"falling & soaring part 19" by gingerbred
Jun. 20th, 2024 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
christmasspiritchapter 19, teasing
Characters: Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, Jack Sloper, Seamus Finnigan, Harper Hutchinson
18 September, 1998. Ginny and Neville make plans to eat together, Draco has a spot of fun with Potter, whether he sees it that way is another matter, Hermione's evening looks up at least briefly, and Lavender has an unexpected encounter.
Originally Published: 2024-06-20 on LJ / DW
Words: 7.75 k
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Characters: Staff: Neville Longbottom (Head of Gryffindor, Herbology Apprentice), Slytherins: Draco Malfoy (8S, Prefect, Captain, Seeker), Harper Hutchinson (7S, Prefect, Chaser), Gryffindors: Harry Potter (8G, Captain, Seeker), Hermione Granger (8G, Head Girl), Seamus Finnigan (8G, fiery Reserve Beater, DA), Lavender Brown (8G, DA, Lycanthrope attack survivor), Ginny Weasley (7G, Chaser), Jack Sloper 7G (ex-Keeper, ex-teammate), Hufflepuffs: Zacharias Smith (7H, Chaser)
Mentioned briefly: Staff: Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress), Irma Pince (Librarian Extraordinaire), Rubeus Hagrid (Care of Magical Creatures Instructor), Slytherins: Daphne Greengrass (8S, sparkly), Theo Nott (8S, Hestia's), Pansy Parkinson (8S, Prefect), Hestia Carrow (7S, Chaser, Lycanthrope attack survivor, Theo's somewhat rabid other half), Gryffindors: Ron Weasley (8G, Prefect, Keeper), Others: Fred Weasley (the Weasleys' brother, deceased twin, died in the Battle of Hogwarts)
Previously:
The previouslies are very robust. If you've recently read the Christmas Spirit stories, skip them, if not, no worries, I've got you covered. You can find links to the individual stories / chapters in the "christmas spirit index" (LJ / DW / AO3).
September, 1998. When Harry and Ron return to school for their eighth year unexpectedly, Jack Sloper doesn't just lose his position as Keeper for the Gryffindors, he loses his spot on the House Quidditch team altogether. It causes some ill will. CS
Summer - 01 September, 1998. Incredibly self conscious in the wake of Greyback's attack during the Battle of Hogwarts, an unwilling and still healing Lavender Brown is pressured to return to school for her eighth year. L(E)FDoS Still struggling as well, after the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron is eager to avoid the Great Hall. H(E)FDoS He begins taking his meals with Lavender in an alcove not far from the kitchens. L(E)FDoS
12 - 13 September, 1998. Realising the Headmistress will likely need to restrict the students' privileges in the weeks to come in the aftermath of the attack on the Slytherin Prefects, while reporting said attacks Hermione does some hard and fast negotiating in the middle of the night with Minerva to get her to expand those same privileges for the eighth years. Many of them are finding it difficult to still be so restricted at their ages, and there's a hope this might eliminate some of the problems the chaffing gives rise to. F&S 04 As word of her involvement spreads, eighth year students have been thanking her all week. (Ongoing)
13 - 14 September, 1998. Initially starting as an attempt to get back a bit of his own when Harry discovers Ron's kept something important from him, Harry asks Malfoy, instead of the ginger, to come flying with him later, much to Ginny's readily apparent amusement. The two Gryffindors see it as a bit of harmless fun, a shared 'naff off' to the absent Keeper, and it matters not a whit when Malfoy refuses to bite. F&S 07 Harry decides 'Mione is nurturing at least a nascent crush on Malfoy. Malfoy! As difficult as it is to wrap his head around that - is it ever - after everything Ron has put him - them - through, and yet Harry has continued to support him, the least Harry feels he can do is to support Hermione's choices, too. Uh, no matter how odd. F&S 08 - F&S 09 In an effort to cheer her up, he decides to manifest that support by continuing to ask Malfoy to come flying with him. As Draco hasn't a clue what he's on about, he quite sensibly takes it for a poor joke at his expense. (Ongoing)
18 September, 1998. Seamus has only just thanked Hermione for helping secure the expanded eighth year privileges that had allowed him to spend some quality time last night with a seventh year Hufflepuff he likes when McGonagall slaps him and several others at his table and the next with detention tonight. As near as they can tell, it was for existing while Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, and they are unsurprisingly displeased with the unfairness of the punishment. F&S 16
18 September, 1998. Still feeling guilty for keeping Ron in the dark about his and Hermione's interactions with the Slytherin Prefects, Harry tries to connect with his friend. That leads to a number of things, like Harry letting Ron in on his suspicions as to Hermione's involvement in the new seating scheme in the Great Hall, which he leaks to Ginny shortly after. F&S 15 The two boys end up mucking about in Herbology and inadvertently destroy quite a number of Neville's plantings in the process. It transpires there are locations that are better suited for that sort of thing. F&S 18a
