The news that Harry Potter was going to be playing Seeker for the upcoming Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Quidditch match caused both surprise and excited interest to run along the corridors of Hogwarts over the next few days. Rumours and questions spread like wildfire, igniting a feverish attention that few Quidditch matches in the history of the school could have scarce boasted before.
The net upshot of this was that Harry hardly set foot outside of the Ravenclaw Common Room for the rest of the week, leaving only for lessons - which he was escorted to and from by a brigade of eager Ravenclaws keen to protect him from the extra attention - and even having meals brought up to him from the Great Hall. This was all at the behest of the rejuvenated Roger Davies, who wanted to keep his secret weapon as keen and sharp-willed as possible, just in case he suddenly changed his mind about playing at all.
The only place this new excitement wasn't felt was across the castle in Gryffindor Tower. The uncertainty surrounding Harry Potter and his hitherto unknown Quidditch skills greatly unsettled the members of that House. They speculated, they debated, they plotted ways to injured Harry before the day of the match, such was the level of disquiet caused by this enigmatic persona suddenly emerging from his own imperious shadow to range himself against them.
Indeed, Oliver Wood, the Quidditch Captain, was busy trying to find a loophole that would stop Harry from playing in the first place, on the grounds of not being registered as part of the squad. He didn't want to take the risk that Ravenclaw House was in possession of a hidden Quidditch superstar that it was about to unleash upon the unsuspecting Gryffindors. It was only when George Weasley pointed out that no member, of any House squad, was formally registered to play that finally led Wood to concede and go back to his restless pacing.
The only person who was cheered by this curious development was one Hermione Granger. She could be found idling around Gryffindor Tower with a blatant smile on her face more often than not, which was a sight as unsettling to the Gryffindors as the one of Harry Potter lining up against them on the Quidditch pitch would be in a few days time. For a happy Hermione Granger was something they weren't quite sure what to do with, an anomaly that they didn't how to act around ... like a chirpy Professor Snape dressed in a fluffy pink cardigan with a matching bonnet or something.
It was simply that weird.
But Hermione was happy alright, almost to the point of being fit to burst with it. For this was all her doing, and she knew that down to the marrow of her bones. It didn't even matter that Gryffindor might suffer a sporting defeat on account of her actions, she'd just have to make up any lost points through her academic performance, if only to appease her House-proud conscience.
No, the only thing that mattered was that Harry Potter was going to play Quidditch, in front of the whole school ... and the only reason for that was because he wanted just one person to see him do it.
"This is all for me ... he wants me to watch him play," Hermione had muttered to herself in something like amazement, when the news was first splashed around a horrified Gryffindor Common Room. "Maybe I've irritated him, which I hope I haven't, or maybe I've spurred him on ... but this is all for my benefit, he's doing this all for me. He's going to go out there and try to impress me!"
And, for the first time in her life, Hermione Granger knew what it was to feel that somebody actually liked her ... that someone felt she was worthy of such an act as this. Harry Potter wanted her good opinion, he wanted Hermione to think well of him ... and the sensation filled her to the brim with something hot and joyous ... and she knew she could easily get addicted to it if she wasn't careful.
So while everyone else around her was antsy and concerned, Hermione found herself unseasonally chipper, though she had to try very hard to hide it, lest she antagonise everyone by being happy for the very same reason that all the others were feeling so morose.
"Is Potter even any good though?" Fred Weasley was asking on Friday evening, as the final confabulation took place in the Gryffindor Common Room on the eve of the big match. "The Claws say he's good, but has anyone actually seen him fly?"
"Does it matter? The rumour is he has a Firebolt!" Ron Weasley whined next to him, the envy clear in his saggy tone. "That would make even an average flier ten times better."
"And it's Harry Potter we're talking about ... he doesn't seem to make a habit of being bad at anything," Dean Thomas mused ruefully.
"He is the perfect build for Seeker, too, have to give him that," Alicia Spinnet mused. "Lithe, nimble ... he'll be like a whippet in the sky."
"Maybe we should try and call the game off," Katie Bell suggested. "We can all pretend to have come down with Dragon Pox, too, just till Chang gets over having the real thing. We can all say that Diggory has been snogging us while his girlfriend is sick. That's not too much of a stretch to believe, is it?"
"Wouldn't be fair on Potter, though," Fay Dunbar cut in. "If he's looking forward to playing, it would be quite cruel to make up a lie just to stop him flying against us."
