Shivers -- A Study

Not that it’s a daily occurrence, mind you. Or even a fairly frequent one. In fact, I believe it only happened once, possibly twice. And in all honesty, my re-telling of both instances is probably highly unreliable, if only because my friendship with the afore-mentioned boy may prevent me from examining the facts objectively. But still, these incidents have managed to infiltrate my thoughts so often (just like a challenging Arithmancy problem or a particularly puzzling riddle would, of course) that they now seem permanently etched in my brain, taunting me with their existence. Each effect has its cause, they whisper behind my forehead. Quite bothersome, really. Because when even your thoughts are teasing you, it becomes evident that the problem is not one that will go away by itself. Therefore, in order for the victim (that would be me) to regain complete power over her mind, the problematic events need to be properly studied, sorted and solved. Not to say that I’ve lost my head, of course; the situation hasn’t reached that critical of a stage – yet. But considering how my concentration skills have all but deserted me since the second incident, I could very well manage to thoroughly disappoint Professor McGonagall with my next Transfiguration essay if I don’t act very soon. I’ve never let anything get in the way of my studies, let alone silly preoccupations, and I don’t intend to start now; this...thing needs to stop. And immediately.

Before I tackle the difficulties arising from the previously mentioned “shivers”, a review of the facts is in order. Shall I?

Day and location of the first incident: It took place on July twenty-second – or was it the twenty-first? No, the twentieth is my mother’s birthday and I’m almost positive that it didn’t occur until at least two days afterwards. Or was it three? No matter. So July twenty-second, 1995, in the small drawing-room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. A particularly hot summer day, which was spent cooped up in a particularly stuffy room. And, well, it’s really no wonder that the circumstances struck me as a bit peculiar. Honestly, who shivers on a bright summer day?

Subjects involved: Ronald Weasley, long-time annoyance and hot-tempered friend, as well as myself. Probably one of the only times we were all alone together in one of the rooms of Grimmauld Place, now that I think of it. Ginny always managed to be around, smiling a lop-sided smile and giggling the kind of giggles I’ll never be able to produce while we bickered over her head. The twins often hung about as well, since they derived great pleasure in getting Ron to handle the nastiest objects stacked on the dusty furniture. I don’t understand why he let them do it – he did grumble a bit before and always swore loudly afterwards, but I never saw him downright refusing to play along. He likes them, I think, and admires them too, despite their incessant teasing. I’m an only child and I have trouble understanding the ramifications of brotherly love (not that I would ever, ever admit that), but I can safely guess that this is a twisted sort of sibling appreciation in all its glory.

But the twins weren’t there this time. They had probably found a way to escape their chores, which isn’t really surprising, but Ginny? She’s usually much more reliable than any of the boys (though that’s not saying much, sadly) and I can’t understand why...Ah yes, that day. The morning, in fact, when Tonks inadvertently dropped a bottle of Doctor Deems’ Deep-Cleaning Disinfectant on Ginny’s bare feet. Quite interesting, really, the range of colours the toes can take when...I mean, poor Ginny.

Course of the first incident: Ron and I were both scrubbing the floor, this part of the drawing-room being the only one believed to be devoid of any lingering (and potentially dangerous) charms. As usual, Ron had succeeded in getting dirt all over himself within three minutes; I, of course, had devised a way to remain speckless (well, as speckless as one could be when intent on cleaning an extremely filthy room), working slowly but surely towards a pristine floor. At one point, I took a well-deserved break and saw that one side of Ron’s jaw was smeared with a thin line of dust; he must’ve ran a knuckle against his lower cheek. It’s something he does frequently enough, especially when he enters a state of what I like to call “half-concentration”, a condition he usually attains while completing his homework. Not that I would know much about it, of course, since my attention is always whole-heartedly taken by my own studies, but so I’ve heard.

Being the nice, attentive friend that I am, I informed him of the stain, reached for his face and, my hand pressed against his chin, gently brushed my fingers along his jaw; in a matter of seconds, the dirt was efficiently removed from his skin. And then he shivered.

He also blushed, smiled awkwardly and promptly got up, mumbling something about “refreshments”, but that’s beside the point. He shivered and I felt his skin ripple slightly under my fingertips, his lower lip tremble against the palm of my hand. He even swallowed rather loudly, if I remember correctly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down the curve of his throat while the freckles on his neck danced lightly against the wave. Not unpleasant. Yes, definitely an interesting feeling, almost one of power, of...

I think the facts have been thoroughly reviewed. Now, on with the slightly more... problematic part of our study.

Potential hypothesis(es): The possibilities are endless. Fortunately, I’ve managed to narrow them down quite a bit.