18 September, 1998. After being subjected to an assortment of stupidity from the boys and capping it all off with an argument with Hermione, Ginny - literally - runs into classmate Dhanesh Devi and in a fit of pique tells him about the eighth year's presumed role in the new seating arrangements for the meals. As he assumes that's largely the reason for his detention, naturally he's dead chuffed to hear it. F&S 18a He in turn tells some of their Housemates and together they go to join Hermione in the library to see she's made suitably aware of their displeasure. Volleys of spit wads ensue. F&S 18b
18 September, 1998. After Quidditch practice, Draco finds himself in a position to eavesdrop on Potter and Weasel, and learns that Dhanesh Devi had gathered a small troop of Moggies together to confront Granger in the library for some reason or another, and Potter not only hadn't gone to her aid, plank, he also suspects Weasel of inciting the mob. So appropriately, under the circumstances, the unfaithful lout invites Weasel to go flying that evening, repeatedly, and the two boys eventually make arrangements, the little rat bastards. Weasel has to cancel a date to do so, but as he's keen not to mention he has one in the first place, it leads to some amusing contortions as he tries to avoid making plans with Potter. F&S 18b
Friday, 18 September, 1998
Quidditch Pitch, GreenhousesImmediately after practice Ginny runs from the pitch, eager not to find herself having to explain... anything, least of all her plans, to any of her housemates - her brother and Harry most especially. She manages to mostly convince herself she's avoiding Harry's potential questions about why she isn't joining them for the meal, but realistically he's far too busy fussing over Ron. On the one hand, that's sweet. Truly. After losing Fred... It's good to know Ron has someone looking out for him. But on the other hand, it's no end of frustrating how Harry always seems to find... whatever is needed inside himself to put up with Ron's never ending stream of unmitigated shite. Possibly Harry's not on the receiving end of her brother's hypocrisy as often as she is - in fact, on consideration, that's practically a given - but the seemingly bottomless well of patience he's able to tap for that unrelenting, unrepentant prat is also so...
Frustrating.
Because of all people, Ron really doesn't deserve it.
She tries thinking of Fred and conjuring up more generous thoughts about how - over all - Harry's solicitude is a good thing... but this time it fails. Instead she just misses Fred more, and resents Ron further as well for all the understanding that's so very graciously bestowed upon him.
Out of sight of the others, she leaps on her broom and literally flies to the greenhouses, pausing only to perform passable Cleansing and Cleaning Charms before entering.
Not that that signifies.
It wouldn't do to come in fresh from practice without doing so, now would it?
A common enough sight awaits her: Neville, hunched over his pots. There's a tension in his shoulders, however, that isn't usually there. Not like this anyway. She has a Muscle Entknotter in her Quidditch kit bag that she'll talk him into taking. Later. After they've eaten. For all his good nature, Neville can prove stubborn, but a properly stuffed Neville is easier to talk round. She'll make him see sense.
After she makes him eat a good meal, that is.
Neville has come nowhere close to replanting all the Carnivorous Calendulas he lost this afternoon thanks to Ron and Harry. Numpties. Numpties of the first water. That's the better part of a week's growth... annihilated. They're hard enough to plant, too, and - ridiculously quick to sprout - he'd already had to pot them on once, and then someone comes along and destroys all his hard work, and even if it was an accident - and he's not entirely sure on that count; Ron has been a colossal arse this term - Neville's still pretty crushed.
Nearly as much as his seedlings, in fact, where they've gone to their final resting place in the compost heap round back.
Hmm.
Ginny clears her throat, startling him from his musings.
"That was fast," he says, blinking just a touch owlishly to refocus his eyes as he performs a Tempus to check. Well. He must have gotten lost in his work again. Tempus fugit, and all that, almost as quickly as Ginny, who stands there still in her practice clothes, broom in hand.
The pretty ginger laughs, "You mean to say you haven't just sat here missing me?" She grins her lopsided grin at him at him, and now he laughs, too, a little surprised to feel the tension draining from him. Apparently that grin was all it took, but her hair has that slightly off look it gets when she uses a Charm to clean herself instead of showering, a detail he knows so well from their time hiding in the Room of Requirement last year. He likes the thought she'd hurried so as not to keep him waiting, just like he likes the little reminder of their shared adventures last year. They had done some good work. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.
They'd kept students safe.
Probably.
At least they'd tried.
That's more than most can say.
"Shall we fetch dinner?" she asks.
"I was thinking it might be better if I went on my own," he replies. "Students aren't supposed to be able to get meals from the kitchens, whereas I can." Their days of thieving food are over. And yet... "Best not to have any questions arise." He's still very new to this whole staff thing and trying to work out his privileges.
"Oh, no, that makes perfect sense," Ginny agrees readily, looking about uncertainly for a space that hasn't got snarling, snapping bits of green on it. They appear in exceedingly short supply. "Shall I stay here and set up?" She sounds anything but confident, but as always, she's game and her manners are lovely.