"But we are trying to stop him flying against us," Fred pointed out.
"Yeah, whose side are you on anyway, Fay?" Angelina Johnson scowled.
"Gryffindor's, of course," Fay shot back. "I'm just saying ... we're supposed to be the 'brave' House, but it looks like we're so terrified of letting Harry Potter play one Quidditch game against us that we're being reduced to dirty tricks to try and stop him. How very Slytherin of us. I say let's see what he's got and try to beat him fair and square."
With her head still turned away from the conversation, Hermione grinned to herself and felt a strange surge of affection for Fay just then. Her emotions were behaving rather rebelliously at the moment. They were being very naughty and not obeying Hermione's usually strict controls over them. How very odd that was.
"Why does Potter suddenly want to play at all though? That's what I want to know," George Weasley went on. "One minute he's quieter than a house-elf, the next thing he wants to be a match winner at Quidditch. What makes a bloke just up and change like that?"
"That's easy, my dumber, uglier twin," Fred smirked. "Either lots of gold, or the promise of victory kisses from a pretty girl. Are there any greater inducements to be had?"
Sat alone at her table nearby, Hermione couldn't help but splutter out a choke at Fred's suggestion. Her pulse thrummed loud in her ears as silence fell over the little group behind her.
"You okay, Mione?" asked Ron.
"Yeah fine," Hermione replied, too thrown to even grimace at the use of her contracted name. She needed to invent an excuse and fast. "Just a Bertie Bott's Bean that went down the wrong way, that's all."
"Ooh, chuck us one while you've got them out, then," Ron urged.
"Sorry ... last one," Hermione invented, surprised at how easily she was able to fib.
"Shame. Save me one next time, yeah? Back to Potter though, I think he just wants to show off, that's why he's playing on Saturday," Ron confidently told his audience. "Flashy broom, chance to get his name in lights ... he seems the type. Even by doing nothing I think he knows he's drawing attention to himself. I bet he loves it, really. I would, if it were me."
Hermione felt her blood pressure tighten in her veins as something powerful rose in her chest ... something distinctly protective. It was so fierce and involuntary that Hermione was powerless against it as it surged through her. She span in her chair and glowered at Ron ... she couldn't help it.
"Harry does not seem the type at all!" Hermione shrieked. "What a nonsense thing to say! He's quiet, keeps himself to himself ... and who could blame him after what he's been through in life? It's the kind of trauma we should all count ourselves lucky that we've never had to suffer. Shame on you, Ron."
"Easy, Hermione, calm down," Seamus cut in. "No-one's saying that Potter hasn't had a rough go of it."
"A rough go! Having your parents murdered in front of you by a Dark Lord is a lot more than a rough go, Seamus," Hermione hissed, waspishly. "How can you possibly suggest that Harry would revel in the attention of something like that?"
"I'm not. All I'm saying is that Ron's got a point," Seamus ploughed on defiantly. "You have to admit that Potter does seem to be a bit of a showman on times."
"Oh does he really?" Hermione scythed, glaring dangerously at Seamus now. "When? I'll admit to it if you can give me one instance of Harry doing it."
"That thing with his Patronus the other day," Seamus cried in triumph. "That's Sixth Year level magic, that is. There cant have been a need for it in your average Defence class at our age. So he must have been playing up to his audience."
"See what I mean?" Ron agreed eagerly. "He's a closet show-off, I'm telling you. Ooh, look at me, I'm Harry Potter, I defeated a Dark Lord and now I can do a fully-corporeal Patronus Charm, too! Wanna see? Pfft ... what a know-it-all."
"I cant believe I'm hearing this!" Hermione cried in a high-pitch.
"That's not how I heard it happened, anyway," Neville Longbottom suddenly chimed in, his voice quiet and nervous. "I'm friends with Daphne Greengrass from Slytherin and she was there. She told me how it was."
Hermione was immediately alert in her seat. "What did you hear, Neville?"
"Well, Moody was doing the same Unforgivable Curse class with DADA Form B as he did with us in Form A," Neville began. "Only he was using the Imperius to show how easily he could influence the human mind. He had Michael Corner do a tap-dance show, he made Crabbe and Goyle think they were sisters, and coaxed Pansy Parkinson to climb up onto a window ledge as if she was going to throw herself out.
