Hogsmeade in the Rain

Hogsmeade in the Rain

---

Harry was lying back on his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower, propped up on his elbows as he watched Ron preen with bemusement. His best friend ran his hand once more through his red hair, scowling at the mirror, which was trying its best to be sympathetic: "that's nice dear," it reassured him, almost succeeding in not managing to sound impatient.

Ron sighed heavily in exasperation, and turned to face Harry, who was desperately trying to keep the corners of his mouth straight: "I look alright, don't I?" asked Ron, concern and worry etched into the creases in his forehead.

Quite why Ron was turning to him for sartorial advice Harry had no idea: his entire wardrobe consisted of Dudley's cast-offs, his school robes and three of Mrs Weasley's hand-knitted jumpers. Urbane, suave, sophisticated man-about-Hogsmeade he was not. Still, Ron did look as though he was in need of reassurance, so Harry did his best to do make the correct murmurs of approval: "I don't know why you're so worried, anyway," he observed, "it's not as if you two haven't been into Hogsmeade together before. Y'know, together."

Third year, that had been, when Harry had been confined to the school thanks to Uncle Vernon's reluctance to sign the permission slip to allow him to visit the magical village. The little incident involving Aunt Marge hadn't exactly helped, either. But that was all in the past, thankfully. Still, life had seemed an awful lot simpler at thirteen.

"Yeah," conceded Ron, who'd returned to inspecting his reflection with concern bordering on worry, "but we weren't, y'know, going out that time." The tips of his ears turned their betraying shade of red, underlining the discomfort in Ron's tone.

---

They'd both been a nightmare during the final fortnight of the summer holidays, when Dumbledore had finally relented and allowed Harry to escape Privet Drive. Harry had, unsurprisingly, been desperate to escape the Dursleys, but had been unprepared for the reception he'd received at the Burrow.

Hermione had arrived a couple of days earlier than he had, and the tension in the air had been palpable. Ginny, had, for once, seemed relieved to see him, rather than embarrassed. The reason soon became apparent: Ron and Hermione seemed absolutely intent on not being left alone together for any period of time at all.

According to Ginny, who'd been sworn to secrecy in the matter by Hermione ("but you don't count," she'd whispered to him, conspirationally), his two best friends had somehow managed to end up kissing each other at the climax to a heated, but no doubt inconsequential argument. However, far from this being the catalyst that allowed them both to freely admit their feelings for one another, it had seemed to have precisely the opposite effect, and his two best friends appeared to have spent the last two weeks of the summer terrified that they might, just possibly, have to talk to one another without some kind of moderating chaperone being present.

Ginny, who'd soon got fed up of the game, had asked Harry what Ron and Hermione thought was going to happen: "do they think they're powerless to stop themselves ripping each other's clothes off and bonking themselves senseless or something?"

Ginny's blatantly ridiculous question kept on popping into Harry's head every time he saw Ron's ears go pink at the sight of Hermione, or Hermione do that bobbing thing on the balls of her feet, eyes flicking nervously, landing on seemingly anything else in the room but the six-foot red head who was her best friend. For the first 48 hours the whole thing had been somewhat amusing, but when it rapidly became apparent that there was going to be no movement from either camp in the matter, the entertainment value plummeted.

Even Fred and George, after one spectacularly ill-advised rendition of a 'revised' singing Valentine (earning them stares of death from not only Ron and Hermione, but Ginny too), quickly learned that ickle Ronniekins' decidedly unconfirmed relationship was no joking matter.

It had honestly been a relief to get to Platform 9 and three quarters, and away from the claustrophobic confines of the Burrow. And then, in response to some bizarre trigger, his two friends had broken through what ever wall of repression they'd been hiding behind, and established their 'thing' on the journey up to school.

Harry had wanted to scream: two weeks of living on tenterhooks at the Burrow, with tension so thick he could have cut it with a cricket stump, and then, not five minutes on the Hogwarts Express and it was all giggles, nudges, playing footsie and other things...

And he'd been trapped in their compartment for the entire journey.

---

He still couldn't quite believe that he'd actually agreed to Ron's request, as he watched his two best friends nervously greet each other in the common room. Hermione was switching pressure from one foot to the other in a nervous kind of rocking motion, whilst the tips of Ron's ears were a brilliant, burning red.

He resigned himself to getting used to the view: against his better judgement, he'd agreed that he'd 'tag along', 'just behind' the pair, in case things got 'awkward'.

"So," Harry had said, slightly incredulously, and not a little pointedly, "you want me to follow you and Hermione around Hogsmeade, in the rain, and be ready to leap in to save you if you do, or say something stupid?"

Ron, wholly distracted with his intense grooming, had simply beamed a relieved smile at him, "yeah! But don't let Hermione know you're doing it... just sort of be natural, right? Cheers mate, I owe you..."

In retrospect, Harry realised, he hadn't agreed to the arrangement - Ron had agreed for him on his behalf. Still, they were both his friends, and life would be hell if they finished the day not on speaking terms.

Nonetheless, Ron owed him for this, and he owed him big-time.

---

Dean had already left for Hogsmeade, with a group of fellow football enthusiasts from Hufflepuff. Seamus and Lavender were going to Hogsmeade together - they'd had a kind of on/off relationship since the Yule Ball, and Seamus had been only slightly less frenetic in his grooming that morning than Ron had been. So, of the fifth year boys, that only left Neville, but Neville was in detention for Potions, having melted yet another cauldron under Snape's new, improved stare that he'd obviously worked hard on over the summer.