Hypothesis #1- A draught entered the room without my sensing it, despite the uncomfortably hot weather, the sealed windows and the closed door. It may seem a bit unlikely, but since I’ve already seen people flying around on broomsticks, goblins handling enormous sums of money and house-elves Apparating or Disapparating on Hogwarts grounds, I’m afraid that an inexplicable summer breeze doesn’t exactly strike me as odd.

Hypothesis #2- Ron was feverish that day, never mind the fact that he didn’t show any sign of illness during our stay in Grimmauld Place. Considering the way the twins behaved towards the first-year Gryffindors at the beginning of our fifth year, I have no doubt whatsoever that they might have tricked Ron into trying out a Fever Fudge or, better yet, successfully slipped one into his drink.

Hypothesis #3- When I touched him, Ron shivered in disgust. After all, having spent some time scrubbing the floor, my hands were coated with a mixture of soap, dirt and sweat; I know I wouldn’t have liked to get that kind of stuff on my face. It’s true that Ron is probably not as disdainful as I am, but he certainly couldn’t have liked my touching him, could he?

Steps taken to prove or disprove hypothesis #1: On a particularly cold evening not so long ago, when both Ron and Harry had fallen asleep on their Divination homework, I opened one of the common room windows. When a gust of wind swept into the room, they both shivered, though Harry was the only one to wake up. But then, I’m almost positive that every student in the common room shivered, myself included; the experiment only really proved that Ron could do so in his sleep, which isn’t exactly a groundbreaking discovery.

Steps taken to prove or disprove hypothesis #2: None. I did think of borrowing (all right, stealing) one of the twins’ Fever Fudge, but upon further reflection, I came to the conclusion that it would be a bit hypocritical of me, considering the way I reprimanded them about the Skiving Snackboxes. I also thought of borrowing Harry’s Invisibility Cloak (only borrowing, this time) to find a fever-inducing potion amongst the books of the Restricted Section, but then I would’ve had to find a way to trick Ron into ingesting it...In the end, I finally decided that it would be immoral to momentarily sacrifice a friend’s health in order to satisfy my curiosity. And besides, I’m not sure I like the idea of me devoting so much time to questionable activities for Ron.

Steps taken to prove or disprove hypothesis #3: Once again, none. I can’t very well cover myself in mud, touch Ron and wait to see if he shivers in disgust, can I? Not to mention that, formulated this way, the whole plan seems to have decidedly obscene undertones. Plus, it gives way to a considerable amount of mental images I don’t even want to consider.

First conclusion: Ron has proven that, under certain circumstances, he can display his ability to shiver. It’s still not clear whether or not these same circumstances occurred during the first incident, but a thorough examination of the events surrounding the second episode may (or may not) shed light on this particular question.

Therefore, on we go.

Day and location of the second incident: It took place five days ago, on December second. It was Monday morning and, having just got out of our History of Magic class, we were heading towards the dungeons for Professor Snape’s lesson (despite how unfairly he’s always treated Harry, I can’t help but think that the “Professor” is still in order). We stopped near the bottom of the stairs leading to the Potions classroom, next to a seemingly empty portrait whose frame appeared to have been damaged by an impressive pair of claws. Had I been the occupant, I wouldn’t have cared to remain in my portrait, either.

Subjects involved: Ron and I, along with an unidentifiable number of people. Fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins walked past us towards the Potions classroom and third-year students filed out of it rapidly, either in a hurry to get to their next lesson or eager to escape Professor Snape’s presence. Harry was also a few steps ahead, most probably too busy being his usual moody self to notice that we had stopped. Now that I think about it, it seems fortunate that Harry’s angst-driven thoughts kept him from seeing anything (not that there was much to see, of course). Unlike Ron, he’s too...observant for his own good. For my own good.

Course of the second incident: First and foremost, let it be known that Harry and Ron usually think of History of Magic as, well, “nap-time” (to be fair, most Hogwarts students do). Therefore, whether the class takes place at 8:30 in the morning or at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, they’re bound to sleep through it. And sleeping, in Ron’s case, means removing his tie.

I’ll never understand why he hates the thing so much. Personally, I happen to think that it’s nice enough, as far as ties go. Of course, voicing my opinion on the subject only goes to prove, in Ron’s mind, how utterly wrong I am about matters not usually discussed in books. He’d never argue with me over strong, solid facts, since he knows the extent of my knowledge on that front; it’s nuances he’s interested in debating over, as well as entirely insignificant things. Prat. As if I couldn’t ever understand, in a million years, that wearing a tie can feel a bit confining. Despite what some people seem to think, I’m not entirely devoid of empathy. But still, he should know that it’s no reason to tug at his collar all day and to remove the thing as often as humanely possible. Harry and I always manage to keep every part of our uniform tidy (or, in Harry’s case, tidy enough) until late in the afternoon, so why can’t he? Honestly, the way he complains about it, you’d think he was a three- year-old being dragged to church in his Sunday best.