"Then, when it came to Potter, he wanted to show how he could cripple an enemy by making them think they were seeing their worst fear. But apparently he had heard that Potter could do a Patronus and he wanted to see it for himself. So instead of breaking into his mind, he released an actual Boggart from his desk."
"And what did the Boggart turn into?" Ron asked.
"A Dementor, obviously, otherwise why would there be a need to cast a Patronus?" Neville replied with a dismissive frown and a little shiver. "Potter is terrified of them, apparently. Remember when the horde of them came to that Quidditch match last year? Well, rumour has it that Potter was so overwhelmed by their effects that he actually blacked out and collapsed. The Claws hushed it up ... said he'd lost his footing and hit his head while they were celebrating scoring in the match, but they hurried him away from the stands pretty quick before anyone could start gossiping. Or so I heard."
Hermione felt her heart pump hard in her chest, which was rising and falling rapidly now. Poor Harry! She'd never known that about him and her mind was a little frantic with this new knowledge. This protective thing inside her was growing in strength, almost fighting to burst out.
All it would take was one more thoughtless comment ...
"Who faints after seeing a Dementor?" Cormac McLaggen suddenly scoffed from an armchair close by. "What a wet wipe Potter must be. I mean, none of us are fond of Dementors, but fainting? What a big girl's blouse!"
"None of you had your parents murdered by Voldemort in front of your very eyes, did you!" Hermione cried shrilly.
Everyone suddenly fell deathly silent and turned to watch. No-one had ever said the 'V-Word' in here and the effect caused mass muteness ... and the fact that it was Hermione Granger who had shouted it so passionately only served to ratchet up the tension that much more ... a tension which now saturated the air of the Gryffindor Common Room like a viscous cloud.
"It's like some big joke to you all, isn't it?" Hermione shrieked on. "Harry had his mother butchered in cold blood right next to him when he was just a year old ... he might even hear her screams when a Dementor gets close to him for all we know! And yet you all sit there and mock him like a bunch of heartless cretins.
"Well you know what? I hope Harry Potter beats you all tomorrow. No ... I hope he hammers you out on that Quidditch pitch! I hope he catches the Snitch in record time and makes fools out of every last one of you. It will serve you all right for treating his horrors with such contempt and ridicule. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. You're a collective disgrace to this House and I'm mortified to be considered as one of you right now."
And with that, Hermione angrily snatched up her things and marched across the stunned, silent Common Room, as hot furious tears sprang from her eyes.
***
It was a good hour before someone was courageous enough to check on Hermione, to see if she had calmed down yet. It was Fay Dunbar who braved the gauntlet of Hermione's ire, as the latter witch knew it would be. She had been busy pulling a brush angrily through her tangled hair as she prepared for bed, pulling so hard in fact that clumps were being ripped painfully from her scalp. It was only when Crookshanks hissed fiercely at her to stop that Hermione finally put down her instrument of self-torture.
"Hey, are you alright?" Fay asked cautiously from the doorway. "How are you doing?"
"Fine," Hermione huffed back bluntly. "Everyone having a good natter about me downstairs, are they?"
"Well, you cant blame them," Fay confirmed. "It was a pretty good way to make yourself the topic of conversation. Anything on your mind?"
"Nothing."
"I might believe that, if the definition of 'nothing' had suddenly been changed to something," Fay smirked, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"How about explaining your outburst earlier, then?"
"That was fairly self-explanatory, I think."
"Maybe," Fay agreed. "Apart from all this business of you suddenly calling Harry Potter by his first name and screeching at the entire Common Room over a dispute about him. I didn't think anyone in the school knew him well enough to call him 'Harry', certainly not well enough for him to allow someone to do that. But you seem comfortable enough to. What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on," Hermione muttered evasively. "I just thought it was terrible the way people were talking about him, that's all. It got me upset, alright? That's all it was."
"Your problem, Hermione, is that you are too decent a witch for your own good sometimes ... it means you are rubbish when you try to lie," Fay quirked lowly.
"I'm not lying," Hermione protested weakly. "I just don't like the discord. We should be nicer to each other, especially to people from other Houses."
"You may be right, but perhaps you should just sign up to the Hogwarts Lonely Hearts Club and give the yelling at people a miss!" Fay teased. "You don't want everyone to think you've gone mental."
Hermione allowed herself a shy grin at that. "I was pretty bad, wasn't I?"