It had already seemed to Harry that Snape's malice towards the Gryffindors had increased each year, but the Potions Master had really pulled out all the stops for the fifth year. Whether this was in honour of the 'impending' O.W.L.s ('honestly, they're only seven months away,' Hermione would remind them, as though this was cause for extreme panic), or whether Snape had found new reserves of bitterness and resentment from which to draw Harry didn't know. Nor did he particularly want to find out. All he knew for certain was that whilst he'd always suspected that Snape had it in for him, with the advent of his fifth year at Hogwarts, he now knew that to be a fact.

It was hardly what one might call a comforting thought.

Anyway, he reminded himself, the point was that Ron and Seamus both had dates, Dean had thrown his lot in with his mates from Hufflepuff and Neville would no doubt be disembowelling Horned Toads. Which meant that he was going to be on his own for the whole day. Traipsing around Hogsmeade, in the rain, pretending he didn't exist, ready to step in and prevent the onset of all-out war between his two best friends at a moment's notice.

All the time 'looking natural', as Ron had repeatedly requested.

Actually, being fair, Harry was forced to agree with Ron on this last point: if Hermione got wind of the fact that their first date was being chaperoned, she would not only kill Ron, she'd kill him, too, for going along with it. And Hermione, when riled, was a very scary person indeed.

---

The Entrance Hall was filled with clusters of students milling around, chattering excitedly at the prospect of being allowed off school grounds, no matter for how short a period. Hogwarts was a very nice, genuinely magical, castle, but, at the end of the day, it was still only so big, and for the teenagers cooped up within the school's confines, any chance to stretch their legs, metaphorically or otherwise, was cause for celebration.

A thin line of umbrellas snaked its way towards the school gates, flashes of colour against the uniformly leaden skies. Taking his role quite seriously, Harry watched Ron and Hermione attempt to both take cover under Ron's brolly, whilst simultaneously not compromising the insulating barrier of airspace they'd been carefully maintaining since leaving Gryffindor Tower.

"You too?" Parvati's voice caught him by surprise.

"Huh?" responded Harry, distracted.

"Babysitting," sighed his classmate, rolling her eyes; "Lavender pleaded with me to be on standby in case..." she shrugged, no further explanation needed.

"The same," confirmed Harry, glad that he wasn't the only lemon who'd be wandering Hogsmeade pointedly watching his best friends have a good time. "But," he added, "I've got to keep a safe distance away..."

"...looking natural..."

"...so that Hermione..."

"...or Seamus..."

"...doesn't get suspicious."

"Are we really both that dense?" enquired Parvati, pityingly.

"Looks like it," agreed Harry, "where's your brolly?"

She sighed, flicking her eyes upward in resigned exasperation, "I had to lend it to Lavender, because Seamus forgot that it was raining..."

Harry suppressed a laugh; Seamus had been so intent on trying to ensure that his hair had been exactly perfect, he hadn't noticed Dean charm his shoelaces together. Under the circumstances, then, it was no surprise that in his hurry to pick himself up of the dorm's floor, Seamus had forgotten to note the downpour.

Harry realised that this was probably one of the longest conversations he'd ever had with Parvati, and almost certainly the longest since the Yule Ball in fourth year. "Well," he offered, gallantly, "we could walk in together, if you want... save you getting wet and stuff."

"Alright, then," agreed Parvati, and they stepped out from the Entrance Hall, both sets of eyes on two red and gold umbrellas a little further down the school drive.

---

"Wait," commanded Harry, suddenly, as he spotted a group of Ravenclaw sixth-years just in front of them.

"You really like her, don't you?" enquired Parvati, sympathetically, stopping beside him on the stone entrance steps as the stream of students, now thinning slightly, continued to file past.

Harry sighed, heavily, watching Cho as she walked listlessly towards Hogsmeade, protective friends either side. "I used to," he confessed, "pretty much all last year, but," he sighed again, "not any more. We've both changed since... Cedric, y'know? And..." he trailed off. How could he explain? Cho was somehow more than what she had been the previous year, yet also less. And he, too, had changed: the flip-flop sensation in his stomach had instead been replaced by abject guilt: Kill the spare...

"It's OK, Harry," whispered Parvati, gently, "'s OK - I... I shouldn't have asked..."

"No, no," Harry shook his head, "you're fine," he assured her, "it's just... difficult to explain without... and I can't... not yet..."

Parvati regarded him dubiously, concern evident in the dark, soft eyes, "look, we don't have to go into Hogsmeade, you know," she observed, "we could just stay here," she smiled, apologetically, "well, I mean, we could go back to Gryffindor Tower..."

"No, no, I'm fine, really..."

"You're always fine," she observed in a voice barely audible.

Harry heard, however, "I'm fine," he repeated, more to convince himself than Parvati, "and what do you mean, 'always'?"

Parvati considered him for fully five seconds before replying, somewhat cryptically, "don't be afraid to let people in, Harry."

"I just don't want people to get hurt," he muttered, defensively, before deciding that a suitable gap had now opened up between himself and Cho, "c'mon... let's see if our love birds have tried to kill each other yet..."