Neville looks around now, too, as he performs his Cleansing and Cleaning Charms on his hands and clothes, and seems to arrive at much the same conclusion as Ginny. At this point in his planting, this really isn't an area well suited to a picnic. The office has a good space, but it's also right next to the composting bins, and they'd just had a fresh load of Thestral dung from Hagrid... Perhaps not the ideal location for a bit of tuck either... He considers and then brightens, a solution obviously just occurring to him. "Why don't we eat at mine?"
The suggestion certainly has some appeal, and possibly more than simply what's warranted by escaping his plants. "You're in McGonagall's old quarters now?"
He nods. "Oh, you'll need my passphrase. 'Flitterbloom'. Make yourself at home, just, um, if you could, try not to be observed entering. I've only been on the job for five minutes, I don't really need to give rise to rumours."
"Of course," she laughs as they leave the greenhouse together. She's careful to keep her broom well out of his way. It's probably best not to knock him flat again, especially when he's so kindly doing her a favour.
He's begun mapping out their meal before the doors close behind them. He's rather cute when concentrating.
"Would that get you in trouble?" she asks, speculatively.
She can't possibly mean the Yorkshire puddings he was giving serious thought to.
"What, precisely?" he responds, genuinely confused.
"Any eventual rumours..." her lopsided grin is back in full force, and she has that mischievous glint to her eyes that makes him smile. He's exceedingly familiar with that look from last year. He also knows just how stealthy she can be from their time together.
"Make an effort, would you." Tsking, he clucks his tongue at her, and she shrugs, 'fine'. And then he rewards her amenability with a grin of his own. "But the honest answer is 'no', it wouldn't, although I expect Ron would go round the twist."
Her smile in reply is so sincere and so genuinely hopeful, he laughs. "Seriously, Ginny, please try. He's enough of a handful as is."
Only slightly disappointed at the opportunity lost, Ginny nods, "I wouldn't dream of letting you down. Thanks, Nev. I really appreciate your doing this. I just couldn't stand the idea of another meal with Hermione and Harry today. I just needed..."
He gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and finishes the thought, "A little space. No worries. We've got you covered."
And with that she mounts her broom and takes off towards the castle. "But no flying in the corridors, young lady!" he shouts at her retreating form.
Ginny waves in return, not that he's quite sure how to take that. Ah, well. That'll be someone else's concern.
the Great Hall
Draco musters Granger when she arrives to supper, curious to see if there is any sign she's the worse for wear thanks to her Housemates. There's none immediately in evidence, although she sits a mite awkwardly in her chair, sort of radiating tension. So not entirely unfazed then.
To be fair, he's had his fair share of that as well, so who is he to judge?
Still, clearly better than expected, although - now that he thinks about it - it's only logical she'd have had what amounted to the home field advantage in the library. Pince runs a tight ship, she'd had things under control, as always - it had been foolish to think otherwise - and evidently Granger hadn't required Potter's assistance earlier after all. Draco's reluctant to award Potter the purely theoretical points he'd deducted for his curious management of Granger's flight from the Tower and the ensuing pursuit by her fellow Moggies of questionable repute and fewer brains.
But she truly appears unscathed... Save the touch of nerves, of course.
Potter arrives shortly after, very likely coming directly from practice, or maybe he'd stopped by the Tower first. As Granger was likely still in the library, it's perfectly reasonable they'd have come separately, but aside from his exceedingly prompt appearance, Potter shows no overt sign of concern for Granger. Draco is still trying to work out if that means he has a better read on the situation than the Gryffindor after all.
Or not.
Harry for his part hadn't fretted for Hermione's safety for a moment. 'Mione? In the library? With Pince of all witches as backup? He still has a knot on the back of his head from an encounter with the woman and a Cursed ink pot sixth year. Hermione should have been safe as houses. Harry hadn't doubted that in the least. And of course, he'd had Quidditch practice; he's the Captain, after all. What good would dropping by the library for a few minutes have done?
Still, just in case, he asks, "Everything alright, 'Mione?"
Before she has a chance to answer, Jack Sloper approaches their table, calling for Harry and rather obviously doing his level best to not even look in Hermione's direction, a feat complicated by the fact she sits immediately next to the boy the seventh year is seeking. All that's missing is for him to hold up a hand to physically obscure her from view. Isn't school life grand? Why had she ever wanted to return?
Oh. Right. N.E.W.T.s.
Still, on balance, clearly better than spit wads.
Harry doesn't seem to register the slight, and replies, "What do you need, Jack?" If he isn't completely at ease as he asks the question, it's due to having just come from practice. Ever since Jack had effectively been forced from the team by Ron's and Harry's returning to Hogwarts for an eighth year, Quidditch is always a bit of a problematic subject with the House's erstwhile Keeper. Harry's hoping it won't be a problem, especially as Malfoy is sitting right next to him and clearly paying attention, cheers. Hopefully Jack will be bright enough to register that.
Harry's not feeling optimistic on that score.