Therefore, even while we were hurrying down the stairs towards Professor Snape’s classroom, Ron was still busy re-arranging his tie. During our trip through the numerous corridors that led to our next lesson, he had somehow managed to fasten it loosely around his neck despite the various textbooks that filled his arms, but I’m afraid that’s where his multitasking abilities ended. By the time Harry and I had reached the bottom of the stairs, he was a few steps behind us, alternately swearing under his breath and dropping his books on the floor. I don’t approve of either of these activities, both of which irritate me to no end, but I reasoned that, for once, Ron was too busy to even think of annoying me on purpose, and I willed myself to remain silent. In fact, I was just congratulating myself on my display of self- control when, having just dropped his History of Magic textbook, he uttered a particularly vulgar curse that forced a slight smile out of Harry and an avalanche of giggles from a pair of third-year Ravenclaws that were passing by. I, needless to way, was not amused.

I admit that I have little patience for childish behaviour, especially coming from an overly-expressive fifteen-year-old. As I climbed the few steps that separated me from Ron and his colourful language, I remember frowning as hard as I could and muttering something akin to “must I really do everything myself?”before sharply slapping his hands away from his neck and sliding my fingers in the knot of his tie. I paid no attention to his protests as he tried to wrench his collar out of my grip (“Hermione, leave it alone!”) and expertly set to re-arranging this particular part of his uniform. He went on stomping his feet for a few seconds, but when, having successfully fastened his tie around his neck, I inadvertently brushed my fingers over the front of his throat, he stopped short and looked at me, wide-eyed, before hurriedly bending down to retrieve his forgotten History of Magic textbook.

It was only when I was properly seated behind my cauldron in the Potions classroom that I remembered how his breathing had seemed a bit uneven against my forehead, just as if he had been running for a few minutes, and the way he had shivered: softly, not as evidently as in the Grimmauld Place incident. Then the whole first episode came back to me, with all its awkward smiles and red ears, and that’s about the time when I forgot to raise my hand to answer one of Professor Snape’s questions, earning surprised stares from most of my classmates and a smug smile from Pansy Parkinson. Not that she could’ve answered the question, considering the way she moons over Malfoy during lessons, but just like Ron enjoys beating me at chess, Pansy delights in seeing me caught unawares in front of a teacher. Some people derive pleasure where they can, I guess.

Potential hypothesis(es): I can’t think of anything other than what I’ve already thought of, just like I can’t find other ways to prove or disprove the various hypothesises I’ve already exposed. The dungeons are usually a bit damp, so Ron could have, once again, responded to climatic conditions by way of shivering, just like he could have been under the influence of a Fever Fudge; as for shivering in disgust...Well, my hands weren’t especially filthy that day (there might have been a few ink stains on my fingertips, but that’s what taking notes in History of Magic will do to you), so I don’t think that hypothesis is relevant in this particular situation. Besides, I’ve already touched Ron before, and – no, this formulation is all wrong. I’ve already had physical contact with Ron a number of times, and he’s never reacted by shivering, Grimmauld Place incident notwithstanding. I’ve even kissed him on the cheek a few weeks ago, before his first Quidditch game, and he certainly didn’t blush or tremble or shiver. In fact, I’m not even sure he noticed. Which is a good thing, come to think of it, because he might’ve interpreted the kiss as something it wasn’t – a ‘token of my love’, or some other nonsense. I’m afraid Parvati and Lavender already view it as such, despite all my protests, and I don’t need him imagining things as well.

Second conclusion: Once again, Ron has proven that he does, indeed, possess the ability to shiver. And once again, I haven’t been able to pinpoint the specific circumstances that trigger this reaction. Disgust has been ruled out, but the two remaining hypothesises still stand, and my review of the facts doesn’t seem to favour one over the other. Still, progress has been made since the first conclusion, hasn’t it?

Final conclusion: Even though I’ve thoroughly examined the effects, I can’t seem to get to the root of it all, the all-mighty cause lurking behind the unexplained shivers. And frankly, I’m afraid this study has led me nowhere. Whoever said the scientific method was infallible has never tried to understand the intricacies of a boy’s physical reactions.

Oh dear, my Transfiguration essay is going to be horribly disappointing.