They trudged off into the rain, the damp gravel on the pathway crunching underfoot. Since Parvati was forced to walk quite close to him to stay underneath the protection of the umbrella, she'd linked her arm through his. It had seemed awkward at first, but that soon passed, and Harry was forced to admit, reluctantly, that it was a very companionable arrangement.

In fact, a lot of the girls walked around with their arms linked together - Lavender and Parvati, amongst them - and, despite his and Ron's snickering, it obviously didn't seem to mean anything. Not like that, anyway.

"And we don't want to see you hurting, either," whispered Parvati, as they reached the statues of the winged boars that stood either side of the school gates.

The response caught Harry slightly off balance - that she'd explicitly included herself in the statement. Not entirely sure how to reply to that, however, he settled for a mild shrug of the shoulders as they turned right, heading towards the village.

---

"I'm really sorry, y'know," confessed Harry, breaking the silence that had descended upon the two Gryffindors as they walked towards the village, one extra red and gold umbrella in the long crocodile.

"Sorry about what?"

Harry winced, "the Yule Ball... I wasn't fair to you at all."

Parvati sniffed, and there was a short delay before she responded, "I won't say it didn't hurt," she confirmed, finally, "but you never wanted to go with me in the first place, did you?"

Harry exhaled, and dug deep into his reserves of Gryffindor courage, "I'm sorry, Parvati, really. Really. I didn't mean to hurt you, and, y'know I didn't plan it like it turned out..."

"You wanted to go with Cho."

"I asked her, but she was already going with..." Harry paused, momentarily, and then finished the statement in a much quieter tone, "Cedric." He let his shoulders slump, sighing, "and, well, they got together then, pretty much... and then..."

"You mustn't blame yourself," chided Parvati, softly, with a hint of discomfort.

"And," persisted Harry, ignoring her suggestion, "you had a good time, in the end, didn't you? You danced with some Beauxbatons guy or something, right?"

"Olivier," she confirmed, "but... it would have been nice to have been asked for at least a couple more dances..."

"I'm sorry! But... but you saw me - I can't dance! An..."

"You can dance, silly - you were fine when we started the thing off..."

"Only because you were leading... and you went to Hogsmeade with Olivier the next weekend, didn't you?"

"Is somebody jealous?" she asked, the faint trace of a smile appearing on her lips.

"No!" protested Harry, feeling his face heat up slightly, "no, I just... I must've heard you say something about it... in passing, or something," he trailed off weakly. Why had that stuck in his memory?

"Hmm," she acknowledged, the smile still tugging teasingly at the corners of her mouth.

Harry couldn't help smiling himself at the ridiculous concept. Him? Jealous of some French ponce called Olivier? Hardly... still, Parvati was alright, actually, so maybe the day wasn't going to be quite so pathetic as he'd first thought.

---

"Looks like Hermione and Ron are headed up to Zonko's," he observed, as they window-shopped a regulation 20 paces behind their respective charges. He couldn't help feel that they'd both drawn a pretty short straw with their assignments: watch their best friends have lots of fun together, whilst they get to follow in the rain.

Having said that, Parvati was good company, but it wasn't as if they were there together like Ron and Hermione or Seamus and Lavender.

"And it looks like Lavender's dragging Seamus off to Gladrags," noted Parvati, frowning quite prettily, in Harry's opinion. "Guess this means we say goodbye, then..."

Cursing his fellow Gryffindors' lack of forethought - couldn't they have just stuck in one big group (aside, of course, from the obvious limitations that placed on the romantic side of things)? It was still pouring, of course; the weather gave every indication of being set in for the day, if not the entire month.

"Here," volunteered Harry, handing the umbrella across to Parvati, "you take this - Zonko's is nearer, plus it doesn't really make any difference whether my hair gets wet or not," he gestured helplessly to the jet black-mess on his head, "no-one would be able to tell the difference anyway."

"I like your hair," she countered, accepting the umbrella as she did so, "it's kind of cute. See you later?" And with that, she hurried off after Seamus and Lavender's departing figures, leaving Harry momentarily non-plussed.

Carefully checking to make sure that no-one was watching, he quickly frowned at his reflection in the shop window, running his hand through the already damp mess of hair. She thought it was cute. Hmmm...

He chanced one puzzled look at Parvati before remembering he was supposed to be tailing Ron, and reluctantly set off on his baby-sitting role once more.

She thought his hair was cute. He ran his fingers through his hair once more: cute. He could live with that.

---

Loathe though he was to admit it, Harry secretly agreed with Percy's assessment of Zonko's. The place really was, frankly, dangerous. Aside from the obvious hazards such as Dr Fillibusters Fabulous Waterproof No-Heat Fireworks, the equally pyrotechnical Slamming Starbursts (fireworks that were about the same size and shape as a ping-pong ball, but with what seemed like an explosive payload more or less equivalent to the entire defence capability of a medium sized dictatorship) and the extremely suspicious Shock Wands ('just hold one and see: what's the worst that could happen?'), there was also the basic hazard of plunging into the thick of a crowd of over-excited, over-equipped pupils eager to try out new japes.

Even from his safe observation distance, it was evident that the latest craze seemed to be some kind of object that caused the afflicted's hair to spark incessantly, a stream of hyperactive third years passing him by, fizzling and crackling incessantly. Ha-bloody-ha, thought Harry, sourly, swearing that if anyone tried to hex his hair, Ron would pay dearly for the thankless task he'd assigned his so called best mate.