"Pretty bad. But McLaggen deserved it. He's such an oaf!"
"Thanks, Fay, for coming to check on me," Hermione muttered. "I appreciate it. Really."
"That's alright. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I am, so thanks."
"Alright, I'm going to go back down then, see what gossip about you I've missed," Fay smirked. She stood up and moved to the door, turning back just before she left. "You know, it was good to see some proper emotion from you for a change, Hermione. Sometimes we wonder if you've got any at all, but now we know that you do. And you know what else? It suited you.
"So do me a favour ... tell Harry Potter thank you, for waking that up in you, when you next see him. I think I'm going to prefer this version of you. Night, hun."
And then she went away, leaving Hermione open mouthed and beyond rattled at the things Fay had suggested.
***
And it was the prospect of seeing Harry Potter that drew the entire school - as well as all the visiting students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons - to the Quidditch stadium early on Saturday afternoon, where the atmosphere of excited anticipation was soon swelling from every seat and terrace. The novelty value was just that high and Hermione wondered, as she saw the sullen boy take a seat nearby in the stand, whether the participation of the famous Viktor Krum himself would have been enough to generate such interest.
Hermione found the whole thing terribly amusing. The paranoia from within the Gryffindor ranks was reaching fever pitch by the time of the game and she tried not to laugh at the comments raining all around her, as she took her seat at the back of the nominally Gryffindor-biased stand.
"They say Potter took Dark Magic from You-Know-Who and can fly at a hundred miles an hour!"
"I heard he's half-spider, and the Snitch will stick to his palms!"
"Did you see him looking at the House Point Hourglass this morning? I bet he was just working out how many points he needs to let the Claws get before he sends us to oblivion!"
And all this for a boy who none of them had seen play. Hermione hoped for Harry's sake that he was as good as Luna claimed, otherwise this could go very sour for him.
Speaking of Luna ...
"Hello, Hermione. Do you mind if I sit with you today? Everywhere else is full."
Hermione looked over, and her eyes shot into her eyebrows in surprise ... for Luna was wearing a hat donned with a life-sized stuffed eagle on top for good measure. Its wings were spread wide and it was a good job that no-one was sat behind them or they'd have had no chance of seeing the action. Hermione simply grinned broadly as she looked at it.
"Of course you can. Hop up," Hermione invited, scooting aside to make room and patting the bench next to her. "Nice hat, by the way."
"Oh thanks! I made it myself," Luna beamed in reply. "If I'd have known ahead of time, I could have made you one, too."
"Maybe next time," Hermione grinned.
Just then the teams began to walk out onto the pitch, accompanied by Madam Hooch. Hermione felt a nervous little tingle in her throat ... she'd left Harry a good luck card on his hook in the changing room and she wondered if he'd gotten it or not. It was too far away to see his expression from this distance, but something else was more clearly on display.
"Oh no ... it's true then!" Ron Weasley was moaning from a few rows in front. "Potter has got a Firebolt."
There were collective groans from the Gryffindors around him as they noticed this, too.
"Just look at it ... it's beautiful," Ron whined on. "The torque, the grip, the balance ... you can see it from here! Potter is barely even touching it and it isn't moving an inch."
"And that's more of a touch on a Firebolt than you'll ever get, Weasel-king," Draco Malfoy drawled. "I'm surprised you even recognise one, you know."
"Shouldn't you be in the Slytherin pit with all the other snakes, Malfoy?" Lavender Brown hissed.
"Yeah," Ron nodded back, but he couldn't resist the bait. "But what are you surprised at? I know my brooms as well as anyone."
"No, it's not that," Malfoy replied, silkily. "I'm just surprised that you know how to read, Weasley ... because that's the only way you could know anything about a broom like the Firebolt. That requires money, you know, something that your family seems to be allergic to by all accounts."
Ron flushed red right up into his ginger roots. "I don't know what you're so smug about, Malfoy. I notice that Daddy Lucy hasn't bought you a Firebolt yet. What's the matter ... is he still mad that forking out for seven Nimbus' to buy you onto the Slytherin team still hasn't yielded a Quidditch Cup win yet? What a disappointment you must be."
"He'd buy me one if I asked for it," Malfoy returned, coolly. "Which is more than your father could say. The Firebolt tail-twigs alone would easily fetch more than your whole house, not to mention being far more structurally secure."