Or better yet, Jack might not want to talk about Quidditch at all.
Yes, that would be preferable.
"Do you know where Ron is?" Jack responds, not really answering the question as to the topic, and now Harry is torn. He doesn't just want to kick the can down the road and send Jack after his best mate, but equally he has little desire to discuss this, whatever it is, in front of the five Slytherins at their table, three of whom are on their House's team... When Harry doesn't immediately reply, Jack expands, "He didn't return to the dorms after practice..."
Not everyone does, obviously. Plenty go straight to the meal, and as they'd plans to go flying later, Ron'd probably just shrunken his broom and taken it with him instead of returning home, or maybe he'd just left it in the Gryffindor changing tent in the first place and hadn't needed to. Either way, he very likely wouldn't be appearing in the Great Hall for his supper. He was cultivating something of a 'wounded hero' reputation by shunning the room. 'Fred's death had been too, too tragic...' Harry can practically hear it in Lavender's voice even as he thinks it.
There's probably no harm in telling Jack he honestly doesn't know where he could find Ron...
At which point Seamus interrupts, having very deliberately stomped over, the soul of unsubtlety, and rather loudly and sarcastically announces, "Thanks, Hermione!" for all to hear. It's in such stark contrast to his sincere thanks this morning, the sort of thing people had been hearing all week due to Hermione's role in the eighth years being granted expanded privileges, that it attracts even more attention than it otherwise might.
There are plenty of whispered, 'What's he on about?'s at nearby tables, followed by plenty of whispered answers...
Ah. It's the seating then. Given Madam Pince's strict rules for silence in the library, her Housemates hadn't quite made their reasons for the spitball volleys clear, and of course she's learnt not to ask... Splendid.
As unlikely as it seems that a Muggle-born eighth year could in any way be responsible for something as monumental as the ending of their centuries' old tradition of House tables, Head Girl and member of the golden trio or no, if she's capable of seeing student privileges expanded... And Harry, thinking it was about time for Hermione to enjoy the fruits of her labours, had spent the better part of the week reliably assuring all and sundry that she was... Well, this doesn't seem too much of a stretch, does it? Plus someone was behind this nonsense. And evidently the new seating arrangements with Gryffindors at every table meant there was now someone on hand to supply the rumours the other Houses might otherwise have missed out on.
Well that's going to plan then, all tickety-boo. Hermione now bitterly regrets any input she'd had on that front. So just another Friday, really.
Jack for his part now graces her with a glance, and it's the model of disdain. Brilliant. A small taste of things to come. Her initial rating, 'better than spit wads', finally sinks to 'on par with' in proportion to the sets of eyes turned her way and the percentage of glares. So much for all the praise. Fickle lot, their fellow students. She wonders if she'd been too quick to dismiss their appreciation this week. Perhaps she hadn't valued it enough.
Very likely.
It's a shame she can't ignore its inverse quite as throughly.
Still, she does that better than most.
"So do you know where he is?" Jack prods Harry as Seamus stomps off. Harry's still staring after his roommate and has to shake off his distraction.
"Huh?" comes the less than insightful reply.
"Ron. Where is he?" Jack seems to be losing patience, but his tone is enough to push Harry off the fence and make him dig in his heels, at least a little.
"What do you need?" he demands. It's not strictly confrontational, but as it doesn't answer the repeated questions, it's obviously not meant to be cooperative. Draco smirks. Moggies simply aren't good at this sort of thing. Too emotional by half.
"I have detention tonight," Jack explains and now he looks at Hermione again, his disdainful glance from a moment ago progressing to a full on glare of his own. Ah yes, that will be from this morning's round of detentions then. Not precisely due to the seating rebellion, per se, but far from divorced of it either. Professor McGonagall would never have awarded blanket detentions irrespective of guilt for the mess in the Great Hall this morning if she hadn't been certain it was tied in to the little student revolt. "Except I'm sitting in Ron's seat..."
"Where exactly is Ron's seat?" Harry interjects, clearly interested and only amusing Draco further. Merlin's beard, is Potter ever lazy. If he wanted to know, all he needed to do is check the Seating Chart.
Jack shoots Harry an annoyed glance as he waves in the direction Seamus had just gone, indicating the empty seat between him and Fay.
"....so by rights," Jack continues, a little more tightly now, "the detention is probably his, too."
Yeah, Harry can see where that might need clarification before the detention actually starts. It doesn't change the fact he doesn't know where Ron is, though, and he's about to say as much when Hermione interrupts, "That most likely depends on if your name is on the Seating Chart or not. Have you checked?"
Sloper's look reveals he's about as prone to consulting the thing as Potter, and taking that as sufficient reply, Granger informs him, "If it is, then the detention is as well."
Frankly that was probably true even if he wasn't on the list. She imagines Hestia Carrow's name hasn't appeared on the Chart for their table, not after a single meal, and yet were they to receive such sweeping punishments - for all students seated at their table, say - she can't imagine Carrow wouldn't as well. Nevertheless, there is something to be said for a spot of needling, and Jack more than deserves it.