Parvati liked his hair the way it was, thank you very much, and he was extremely loathe to encounter anything that would change that state of affairs.

The warning signs were easy enough to spot for someone accustomed to watching his friends as Harry. Hermione had stopped, obviously irritated at something (it struck Harry, as he watched, that Ron might possibly have thought of a more mutually agreeable venue for their date than Zonkos: it was hardly what one might call Hermione's scene), and it had taken Ron a further stride before he'd realised she wasn't by his side.

Harry watched the scene unfold with a kind of grim foreboding. Yep, Hermione stamps foot: check. Ron extends arms in innocent gesture: check.

Hermione snaps at Ron, jogging head from left to right, hair quivering: check. Ron rolls eyes: check (well, actually, Harry was too distant to know this for sure, but it was a foregone conclusion).

Hermione giggles? Harry blinked. That wasn't in the script: she was supposed to turn on her heel at that point, whereupon Ron would do one of two things; he'd either tag along behind her, only to be ignored, or he'd shrug his shoulders and give up on her.

She didn't normally laugh. And now Ron was laughing: Hermione pushed him playfully on the shoulder, he grabbed her hand and...

Harry turned away, thankful that at least one crisis had been averted. Doubtless there would be others: it had never ceased to amaze him how Ron and Hermione could be at each other's throats (metaphorically, he stressed, hastily, suppressing an image he wasn't quite ready to deal with) one second, and then acting as if nothing had happened the next.

In his experience, when someone shouted at you, they stayed shouting at you, and life was pretty miserable. Of course, his experience was rooted firmly in a decade's upbringing with the Dursleys, and he was dimly aware that they might not have provided the best of groundings in observational psychology, but that notwithstanding, Hermione and Ron still seemed weird.

But in a good way.

---

Two further close calls later, one outrage apiece, Harry trailed his best friends into Honeydukes, where Parvati greeted him with rolling eyes, "honestly," she confided, jerking her head backwards to indicate Seamus and Lavender, "they're a nightmare..."

Harry frowned over his friend's shoulder, trying to work out what Seamus was trying to convey to the witch behind the counter, "what're they doing?"

"They are ordering," relayed Parvati, with what sounded like immense restraint, "a box of chocolates each, with their names iced on each of the chocolates," she tilted her head to one side, before continuing in a nauseatingly sickening voice, "so that they'll always be in each other's thoughts..."

Harry grimaced, dutifully, although he was slightly surprised at her apparent disdain, "I thought you.... y'know, you sort of liked that kind of thing?" he ventured, before his brain had had a chance to censor such unflattering commentary.

"All things in moderation, Sweetheart; even I have my limits. What about yours?"

"What, limits?" asked Harry, momentarily baffled.

"No, Hermione and Ron; they seem to be doing alright..."

"Oh, yeah, yeah," confirmed Harry, dismissively, "two-one to Hermione at the moment, so I s'pose we should be expecting Ron to lose his rag any time now to even the score..."

---

"What is this?" enquired Malfoy's incredulous, disgusted tone, "National Shag a Gryffindor Day or something?" The blonde Slytherin sneered disdainfully at the two of them, Crabbe and Goyle standing either side, a respectful, calculated half-step back.

Harry gritted his teeth, glaring at Malfoy for intruding on what had been, until that point, a pretty good day. Linked through his, he felt Parvati's arm tense.

Malfoy made a show of reading Honeydukes' logo from their bag, and sniffed, contemptuously, "well, if she's that cheap, Potter, I'd have thought you could have afforded both of them... or do you do a special price for the pair?" he enquired of Parvati, deliberately making a show of raking his eyes calculatingly up and down her body.

"Take that back, Malfoy," warned Harry, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He considered himself to be, if not fair, at least expected game for his adversary's taunts, but bringing Parvati into things was too much.

Malfoy's eyes widened in delight, evidently pleased to have struck a nerve, "Oh, I'm sorry, Potter, didn't mean to offend your girlfriend..."

Harry was about to protest that Parvati wasn't his girlfriend, but the thought crossed his mind that he didn't actually want to rule that possibility out, and before he could think up a suitably cutting, and preferably extremely cool riposte, Parvati had squeezed their interlocked arms ever so slightly, to indicate that she was going to handle this.

"See, Sweetheart," she purred, as though proving some point in a long-running argument, "Draco's obviously a real man, since it takes both Crabbe and Goyle to satisfy him."

Malfoy's cheeks turned a very slight shade of pink, and his eyes narrowed murderously. Parvati blinked, disingenuously, beaming at him and completely unmoved by his theatrical menace. Just as Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, Parvati spoke again, "oh! You mean you're not??!" she enquired, in a tone pitched somewhere between apology, embarrassment and incredulity, "oh, I'm sorry, Draco - it's just, you know, you three are always so close we all just assumed... My mistake..."

Malfoy, obviously incensed by the slanderous nature of Parvati's implications, no matter how apparently sincere the subsequent retraction, appeared to rock forwards back and forth ever so slightly before, evidently lacking some form of cutting reply, he wheeled about and headed off into the rain. Crabbe and Goyle immediately followed suit, but were obviously then instructed to remain a respectful, non-suggestive distance behind their glorious leader.

"That," observed Harry, watching the green and silver umbrella disappear into the rain, Crabbe and Goyle following behind, unprotected and getting completely soaked, "was brilliant!"

Parvati didn't look quite as pleased with herself as she ought to, however.