"Will you two shut up!" Hermione snapped from behind them. "The game is about to start and we don't want you bickering all the way through it!"
Several people applauded around them, and Lavender Brown leaned in to Parvati Patil to whisper with her. "Since when is Hermione interested in Quidditch? Have you even seen her at a game before?"; "No, I think this is her first time ..."; "She's behaving very peculiar, you know. Maybe we should have a word with Pomfrey ..."
And then the game lifted off to a raucous ovation. There were fourteen players plus one referee, but all eyes were fixed on the same individual ... and the crowd were not disappointed with what they soon saw.
For it quickly became apparent that Harry Potter did fly well ... in fact, he flew brilliantly. He rose with grace and elegance on his Firebolt, turning and twisting it with expertly controlled movements. He circled above the game like a hawk, orbiting the stadium as the game progressed beneath him. Demelza, the Gryffindor Seeker, had decided the best bet was to follow him, just in case he led her to the Snitch.
But Harry noticed this at once and decided to have some fun with it. Angling himself flat against his broom, he shot off like a dart, drawing admiring whoops as he gunned past the stands like a royal blue blur, lapping the stadium and almost catching up to poor Demelza from behind as he did so.
"He's showing me how fast he can go, so I'll know what I'll be up against if we race," Hermione thought to herself, as she watched Harry speed past. "I'll never be able to escape him if he wants to catch me."
And then, for the first time, Hermione thought it might not be such a bad thing to be caught ... not if Harry Potter was the one in pursuit of her. That made her cheeks flush and she hoped nobody would notice.
She was in luck on that front, for everyone still only had eyes for Harry in the game. Hardly anyone even knew what the score was, and the appreciation for Harry's broomsmanship was even drawing applause from the Gryffindors now.
"Wow! Did you see that?" Ron Weasley cried in amazement. "That was some move! Poor Demelza has got no chance up there."
For Harry had just shot straight through a crowd of Chasers at high speed, narrowly missing each one but utterly in control of what he was doing. He was like an eagle hunting prey, one who had pre-planned his flight path through a clutch of obstacles and was simply too skilled to be in any danger of colliding with a single one of them.
Which couldn't be said for hapless Demelza, who tried to copy Harry's action but instead smashed right into Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, sending them spiralling away and allowing Roger Davies to grab the Quaffle and score again.
Harry then decided that enough was enough. As though he'd known where the Snitch was the whole time, he flattened himself to his broom and took off at hyper velocity, rising high at first and then shooting into a sharp dive as the crowd got to their feet to watch and cheer. At almost ground level, Harry straightened his broom as he caught up to the Snitch, before casually reaching out as the golden ball was at his hip and closing his fingers tightly around it. The act was so nonchalant that it almost looked as though Harry had simply slipped the Snitch into his pocket and not caught it at all.
But then he flew up to Madam Hooch and calmly presented the subdued Snitch as proof of victory. The referee blew her whistle, Lee Jordan glumly announced the end of the match, and the Ravenclaws erupted from all over the stadium. They were soon joined by almost every other student as Harry flew high, high into the sky and seemed to just sit very still above the noise, which most surely had risen even to his level.
For a moment, Hermione watched and, like most everyone in the stadium, thought Harry would explode in some grand gesture of victory. But he didn't. He just hovered there, quite still, as the raucous Ravenclaw team, circled around him, above and below him. They fist-pumped and cheered and slapped each other on the back, while at the same time giving Harry a respectful distance and making up for his modesty by upping the level of their own exuberance.
It was almost as if they were doing his celebrating for him.
And that's when a realisation hit Hermione hard. "Harry doesn't like to be touched ... he doesn't want anyone to, even his team-mates. Even at a moment like this!" She breathed hard to herself, her chest heaving as she did so. "That's how I'll know, then ... that's how I'll know for sure ..."
And with that, her heart still cartwheeling in her chest, Hermione rose slowly and demurely, before filing away from the stadium to 'mourn' the humbling defeat with the other members of Gryffindor House.
***
That night, in the dark of the Ravenclaw Common Room, long after the last stragglers of the vibrant victory party had gone to bed, Harry sat alone and quiet in a shadowy corner and reached into the pocket of his robes. He'd been allowed to keep the Golden Snitch, as a memento of a début victory catch, though it wouldn't remain in his possession for very long.
After all, it wasn't for himself that he'd caught the damned thing.