If his earlier look wasn't warm, this one drips with disgust. Granger's evidently about as popular with the members of her House as Draco is with those from without his. On balance, he's likely faring better, sheer numbers be damned, particularly as those numbers were only likely to increase in Granger's case, and unlikely to remain strictly limited to the Moggies if Draco's reading the murmurs and glares correctly, which he very probably is. She's quite a deft hand at things like this... It's certainly a result.
Potter assures Sloper he doesn't know where Weasel is, and the seventh year scurries off to consult the master list. As Draco hasn't a lot of other demands on his attention at the present, he watches, deriving a bit of pleasure as the boy's shoulders sag. That will be a 'yes' then. The Slytherin thinks he hears a huff of amusement from Granger as well.
Great minds...
Potter interrupts their thoughts to enquire further about the seating rules. He resumes his line of questioning from lunch and expands on it, his intentions becoming clearer with every query. As Granger is no more in a position to provide the information he seeks now than she'd been when he first asked - it's likely no one is, save perhaps McGonagall herself, and even there Draco has his doubts; the rules seem too fluid - the only thing Potter manages to establish is that the Chosen One is an idiot.
Naturally that means there's no stopping him.
And as the Weaselette hasn't appeared to the meal, and Draco certainly isn't speaking to either of the Moggies of his own volition, heavens forfend, there's nothing to interrupt the little interrogation. The Weaselette's empty seat between Granger and Lovegood serves almost as a natural barrier, a seemingly unbridgeable gulf between the Moggies and Turkeys, and on and on Potter goes, Granger's answers becoming ever softer and terser, not that he notices.
It's a good thing he's skilled with a wand as he clearly wasn't blessed with much by way of intelligence.
'Which swaps were permitted? When did the permanent changes to the Chart go into effect? Which swaps drew punishments? How severe? Only for the person initiating or on all parties involved? Which characteristics likely mattered to avoid them? How long would it take to know? Could a series of exchanges like the ones that had led to seating only Ravenclaw and Gryffindor first years at a table of Slytherin and Hufflepuff seventh and eighth years still work, or was it doomed to fail much earlier in the process?' That shouldn't even still be in question. Nit. 'Does everything have to reset? To which point does it reset? Does that remain stable or could it change? ...'
The latter, at least, seems clear. Draco believes everything was fixed into place sometime early in the second week, as best he can tell, and only small adjustments have occurred since then. If he were to wager, he'd imagine Hestia will be permitted to keep Pansy's seat, for example. Had the younger Hutchinson brother tried to make the swap, despite both being purebloods and Slytherins, exchanging a fifth year for an eighth year, a wizard for a witch, someone who was neither Prefect nor Quidditch team member for the onetime Head Girl... That might have lasted a meal, two at a stretch - although Draco deemed it unlikely - without punishments, but if they pressed their luck further, Pansy would reappear in her seat and at this point McGonagall generally went straight to detentions, eschewing House points or removing them in tandem with doling out those detentions. It made sense, however, as the Ravenclaws no longer cared about points after their recent heavy losses. She'd needed to find another way to motivate them.
It was still unclear if that could be seen as a success.
But despite all the experiments that had gone awry, things hadn't returned to original seating plan. Harper remained at their table, Smith was sat elsewhere, and very likely most relevantly to Potter's line of thinking: Bones continued to occupy a space, if not the exact seat, that had once been intended for Weasel.
Judging by the way Granger's face is clouding, she, too, believes Potter's angling for a way to return Weasel to their table. She's - repeatedly - made it amply clear they won't know until they do if Hestia's and Pansy's exchange will be considered valid. Not until there's a change to the Chart or the girls are rebuked.
Quite right.
As Potter has nothing to lose by being patient, and only the witches are risking anything by it, there should be little harm in waiting to see, she insists, and yet he keeps pressing...
Finally she turns to face him, her disbelief plain to read on her features, and rather too sharply asks him, "Whom were you hoping to get rid of in exchange for Ron? Ginny or me?"
Potter's mortification is both complete and immediate, so there's that at least, but it doesn't seem to comfort the witch. Understandably - and worse: predictably, because Potter's an idiot and an arse - her nerves are a touch raw at the present. The result was she'd raised her voice a little more than intended, and three of the five Slytherins, at least, are now feeling a little sorry for her. Theo and Hestia had been too busy enjoying one another's company, but Draco gets her, especially now when he's feeling so isolated. Daphne is a softy, so her sympathy was practically a given. Harper, for his part, thinks Granger may have the wrong end of the wand, there's a fair chance Potter just hadn't thought that far ahead, but it doesn't look like she believes that. Rotten situation really. More unforced Moggie errors; if only they were more careful.
Of course then they wouldn't be Moggies.