"Look, I'm sorry about Malfoy," apologised Harry, feeling even more aggrieved at the Slytherin's unwelcome attentions than normal, "he's had it in for me ever since first year..."

"Oh, yeah, Hooch, the flying lesson and Neville's Remembrall," she nodded, absently.

"Actually, before then: on the train. I sort of snubbed him before I even knew who he was... but it's all got a lot more serious since last year. I'm sorry for what he said - he only did it to get at me, you know that, don't you?"

"He's a git."

"He's the same to Hermione and Ron, you know. He figures that if he can't hurt me, he can at least hurt the people I care about, and it'll have the same effect... and he's right."

"He had no right..." continued Parvati, who was only now allowing the hurt to show from Malfoy's barbs.

"He's worthless, Parvati. Ignore him: you're wonderful," Harry felt his face flush as he admitted that, but Parvati was still gazing off into the middle-distance, and it was cold out - she probably hadn't noticed, "and... and, well... who cares about what the Amazing Bouncing Ferret thinks, anyway?"

She sniggered, "I'd forgotten about that," she confessed.

Harry was aghast; "Parvati! How could you forget that? That was the best moment in the entire fourth year. Draco Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret: Ron was walking on air for weeks afterwards..."

In the interests of cheering Parvati up, Harry was being somewhat economical with the truth. For starters, it had been Crouch, not Moody, who'd transformed Malfoy into the ferret - not that he was going to hold that against the man, but, generally speaking Harry tried not to think of anything Crouch had done in a good light. Secondly, the fourth year hadn't been notably great, in hindsight. Still, it seemed to have done the trick, since a smile was playing across Parvati's lips once more.

"C'mon," he urged her, tugging her across the street towards the Three Broomsticks, "I'll buy you a Butterbeer..."

---

Since it was pouring outside, the Three Broomsticks was packed. All the tables were taken, it seemed, and although both of their respective charges had spare seats beside them, neither Harry nor Parvati wanted to actually end up chaperoning their friends at such close quarters.

Instead, Parvati led Harry over towards her sister, who was deep in conversation with Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff. Harry thought Padma might have looked slightly put-out at their arrival, but it was gone in an instant: "Sis, Harry," greeted the Ravenclaw, her eyebrows raising slightly as she exchanged a clearly meaningful look with her sister.

Parvati returned the welcome, "Sis, Hannah..."

Harry slid into the seat next to Padma, Parvati taking the space opposite, next to Hannah, "hey Hannah, Padma," greeted Harry, following form, and trying to remember if he'd ever actually spoken to either of the two girls in his life.

Padma, being Parvati's identical twin, looked, well, almost identical. Harry ironically mused that with observational powers like that it was hardly surprising he was Gryffindor Seeker. In truth, however, there were differences between the twins. Parvati's eyes were friendlier, and she carried herself slightly differently; whereas Padma had a slightly hesitant demeanour, Parvati seemed much more comfortable. Not in an intrusive sense, just more... at ease with herself than her sister seemed.

Anyway, distinguishing between the two was normally pretty trivial, as Padma evidently didn't care for the bangles that her sister so obviously sported. Harry remembered Parvati being annoyed with Moody - Crouch, he corrected himself - in their fourth year, insisting that the girls remove the 'trinkets' for their Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.

Harry remembered agreeing with the instructor's criticism at the time - thinking it slightly funny the way Parvati and Lavender would head off to Divination whilst simultaneously slipping on a bewildering assortment of bracelets, chains and bangles. Now, however, he thought that perhaps it had been a bit mean of Crouch to pick on those two in such a fashion. Whether he felt this way because he knew, in hindsight, that it hadn't been the real Alastor Moody making the initial complaint, or whether it was because... because of some other reason, he chose not to dwell upon.

But the bangles did suit her - the metal contrasting nicely against Parvati's dark skin.

Hannah's hair was almost platinum blonde, heightening her contrast against the Patil twins. For a few moments Harry tried to work out how he'd managed to end up drinking Butterbeer at a table that seated what were probably the three prettiest girls in the year.

"Harry," returned Hannah, carefully. Eyes, scar, eyes: he knew the routine well enough, but even so, they were in their fifth year these days - surely they were used to it by now?

The opening pleasantries out of the way, the table plunged into silence. Harry looked at Parvati for guidance: Hannah and Padma had certainly been chattering away amiably enough before they arrived, and he felt slightly uncomfortable knowing that he'd interrupted them. Parvati, however, was evidently engaged in some kind of secret telepathic twin conversation with her sister, that seemed to consist solely of eye movements and flickering eyebrows.

Hannah looked about as uncomfortable as he felt, so Harry tried to break the ice: "so, pretty wet outside, isn't it?" When in doubt, the weather could normally be relied upon to be a safe topic of conversation.

Unfortunately, the suave repartee seemed to fall on deaf ears, and Harry had the distinct impression that his companions were now looking at him as though he were vaguely subnormal.

Silently.

More secret telepathic twin communication took place, as Hannah looked increasingly uncomfortable and Harry wished he had his Apparation Licence. Just as he cleared his throat to try and start conversation again (Quidditch might have been a lame subject, but at least he'd have been able to talk about it, regardless) when he felt Parvati's foot press down gently on his toes.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, suddenly, looking at her watch, "we've got to send that owl to your aunt, and the Post Office closes in five minutes!" She leapt to her feet, and practically dragged Harry away from their table, although he did manage to grab one last sip of his Butterbeer, leaving the half-full tankard on Madam Rosmerta's bar as they passed.