Now, the golden casing of all Snitches were etched with the words 'I Open At The Close,' which usually referred to the end of the career of the Seeker who first caught it. Inside, there was special ruby which powered the Snitch, the secret of which was closely guarded by the alchemists who manufactured them. When the Seeker retired from competitive play, the first Snitch they caught would open and the ruby would be turned into a commemorative ring, using the casing as a gold band. The ring was then presented to the Seeker as a memorial of their success.
So for Harry, who had made it clear that he had no intention of making his Quidditch participation a regular thing, his competitive career was effectively over after just one game. So he took out the Snitch, held it in his palm, and waited for the inevitable.
Which duly came, as the casing snapped open and the ruby presented itself from inside.
But Harry didn't take the stone out. Instead, he reached down onto the desk in front of him and picked up a tiny letter, one he had resized to fit snugly inside the golden ball. He placed this carefully inside, along with a whimsical extra gift, then closed the casing up once again. The wings slowly began to beat, as though surprised they were still able to, but Harry wasn't quite finished.
Taking his wand, he touched it to the Snitch, looked down at the Homing Charm instruction, that he was reading by the moonlight from one of the long windows, and muttered the incantation. The Snitch glowed scarlet a moment against it's gold, which was enough for Harry to believe that the thing would at least know where it was going. Then it just sat there waiting to be released.
"But how will she know how to open it?" Harry pondered quietly. Then an idea came to him and he grinned widely. "Yes, that'll work."
So he lifted his wand again, and began to slowly re-transfigure the etching on the case. Chuckling at the alteration, Harry moved to the window, opened it slightly, then flung the Snitch into the darkness, watching until it vanished around the turrets of Ravenclaw Tower.
***
Hermione was roused from a light sleep not long later. She awoke to a mouthful of pussy-hair, and spluttered as she tried to get up and push her way to clean air.
"Crookshanks! What are you doing!" she whispered in a hiss. "I'm trying to ... what's that you've got there? Give it to me. Drop!"
Hoping that it wasn't another dead mouse-gift, and buoyed by the fact that she couldn't smell any blood, Hermione lit her wand in the safety of her curtain-drawn bed and reached out for the object that Crookshanks was carrying in his mouth. One wing of the capture was flapping away futilely, but it fell still as soon as Hermione's fingertips touched it.
"What in the world? It's a Snitch!" Hermione hushed to herself. "Why would I ... oh ... Harry!"
Hermione sat up fully in bed and pulled her blankets up to her chin, completely awake now with eager excitement. This must have been Harry's reply to her letter, but how to open it?
As if obeying her unvoiced request, the pliant Snitch rotated in Hermione's palm so that the etching was facing her. She angled the light beam of her wand so that she could read it.
"I Open At Your Nose," Hermione read curiously. "What does that mean? Hmm ... I wonder ..."
Feeling distinctly foolish, but driven by her keenness, Hermione lifted the Snitch to her nose and curiously sniffed at it. Immediately, the casing snapped open and the letter popped out, resizing to a readable shape as it fell into her lap. Hermione burst out a shocked laugh as it did, causing one of the other girls to shush her from across the room.
Ignoring the complainer completely, Hermione picked open the envelope and swiftly unfolded the letter to read by wand-light.
Hi Hermione
So ... how did I do? Am I worthy of your consideration then? Am I allowed to chase you now?
I know what you did there, by the way ... I'm not totally oblivious. But I was too impressed by your subtle manipulation that I went along with it anyway. You are more tricksy than I imagined, but I'm sort of delighted that you are. It makes this so much more fun!
I really enjoyed the match, so thank you for prompting me to do it. I could pretend to be reticent about the hammering we handed out to your sorry excuse for a Quidditch team though, but I'm really not and I don't want you to think of me as a dishonest sort! I'm just teasing, by the way. You're probably upset by the loss and it's a pity that I had to resort to such schemes to prove my worthiness of you ... of your challenge, I mean. If there had been a better way to do it, without devastating you and your House I'd have taken it, but you laid down the gauntlet and have only yourself to blame, Miss Granger!
Now we just have to plan this race you promised me.
I spoke to Luna at lunch yesterday and she told me how kind you'd been, when she mentioned to you that people steal her belongings. It really irritates the hell out of me, and I've had more than one row about it with people in my House. Can I ask you a favour? If you hear of anyone in Gryffindor coming into possession of any of Luna's things, could you please let me know? I don't want you to get directly involved, but if you just slip me a name I can take care of punishing the culprit myself. That would really mean a lot to me, thanks.
