plainly gave up, turned on his heel and marched back into Gladrags. The young wizard looked around searchingly, obviously looking for a spot where he could wait without being put through the third degree by the curious spectators. Harry and his friends watched as a look of relief suddenly spread across his face, and he started to make his way towards an alleyway a couple of stores down. There a woman of about the same age was waving him over.

With a silent look they reached a decision to follow him. The wizard with the fancy cloak had by now climbed up on a barrel and was presently holding a flaming appeal about the wrongdoings of aurors, the Ministry and today's youth, and so nobody noticed them sneaking away.

The shaking wizard and what, judging by their very intimate greeting, obviously was his girlfriend soon sat down on a stack of pallets and began talking. The four friends huddled down on the other end of the pallet stack and strained their ears to hear what they were talking about.

"Oh Marvin, I'm so relieved to see that you're all right," the girl wailed. The young man, still looking distressed, shook his head.

"Believe me, Gemma, that is the scariest thing I've ever witnessed." He shuddered. "I don't think I can ever walk into Gladrags again after this."

"But what happened in there?" the girl named Gemma asked curiously. "We all heard the bang and saw the damage but no one seems to have the foggiest idea why this happened. The rumours say all from gas leak to terrorist attack."

Marvin snorted. "That was definitely not a gas leak, that's for sure!"

"Then what?" Gemma was all but jumping for answers and Marvin drew a deep breath. "This will probably sound completely outrageous I mean I can hardly believe it myself. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I'd say it was all a lot of codswallop." Gemma's eyes were now the size of Hagrid's dinner plates.

"It was Death Eaters," Marvin whispered inconspicuously, casting an uncertain look over his shoulder as if scared that anyone else was listening in on their conversation. Gemma gasped. "You're kidding!" she exclaimed sounding scandalous. "But, but they were You-Know-Who's followers weren't they? Why, with him gone..."

"Shush, Gemma!" Marvin hissed frantically. "Not so loud. I know it sounds incredible, but it's the truth. I swear on our engagement ring!" Gemma still looked unconvinced, but didn't argue.

"Tell me what happened," she said soothingly, lacing her fingers with her fiancé's. Marvin seemed to be struggling to decide whether he should say anything at all, but after a moment he started talking.

"I was standing on a stool having my wedding robes fitted when it happened. Out of the blue four men wearing the most grotesque looking masks I've ever seen apparated into the store. I was just a wee boy last time Death Eaters and You-Know-Who terrorised our community, but I still recognised those masks. Don't think I could ever forget..." Marvin paused. He was visibly shaking all over and Gemma pulled him into a tight hug.

"It's okay, honey," she cooed silently. "If this is too painful for you, I understand..."

Marvin straightened his posture and shook his head forcibly. "No, sweetheart, I'm all right. Just a bit shaken up, that's all." He ran a hand nervously through his hair before he continued speaking.

"This is basically what happened: As soon as the four men had apparated into the shop, mayhem broke loose. Most of the costumers were elderly people and they obviously recognised the masked men straight away, because they bolted for the door like they had Hinkypunks in their pants. Even old Dorothy Ficklehurst, who's always complaining about her painful hip and is never seen without that insanely crocked cane of hers, managed to sprint out before I'd even fully realized what was happening.

The only ones left inside Gladrags now was the owner Mr. Willows, a round-faced Hogwarts kid and me. Three of the men instantly pointed their wands at us while the fourth man started pacing slowly up and down the floor. No one said a word for god knows how long. It was dead scary, could have heard a needle dropping that's how silent it was. The man who was pacing jadedly around the room was obviously the leader because none of the others did anything unless he ordered them to. Finally he stopped walking and turned towards that student. I guess he could have been about fifteen or so I'm guessing a fourth or a fifth year. He looked almost petrified with fright and frankly I don't blame him as I wasn't feeling particularly chipper myself at the time, you know."