The Slytherins trade glances, but there's nothing to be said. Draco and Harper both independently weigh the benefits to casting the House Privacy Charm for Theo and Hestia, who still don't seem to register the tension at the table. At this point, becoming as unobtrusive as possible seems the best play... They both decide their Housemates haven't passed the threshold for necessary action, and settle instead for eating and drinking most studiously, very deliberately pretending as if they hadn't heard a thing. It's so unnatural as to almost be more conspicuous as the other Houses at their table have begun to sneak looks at the Gryffindors, too.
"The substitutions can only be done within our House," Granger soldiers on, her expression dark, "so it's going to have to be one of the three of us, and I can hardly see the point to seating Ron here with Ginny and me, can you?"
Potter looks supremely uncomfortable now. He quite evidently hadn't considered that part in the least, he was merely looking for loopholes and trying to understand how it worked... Draco gets the sense that even if Potter could somehow succeed with his plan, Granger wouldn't deem Weasel's presence an improvement over Bones'. It's unlikely Potter had considered that either.
There's no good response, and none is attempted.
Viewing the matter as settled, or at least the fronts as clear and progress impossible, Hermione radically changes subjects, and - almost as though masochistically poking a wound, practically as though sensing the answer - proceeds to ask Harry about his punishment from Herbology.
None.
Well not none precisely. They'd received a stern talking to...
She's about fit to be tied, but then anger is often easier than hurt, especially on a day like today.
None?? For destroying Neville's plants with his and Ron's flagrant stupidity? Casting Jinxes or Hexes or whatever that was in class? And they skate? Does no one ever hold them responsible for all the mischief they get up to?? It's one thing, obviously, when it's in pursuit of required knowledge - accessing the Restricted Section, say, or to interrogate Malfoy in the Slytherin common room - it's another thing entirely when they simply fail to respect the instructors...
She doesn't need to say a word, and Draco is right there behind her. Merlin's beard. The things those two get away with.
She's clearly fuming, and how, and although Harry's likely the root cause in both instances, this is - probably - a good deal easier to tackle than the unintended implication he'd rather have Ron sat here beside him than 'Mione. After last year? He'd never even consider such a thing. Not that stating as much at a table of Snakes seems wise... Truth be told, she feels this is firmer ground as well, which was a good part of the reason she'd made the conversational pivot, subconsciously hoping Harry doesn't let her down and they can get this out of their systems.
A wizard of action, Potter leaps to it.
And so he begins to flail.
Spectacularly.
And yet, Draco finds it nontrivially disconcerting to realise he isn't deriving any particular enjoyment from their discord. If anything, the whole affair is making him rather uncomfortable now, too. He wonders when that happened. Evidently it makes a difference when it's Potter and Granger at odds instead of Potter and Weasel. Where the exchange in the Quidditch tent had been fun, this...
Isn't.
He imagines Granger's dogged assistance this summer to see him kept from Azkaban played a significant role. And Potter had been right there by her side every step of the way. The result is evidently that listening to Weasel squirm was one thing, but watching these two clash was presently proving to be another entirely.
He's not sure how he feels about that.
Harry hasn't a clue how to cheer up Hermione, he just knows he needs to do it now. In fact, preferably five minutes ago. Too little, too late, as usual, it would seem. He isn't entirely sure where things had gotten so royally buggered, he just knows it was entirely his doing and in retrospect there were about a dozen verbal and nonverbal cues he should have picked up on, and yet not a one had registered.
He's an idiot.
He knew the tides of favour were turning, that their Housemates were at least unhappy with Hermione, if not outright angry. Worse yet, he thought Ron had had a hand in it. That was the point in going flying with him later, to try and feel him out, maybe attempt to reconnect, to somehow make him understand how rubbish that was, grassing on 'Mione... Except, realistically, that ship had sailed. Ron could hardly take anything back, now could he? The cat was well and truly out of the bag. And apparently things had gotten worse than Harry had anticipated, and that faster than he'd expected. Seamus' little outburst had certainly proved that.
Harry should have let the seating thing go, completely, and made a point of explicitly trying to cheer up Hermione. Just that and nothing more. But he'd thought taking her mind off the others would be enough. Give her a problem and watch her try to solve it. It usually worked, and had the added advantage of actually fixing something else in the process to boot, or at least coming up with a plan. Those were usually fine. Instead here they were, and she looks about ready to Avada him.
So... not good then.
He tries clowning around and fails.
He tries making jokes and crashes and Incendios magnificently.
He can feel the Slytherins watching him, but he can't stop now.
He casts about and fails some more... And then he has an idea.
Potter immediately begins oafishly clowning about in a fashion Draco finds more insipid than amusing, but to be fair, he isn't the intended beneficiary. On the other hand, Granger doesn't appear precisely swayed either, which only speaks for her, he feels. In as much as it seems to take the place of an apology between the two Moggies, it's likely a sensible strategy, however, but after two serial missteps, to say nothing of their churlish Housemates, it apparently will require more work than usual to elicit a smile from Granger, and frankly Potter isn't very funny.