I meant what I said about trusting my instincts where you are concerned, and each letter I've gotten from you has only reinforced that conviction. You are nicer and kinder than I would ever have imagined. I know that sounds horrible on my part, for judging you so badly in the first place, but I feel sort of gutted that it's taken me this long to learn the truth about who you really are. I'm just extremely glad that I know now, and lucky for it, too.
Just don't tell many other people ... I kind of like being the only one who knows.
As for my past, try not to get too upset about it. Like I said, it isn't a pretty picture, but being angry about it wont change that. I'm away from my Aunt and Uncle now and looking forward to a normal life with my Godfather, if you can have a normal life in a Magical society living with a convicted mass-murderer whose family was heavily into Dark Magic.
Honestly, you should see the house we live in ... gloomy isn't the word. Do you like decapitated troll's legs for umbrella stands, mounted elf heads and paintings that scream abuse at you when you walk past? If you do, I have plenty spare at home and you're welcome to any or all of them. My project over the Christmas holidays will be to brighten up the place ... committing arson on the whole blasted interior is my working plan. Fire is bright and shiny, after all! It'll do nicely for a start.
I will make you a promise, though, if you insist on knowing about my childhood ... when we know each other well enough, I'll tell you some things about it if you want, but only in person. It isn't the kind of thing I want to write to you about, but I will talk to you about it if we reach that stage of our friendship. Can I call you a friend yet? Do you mind? I know it's been only just over a week since this started, but I'm going to think of you as one from now on, if that's alright with you. And not just a pen friend, but a real one too. That's if you're okay with that.
It's sort of odd, isn't it, that since we started writing to each other we haven't spoken once? I was thinking about that earlier and realised how peculiar that was. I blame Krum. He ruins the ambiance of the library so I haven't been going there as much. Not that there are any books left, if you've checked out all the good ones.
On a side note, I knew about Gillyweed. I read the Water Plants books the night the essay was set. You have to get up early to beat me, Hermione! I wrote down some personal observations in the margins, I hope you didn't rub them out. Are you combusting with the horror yet? Have I touched a nerve? Gillyweed works better if you can press it directly to a nerve, you know? Causes the gills to form more quickly. That's just a freebie, just in case you furiously un-defaced my careful defacing of the textbook!
You and those quill nibs! You're a menace to stationery, I swear. Either that or you are the best customer in the history of Flourish and Blotts. Do you know what I realised when I read that you'd broken another quill? I realised that I unconsciously got into the habit of packing spare nibs whenever I went to study in the library, because I just knew you'd ask for one at some point if you were there. I should start my own supply line, make a bit of gold on the side, you know? Even if you were my only customer it would prove a lucrative venture.
Talking about gold on the side, I'm sending you this letter in the Snitch I caught today. They let me keep it, but I don't really know what I'd do with it to be honest. I caught it for you ... or to prove to you that I could fly a bit ... so it's yours, really, if you want it. You've obviously managed to open it, as you're reading the letter, and if you look inside you'll see I've enclosed my last quill nib, just in case you need one to pen your reply. I'll have to stock up when I next go to Hogsmeade.
Oh, and you can keep the ruby, too, if you like. I've not got a great history with enchanted red stones have I, so I sort of think I should steer well clear of them, don't you?!
Well, as you ended your last letter by telling me a secret, I should probably do that, too. Perhaps that could be a trend ... we each tell each other one secret, or one thing that other people don't know about us, in every letter? As soon as we run out, we'll know each other so well that when the time comes for us to meet in person, it will be like we've known each other forever.
So here's mine for this letter ... and it's a risky one. This is actually a bit of test, to see just how truthful your offer to 'know me' really is. Ready? Here goes.
I'm a Parselmouth. I can speak to snakes. I learned that I could do it on a trip to the zoo when I was eleven. Then, during our Second Year, I made a pet out of a Basilisk I met in the Chamber of Secrets under Hogwarts. Oh, that's actually two secrets, isn't it? I also know where the Chamber of Secrets is and how to get inside. Or is it three, as I told you that I have a pet Basilisk that lives under the school?
Scared off yet?
If you don't reply, I'll know what it means.
Goodnight Hermione.