"But what about that blast?" Gemma prodded. "When did that happen and how?"¨

"I'm coming to that," Marvin answered breathlessly. "The leader of the Death Eaters suddenly started speaking in a drawling almost bored-sounding voice. The first thing he said was: Three's a crowd, you I don't need, pointing his wand at Mr. Willows and then he said the Killing curse and a stream of green light almost blinded me. When I opened my eyes I saw Mr. Willows laying on the floor in front of the counter, eyes wide open. There wasn't a mark on him, but he'd stopped breathing. Dead, he was."

Gemma let out a small shriek. "Surely you're mistaken, sweetheart." Her voice was quivering. "Not Avada Kedavra? But that's not allowed!"

"I know that! But that pack clearly didn't give a rats arse about whether the curse was legal or not," Marvin answered dryly, "because they sure as hell performed it. Mr. Willows is quite dead. I saw the Aurors check him when they arrived. Stone cold already."

"But, then why didn't they just kill you too?" Gemma asked silently. Marvin snorted. "Claimed they needed a witness to tell the Wizarding community that You-Know-Who is back. Don't know whom they think they're fooling. The Minister of Magic had denied all rumours of his resurrection and why pray tell should he be lying about something as serious as that?" Marvin shook his head again. "Probably just a gang of wannabe dark lords, but they managed to spread terror and fright even without their former master. But that aside, the strangest thing happened next. Three of the wizards advanced on the kid and immediately started asking him a line of bizarre questions."

"Really?" Gemma asked looking confused. "What could they possibly want with a Hogwarts kid?"

"My sentiments exactly," Marvin exclaimed sounding confused.

"That kind of convinced me that they're not real Death Eaters, you know. Even they can't be so cruel as to go after teenagers. What threat could this kid possible be to them? But like I said they advanced on him and began interrogating him. First they cast this funny sounding spell that I've never heard of before, but by the incantation it appeared to be some kind of truth spell. And then he was asked to state his name. Neville Longbottom, he answered. That seemed to please the men, like it was the right kid they'd found. Then they asked him a couple of other questions about his family. What are your parents names, where currently do they reside, what were they're professional occupation and the like. Poor kid though; imagine having parents being subjected to the Crucatius Curse so long that they've lost their minds. Must be hell, having to visit them at St. Mungo's and have them not recognise you at all.

But anyway, then they asked him to reveal the secret location of something or the other. Apparently they didn't want me to hear that one because they suddenly started talking in hushed voices. But the kid didn't have the foggiest idea what they were talking about. The leader even shoved a mouthful of Veritaserum down his throat but the result was still the same. He didn't know anything and the leader-guy got really pissed and stunned the kid. He flew clean across the room and hit a mirror and passed out instantly. Then they started trashing the place with hexes and spells and that really loud explosion you all heard was their departing-present, you might say. I heard one of them cry out "Morsmordre!" or something like that and the whole roof was blown clear away and the next thing I know the Dark Mark is hovering over the building. They disapparated with a pop and a few minutes later an Auror Squad stormed in."

"Oh dear," was all Gemma could say. Marvin slumped against the wall and sighed deeply. "Yeah," he said gloomily. "My wedding robe is completely ruined too, I just hope my insurance covers surprise attacks from alleged Death Eaters."

Gemma then launched into a loud rant about how Marvin could possibly worry about robes at a time like this and the four friends withdrew from their hiding place finding this part of the conversation rather uninteresting.

They started walking back towards the castle in silence.

"Poor Neville," Ginny finally said quietly. "He's not the luckiest guy in the world is he?"

"No, he isn't," answered Hermione. "But can you believe we've known Neville for almost five years and none of us have ever bothered asking him why he lives with his grandmother and not his parents? I feel awful!"

"Me too," Ron chimed in.

"Actually," Harry began bracing himself for a yelling, "I've kind of known about that for a while..."

"WHAT?" three angry voices cried out simultaneously and Harry knew he had a lot of explaining to do.

But it was not only the truth about Neville's parents that had come out that day. Because what information could Neville possibly possess that Lord Voldemort wanted? For Neville's sake Harry dearly hoped it had all been a giant misunderstanding, but a nagging feeling in his stomach told him that they hadn't heard the last of this.