Considering Draco's been observing - and mentally marking - the whole exchange, it's somewhat embarrassing when Potter takes him by surprise, turning to him out of the blue and crooning, "Malfoy, come flying with me!"
So much for thinking Potter might quit pestering him...
Harry gesticulates wildly, hamming it up as best he can.
Malfoy had only just taken a sip of his pumpkin juice and now spews it out in surprise. The blond glares at him while he mops his face dry, and it's sort of perfect really. Comedic timing!
Harry doubles down and lays it on thicker, his gestures ever wider. Hermione doesn't exactly look pleased, more confused than anything else, but that's a far sight better than angry, and he'll take it. He uses all his best lines... They're not very good, which might help explain why he's single, but they're ready to hand and roll off his tongue easily. "What else do you have planned? The weather's perfect; come flying, it will be fun. Feel the wind in your hair... Come flying. Let's get you properly tousled. It'll be an improvement..."
Hermione's begun smirking despite herself, and Harry scents success. "Come flying!" He insists, and he can tell, it's going well...
And then Malfoy turns to him and for the first time in days actually answers. "What time?"
"Wait... What?" The words on Potter's tongue trip over themselves, and his look of pure confusion is enough to finally get a small smile from Granger, not that he notices any more. He's too busy trying to make sense of his predicament.
"What time were you thinking?" Draco drawls, slowly enough for the boy to absorb it.
"You... wait... What? What time for what?" Draco may have misestimated that absorption time. Granger, however, manages a small giggle.
"What time... did you... wish to... go flying? Tonight, I take it. In fact I insist." Draco smirks as he watches the realisation hit home that Potter now has conflicting engagements. He squirms as he tries to work out how to proceed, and although Granger very likely hasn't the advantage of knowing about Potter's plans with Weasel later this evening, it's apparently sufficient that all of them know Potter had only asked because he relied - completely - upon the blond not taking him up on his offer.
So much for that then.
How's that for never facing any consequences? It surely amounted to nothing more than a minor inconvenience, but it feels... good. Yes, it does. Draco's tired of being the butt of Potter's jokes.
"Shall we say nine? I'll meet you at the pitch," the Slytherin smiles, the very picture of elegant good nature. He is absolutely certain this will be the last he'll ever hear of this 'come flying' nonsense, and there's a feeling of relief in seeing that dealt with once and for all. He's calculating the odds that Potter will try to wriggle out of it, which although preferable for not having to actually go flying with the boy, means the Moggie wouldn't have to cancel on Weasel, something that has a certain appeal of its own. Granger is now openly grinning, and Draco watches Potter come to the realisation that he can't possibly back out now.
"Nine. Uh... Nine works. No, that's fine. Perfect, really. Just what I was thinking, in fact. I just, uh, I need to... I need to make arrangements," he half explains, before rising abruptly and lurching for the door.
He needs to contact Ron.
Granger's head turns to follow him, and she looks confused. Draco, still the soul of politeness, tell her, "I believe he's learnt not to cast his Patronus in front of the High Table at meals." In as much as she has no way of knowing her friend now urgently needs to cancel his plans with Weasel, it explains bugger all, and of course his reason for leaving was most likely not wishing the others to hear the excuses he would undoubtedly now offer his supposed best mate. Draco resumes his meal with a little more vigour, no longer minding the slight residual burn from the pumpkin juice in his nose in the least.
No, his mood is greatly improved, Granger's it would seem as well...
"Bang up job on the seating, Granger. Such an improvement." Zacharias Smith now appears a little behind Potter's vacant seat, almost as though he'd only been waiting for him to leave, but of course the Hufflepuff couldn't have known he would. More likely he's taking advantage of Potter's absence to tease the Head Swot. "Whatever would we do without you?"
the Kitchens
Neville can't help reflecting, as he carefully puts together a small hamper for himself and Ginny, how the current seating situation had exacerbated her problems. It's become a lot more difficult to give one another space when there was a dust up, and there were always dust ups. Hormonal teens living cheek to jowl with little reprieve for years on end? Please. It was all but a certainty. Yet the way Professor McGonagall... Minerva had the rules at the moment, Ginny couldn't just go sit with a few other friends for a couple of days until her problems with Hermione and Harry blew over. Not without an equitable swap, anyway, and those were tricky to arrange, particularly as the ability to return to the original seats was far from guaranteed. Worse yet, the rules kept changing; what was fair game one day might be out of bounds the next. And Ginny couldn't even avoid the Great Hall altogether. If Neville weren't staff, arranging a meal like this would be far from easy. She couldn't simply do what he was doing, get her dinner directly from the elves to take her meal elsewhere. Students weren't allowed to...
Lavender Brown enters the room just then, as if to prove him wrong.