---

Once they were safely outside, Parvati's feigned anxiety evaporated completely, and they stood under the Three Broomstick's striped canopy.

"I'm sorry," apologised Harry.

Parvati looked at him, incredulously; she still had hold of his forearm from where she'd bodily dragged him away from the table. As if suddenly conscious of this, she relaxed her grip, and they both stood facing each other, arms dangling awkwardly by their sides. Holding hands, Harry realised, had actually been a lot more comfortable.

But he could hardly make a grab for her now, could he?

"What," enquired Parvati, with evident bewilderment, "are you apologising for? It was my idea to sit with them..."

"Hannah," explained Harry, with a shrug, "she's a Hufflepuff, so..."

Parvati rolled her eyes, "Harry, are you completely blind?"

"Was that... not about... y'know, Cedric?"

"Clueless," she observed, pityingly, yet somehow managing to make Harry feel a lot better at the same time. She clucked her tongue a couple of times, "Hannah? Padma?" She raised her eyebrows enquiringly.

"Yes?" ventured Harry, dubiously.

She obviously seemed to be waiting for him to say something else, but, frankly, he couldn't work out what else there was to say. And, he reasoned, it was much better to keep quiet and let Parvati think he was a fool than open his mouth and leave her in no doubt.

"They're together," she explained, redundantly.

"Well, yeah," confirmed Harry, non-plussed, "we were just sitting with them, it's not as th... oh!" he said, his eyes widening with realisation, and embarrassment, "you mean...?"

"Yes, Sweetheart, I do."

"Oh," nodded Harry, finally understanding, but not really able to find a means of contributing further to the conversation. Certainly, lots of questions sprung to mind, but... they weren't really the sort of questions that he could ask.

And 'Sweetheart'? But, he mused, she and Lavender were quite... girly in that regard. She probably called everyone that, for variety or something.

Parvati rubbed at the window with her sleeve, attempting to peer back into the crowded pub, but it was a pointless exercise, since the condensation was all on the inside. "What should we do now?" she asked, "do you want to head back? I think the others will be safe enough without us, won't they?"

"Yeah," agreed Harry, "um... we could, um..." he tried to think of something they could do together, secretly glad that Parvati hadn't indicated a desperate desire to be rid of his company just yet. "Er, we could... get some quills?"

In his mind, the suggestion had sounded much more sophisticated, intelligent and, well, just plain cool. Get some quills: it was only one step up from suggesting they spend the rest of the afternoon choosing wallpaper...

"OK!" agreed Parvati, surprisingly eagerly, "Scribbulus, then? I need to get some teal ink for my Divination project, anyway..."

He couldn't help it. Really, he tried, because he knew how much Parvati liked... hell, worshipped Professor Trelawney, but the simple fact of the matter was that it was impossible for Harry to keep a straight face where the Inner Eye was concerned. He almost managed to stifle the resultant involuntary snigger.

Parvati fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare, although the corners of her mouth were twitching slightly, "yes?" she invited, challengingly.

Harry, tight lipped, shook his head carefully, raising both eyebrows in a wildly exaggerated, but ultimately unconvincing expression of pure innocence.

"She has the Inner Eye," stated Parvati, as she waited for Harry to put the umbrella up before they ventured out of the protection of the Three Broomstick's canopy.

"Well yes," conceded Harry, as the gold and red umbrella opened up, "I know that, but... she's kind of hard to take seriously..."

Almost unthinkingly, it seemed, Parvati had linked arms with him once more, an arrangement that Harry was growing more comfortable with by the second, and they stepped into the street once more.

"I wasn't expecting you to say that," she confessed, "I always thought you guys thought she was a fraud?"

Harry cursed himself for having dug himself this particular hole; Parvati had a point - he and Ron hadn't exactly made a secret of their less-than-awestruck regard for the Divination Studies professor. And, for some strange reason, he really didn't want to upset Parvati by insulting her favourite teacher. "Well..." he paused - he could hardly tell Parvati that he'd witnessed Trelawney offer a genuine, and, lamentably, accurate prediction at the end of the Third Year, since it would involve explaining the whole Sirius/Wormtail... Third Task thing, and...

"Are you alright, Sweetheart? You seem all tense?"

Parvati sounded genuinely concerned, and Harry made a conscious effort to relax. It was a Saturday - they were in the middle of Hogsmeade, his scar hadn't hurt for weeks, and they weren't in any immediate danger. "Just remembering stuff," he replied, vaguely, somehow knowing she'd take the hint, and move on.

"Tell you what," she suggested, "we've got to do Star Charts for next week, haven't we? Do you... shall we do them, together? Would you mind?"

Grateful for the partial change of subject, and also for the promised continued proximity, Harry agreed readily enough, "hey, I might even manage to get it right if you're helping..."

"Oh, I don't know about that - you always seem to get good marks for your homework..."

Harry smiled, guiltily - if he was honest, Divination Studies homework was becoming harder: he and Ron were finding it increasingly difficult to find new ways to die. Somehow, though, given the recent conversation, he suspected that confessing to Parvati that he was still making it all up wouldn't exactly convince her that Trelawney had anything but his absolute and undying respect.