Yes, well, she was a special case, obviously. They'd agreed to certain concessions so she'd return to school this year, although her mum had seemed quite keen. Lavender... not so very. Neville can understand that, Greyback's attack had been... brutal. It had taken a good deal of courage for his former classmate to come back to the scene of what had very nearly been her death. She'd been proper mauled. Neville had seen what had been done to the girl; the thought still turns his stomach. He'd helped hunt the monster down soon after, and although he and Ron had managed to capture him alive, it had taken quite a bit of restraint. When he heard of the werewolf's death not long after, he could think of few more deserving.
The doctors seem to have worked wonders on Lav - he certainly can't find anything to fault about her appearance - but the signs of the attack are still incredibly obvious in her behaviour. She's skittishness in a skirt.
"Lavender," he nods a polite greeting.
"Neville," she replies in kind. She sounds a little uncertain, but he doubts it's caused by any indecision as to how to address him. Frankly he's not quite sure himself, so that seems fair enough. If he isn't demanding some title or another, why would the students feel they needed to employ one? He reckons it's more likely she hadn't expected to encounter anyone here, and she's self conscious about her eating habits. That had been the motivating idea behind permitting her to access the kitchens directly. He makes a point of giving her privacy by busying himself elsewhere in the kitchens.
When he's finished putting his meal together, he grabs two Butterbeers, almost as an afterthought. They keep them on hand for staff. Ginny should appreciate the gesture.
Lavender seems to have put her supper together more quickly than he had. She has a mountain of food on two plates, mostly meat by the look of it, and much of it exceedingly... bloody.
Hmm.
He tries not to stare. It's difficult when he prefers his meat cooked till it's shoe leather, or so Ginny has told him. She likes to tease, though, so he isn't certain how much truth there is to that.
But he definitely likes it far less raw than... that.
Merlin.
Tearing his eyes away from her plates with some difficulty, unbidden, his mind tries to work out how many people that would normally feed, or the sort of salary one might need to afford it, and he begins to reconsider some of the reasons for Mrs. Brown's eagerness to send to her daughter back to school. He'd wavered between heartlessness and thinking she honestly believed having Lav face her fears could be beneficial. Further traumatising more like. Or that it had possibly just been excessive regard for the N.E.W.T.s qualifications...
Yes, well. The single mother may have simply been broke.
His family knows a bit about that.
Lav's about to leave, eager to escape his stare, but having slight difficulty with the door as both of her hands are full. A Wingardium Leviosa is not the answer. She does not want to start floating the plates beside her in front of a witness, that just seems like it overemphasises the amount of food she's taking. And of course it isn't just for her, she's Ron's dinner there as well, but then she can hardly say that... The elves are all very busy at the moment getting food on the tables upstairs. Normally one of them would come to her rescue.
Neville has the sense that the important thing here really is that the girl has a worrisome quantity of meat on her plate. Plates. Leaving thoughts of cost and calories aside for the moment, that sort of suggests the Lycanthrope attack has left her more changed than she'd like people to think. Plus she's obviously still not eating with the others and only seems to have withdrawn further to some isolated spot on her own. Just because she's allowed to do so doesn't mean that she should, or that it's remotely good for her.
He's still trying to work out his responsibilities as a Head of House. Her Head of House. Professor McGonagall... Minerva hadn't really explained those duties much. Possibly because she still managed much of the job herself. Hmm. The result is he's standing here now with the feeling he should say something, do something... except he can't quite think what.
It's frustrating.
He settles on reaching for the doorknob and then hesitating to ask, "Is everything alright, Lavender? Are you feeling okay?" He studiously avoids so much as glancing at her plates again, except that's almost as conspicuous as his stares had been, that's something people never seem to learn. By keeping his eyes on her face, he registers her panic that much more quickly however.
She's food for a small army piled on her plates, he can kind of understand why she might be uncomfortable with his - or anyone's - attention. Her new dietary requirements must be so embarrassing for a girl like her. It dawns on him that he may not have phrased that well. All he wanted to do was check up on her, he wasn't trying to make her more self conscious... Awkwardly, incredibly, he hurries to try making her a compliment, "That's not to suggest... I mean, you're looking fit..." He sounds like Seamus. Well, except Seamus was very protective of Lav, and Neville's just standing here making everything worse. He finally notices that his hand on the doorknob isn't actually helping, as he's effectively keeping her stuck there instead, and she's beginning to resemble a trapped animal.
"Here, let me get the door for you..." He opens it, waits for her to pass, and - hamper in hand, and standing there rather foolishly, as they both know he'd meant to leave - then allows it to close behind her to give the girl a head start. She'd scuttled off, all too obviously relieved to be free of his miserable attempts at conversation or supervision, whichever. Even he doesn't know. He sincerely doubts she wants him knowing where she's made her little den and takes her meals, though. Well, points for that singular bit of insight then. What a wretched showing. Really, it was perfectly reasonable that Professor McGonagall continued filling most of the Head's duties, because Neville clearly hasn't a clue.
Not even in Potions did he feel less adequate to the task at hand.
Godric's beard.
He grabs two more bottles of Butterbeer before leaving. He and Ginny deserve them.
Written with oodles of love for lostangelsoul3 and
erexen.