---

Scribbulus, in addition to having a bewilderingly exhaustive range of 'Quills for All Occasions', also had WWN playing in the background, as the two separated to browse, Harry watched Parvati dance absently, her hips swaying gently from side to side in time to the music, completely care-free.

He envied her that: the way she could lose herself in the shop's music told him that her mind evidently wasn't plagued with fears of whether or not Sirius was safe. What was it to Parvati whether Wormtail was ever captured? He was even worried about Snape, of all people: he still didn't know exactly what it was that Dumbledore had asked of the Potions Master back in June, nor did he particularly like the man, but, they seemed to be on the same side these days... Perhaps 'worry' was stretching it - maybe he was more 'concerned' than 'worried', per se. Either way, it preyed on his mind.

Lots of things preyed on his mind, although it was really only since they'd entered Scribbulus that he'd actually found himself consciously thinking of such things. Hogsmeade, clearly, had been good for him - the reappearance of the familiar tension, settling in across his shoulders as he reminded himself of the outside world, served to highlight that he had been enjoying the day.

He watched Parvati turn to inspect the various inks in the rack on the opposite side of the shop, her lips mouthing the words to the song - something about ghosts and candles. Yes, he'd enjoyed the day very much.

When the WWN announcer confirmed that the song had indeed been called Ghosts and Candles, by Celestina Warbeck, Harry made a mental note to see if he could track down a copy for Parvati as a thank-you.

Further thoughts were cut short, however, as the door opened to admit a clutch of fourth years, one of whom had a camera, and an irrepressible enthusiasm for... well, everything. Panicking, Harry swiftly joined Parvati's side, standing so close their bodies touched, but, and more importantly, standing at such an angle that Parvati more or less blocked Colin's line of sight.

"Harry?"

"Shh!" he pleaded, "Colin Creevey's just come in... please, just help me hide from him..."

Parvati made a show of pondering the request; "Hmmm... what's it worth?" she wondered, smiling the smile of someone who realises they hold the upper hand in a bargaining situation.

Harry froze, horrified: surely she wouldn't sell him out to Colin? He'd thought she was a nice person...

Parvati must have picked up on the fear, because she didn't push her advantage, and artfully maintained Harry's shield from Colin's hero-worship until the group of younger students eventually exhausted their curiosity and left in search of newer diversions.

Eventually, Parvati having bought a selection of very girly colours of ink, they left the shop, heading out into the rain once more. A long line of umbrellas, a succession of groupings in each of the Houses' colours, was wending its way out of Hogsmeade and back towards the castle as afternoon faded into early evening.

Time, indeed, to head back themselves.

---

Neither of them seemed in any great hurry to get back to Gryffindor, and Harry wondered whether Parvati was trying to spin out the trip for the same reasons as he was. As soon as they were back, it would be business as usual - he'd be with Ron and Hermione, and she'd be with Lavender, and there'd probably barely speak to each other. Although, he remembered, the approaching gloom lifting slightly, she had promised about the Star Charts for Divination Studies...

"So what's with Colin Creevey, then?" she enquired, teasingly, squeezing his arm with hers for emphasis.

"Oh, 's just..." Harry could feel his face burning, "he's sort of... er, he's got this kind of... hero-worship thing going on... The Boy Who Lived and all that..."

Parvati was silent for a moment, "y'know, it was kind of weird, meeting you for the first time... You have this aura..."

"Thanks," responded Harry, dryly, fearing he was in for another dose of Trelawney worship.

But he wasn't: "because we grew up being told all about you, you know? And when you meet someone who's been so, er, built up?" she winced, apologetically, "well, it sort of does give you this... thing," her voice trailed off, and she looked at him hesitantly, evidently worried that she may have overstepped some kind of hidden mark.

"I have a 'thing'?" enquired Harry, mildly amused. Of course, if Colin had dared to suggest as much, he'd have flattened him, but, well, Parvati was different. She was allowed to say such things. Plus she thought his hair was cute...

"Sort of," she hedged, rather taking the wind out of Harry's sails, "in the first year. But then you seemed so normal that we almost got used to you..."

"Almost..."

"You're very frustrating, do you know that? Every time I almost convince myself that you're actually just like the rest of us, you go and do something incredible..."

"I do?" he hoped she would detect the tone of apology in his voice.

"Quirrell in the first year? The Chamber of Secrets in the second? And don't forget winning the Quidditch Cup in third..."

"Actually, that was, like, a whole team," Harry corrected her, gently. He was rather glad that the third year's main events had remained a secret; meeting his godfather, confronting Wormtail, helping Buckbeak escape. "And," he continued, "it's not like I did those things on my own - Ron and Hermione were there too..."

"And you three, you're really... er, close, aren't you? I really wanted to talk to you after the tournament, to say something... not that I knew what to say, or anything... but, you were so closed off, and there's that thing you three have where you just know that you're not supposed to intrude..."

Harry was aware that he was supposed to tell Parvati that she should have felt able to talk to him, but she appeared to be being honest with him, so he decided to be honest back, "I don't know that I'd have been much fun in conversation last summer," he confessed, "but... thanks, anyway..."

They were already half-way back, he realised, as they passed a particularly gnarled tree-stump at the side of the road. They slowed their pace still further, although Harry was unsure whether she'd matched his pace or whether it had been the other way round.

"How did we get onto this, anyway?" asked Harry, wanting to change the subject back to something a little more cheery.

"Colin Creevey," she prompted, "and your avoidance thereof..."

"Oh, yeah," he confirmed, dully. "I don't ask for the publicity, you know that, don't you? I just want to be, y'know, just Harry... but people sort of keep on expecting me to, I dunno, do things..."

"It's kind of strange, don't you think? You sort of want to merge into the background, and I want to step out from my sister's shadow..."

"Padma's shadow?" enquired Harry, perplexed: Padma was hardly an extrovert; it seemed a little odd that Parvati would think she was overshadowed by her sister.

"Well," Parvati nodded her head towards him, pausing briefly before she launched into her explanation, "not really Padma's shadow so much as our shadow... it's hard being a twin, sometimes, you know? It's like we just have a shared identity: people just call us 'the Twins', rather than thinking of us as sisters..."

"I don't," protested Harry, genuinely.

"I know you don't, Sweetheart, but it was more whilst we were growing up, really. When we came to Hogwarts, we both assumed that we'd be in the same House and everything... so getting put in Gryffindor was a bit of a surprise.

"It's hard to explain to someone who's not a twin, but the first few weeks were really hard, here. Padma and I grew up together, I mean, totally together. We were inseparable, whether we wanted to be or not, and although Mum and Dad always took care to differentiate us, most people just lumped us together as 'the Twins', and it's sort of... constraining to be labelled like that, you know? It's like you're being thought of as a thing, part of a thing, even, rather than a person... And we are different people..."

Harry nodded, surprised to discover a connection with Parvati that he hadn't even thought about before: they both had labels they hadn't chosen, labels that distorted how people looked at them. He, of course, was The Boy Who Lived. Parvati, however, was 'a twin', and, as such, he supposed, people expected her to be a carbon copy of Padma, and vice versa. He nodded, to convey that he understood what Parvati was driving at.

"...and it sort of shapes how people see us, you know? They sort of overlay what they think 'the Twins' do, or say, or think, and mould what I, or Padma, actually do to fit..." She trailed off, hesitantly, "I'm not explaining myself very well, am I?"

"No, no, I think I get it... it's about labelling, right? And people expecting you to live up to... conform... to the label?"

Parvati looked at him, "yeah," she confirmed, surprised, and, it seemed, pleased that he'd got it. "Anyway," she continued, "when we were Sorted, it was a bit of a shock, but in a sense it helped us separate ourselves from the 'Twin' label. The Hat saw we were different... On the other hand, though, it is hard, being separate - we don't even have any lessons with the Ravenclaws for us to catch up with each other."

Parvati's voice actually sounded pained on the final admission, and, on reflection, Harry had to agree it seemed almost cruel to have virtually segregated the Patil twins for their time at Hogwarts. "That must be hard," he agreed, taking his turn to squeeze their interlocked arms in a show of support. He wished he could have thought of something more eloquent to say, but his experience in such matters as family were somewhat limited.

---

The steps to the school entrance rose up before them, and, as if reading each other's mind, they both slowed down, coming to a stop before the first of the stone steps, the rain continuing to thrum on the red and gold panels of the umbrella.

"I've had a really good day, today," Harry opened the conversation, not quite sure exactly what he wanted to say, but thinking that made as good a start as any.

"Me too," returned Parvati, "and i..."

"Oi!" called Dean, from the safety of the doorway, "you two coming in for dinner or what?"

Cursing Dean's timing, Harry turned to face his room-mate.

"In a minute."

They'd spoken simultaneously, and once Dean had disappeared further into the darkness of the school buildings, Harry turned back to Parvati, seeing his own faint smile being mirrored back.

This time it was Parvati who spoke first, "so I was sort of thinking," she explained, wringing her hands, nervously, "if, maybe we should do it again, some time?"

"Definitely," agreed Harry, "does Madam have a window for the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Ooh," she ventured, feigning deep concentration as she analysed an obviously packed social schedule, "I think I could manage to make time, somehow. Maybe," her eyes were bright with amusement.

"Hey!" complained Harry, jokingly, "I'm the one with the umbrella here," he pointed out, waving it away from Parvati to allow the rain to fall on her, briefly, "so," he continued, quickly restoring his partner's protection from the elements, "I think I rate a little bit more than a 'maybe', thank you very much."

Parvati giggled, her dark eyes sparkling even in the gloom of the rain. Neither of them seemed in any particular hurry to get back inside: once they'd entered the school things would, Harry supposed, be back to normal. He wouldn't have the umbrella as the convenient excuse to have Parvati by his side...

Harry shifted his weight to his other foot, and cleared his throat, "er, we don't have to wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend, though," he ventured, hesitantly, "I mean, if you'd like... that is..."

There was a momentary pause, the rain's continual patter suddenly amplified as Harry waited, with bated breath, for Parvati's response.

"I'd like that a lot," she replied, squeezing their interlocked arms together for emphasis, her voice only just audible over the incessant rain.

They watched the rain fall in the gathering twilight, the last few stragglers making their way up the school's gravelled drive, content in the companionship. And a small, selfish part of Harry didn't want to have to share this new friendship with the rest of the Gryffindors. Not just yet, anyway.

He untangled his left arm from Parvati's right, and slid his hand around her waist, wordlessly drawing her closer in. Parvati, in turn, rested her head against his shoulder, a tiny murmur of contentment escaping her lips.

Gryffindor Tower could wait.