"It's so easy for them to get to you two!" Hermione fumed as she read the latest edition of the Prophet and walked down the corridor with Potter and I at the same time. "You're bloody lucky you weren't killed. You have to realize who you both are."
"I know who I am, Hermione, alright?" Potter snapped. Then he looked at her and mumbled, "Sorry." I stayed silent.
We turned around a corner to see Weasley and Lavender, sitting on a window seat together. Lavender was giggling atrociously and Weasley was smiling, but it looked like it was taking him some effort.
"Lav, come on. Of course I'll wear it," Weasley said reluctantly.
Lavender squealed and clasped a silver chain around his neck that bore a charm reading Won-Won + Lav.
"That's my Won-Won," she squealed, then hugged his arm like a two year old.
"Excuse me, I have to go and vomit," Hermione muttered, turning away and walking back where we came from.
"Bye," I said to Potter grimly, who was watching the scene in front of him with something very much like terror on his face.
He turned to me, suddenly looking pale. "You'll never give me a necklace that says Har-Har + Alexandra, right?" He asked.
I managed a small laugh. "Let's hope we never get to that point." Then I went to follow Hermione, making sure she wasn't actually throwing up. The possibility was probable.
I was sitting on a couch in the slowly emptying common room, waiting for Potter to get back from yet another meeting with Dumbledore. I waited for him every night to hear how they went, but it was always the same. Tom Riddle in the orphanage, Tom Riddle tormenting children, Tom Riddle killing a little girl's rabbit. Just the usual.
Today, though, when Potter rushed in, he looked around frantically for me. Immediately I knew something new had happened. Dumbledore had shown him another memory—an important one.
"Alexandra," he gasped. It looked like he had run all the way back. "Dumbledore's told me what I need to get from Slughorn."
And so for the next hour we talked about Dumbledore's most recent memory. Potter told me that Tom Riddle and multiple other boys were sitting around a table in Slughorn's office, much like we had during the dinner parties Slughorn had with us this year. Tom Riddle was sixteen.
Potter said that the sixteen year old version of Voldemort had stayed after the dinner, talking about an "odd bit of rare magic" he had found in the Restricted Section of the library. Tom Riddle had began to say what the piece of magic was called, but then his voice went muffled, like he was speaking underwater.
Slughorn apparently started shouting, saying that he had never heard of the magic and that he never wanted Tom Riddle to speak of it again. Then the memory ended.
After Potter had viewed the memory, Dumbledore explained that it was one of Slughorn's own, and it had been tampered with. Potter asked why, but Dumbledore wouldn't give him a straight answer. Then he told Potter that he needed to persuade Slughorn to give him the real memory, and the meeting was over.
"That's terrible," I finally said when Potter finished. "He wouldn't even tell you why you couldn't fail getting this memory? He just said the weight of the world was on your shoulders, don't mess up?"
"Pretty much," Potter agreed grimly. "But tomorrow, I'm going to figure it out. Tomorrow I'll go and get the memory from him, and this can all be done with."
"I hope it'll be that simple," I said, but we both knew that was wishful thinking.
For a few minutes the two of us simply sat with each other, staring dejectedly into the dying fire. Potter had an impossible task. If he found a way to succeed, it would only benefit Dumbledore. If he failed, he would be blamed completely. It wasn't the most ideal situation.
Suddenly Potter said quietly, "I appreciate it, you know. How you're always waiting here to let me talk about everything."
"It's in my job description," I smiled.
"Seriously." He slipped his hand into mine. "It means a lot."
I was slapped with the realization that if I leaned in any further, our noses would be touching. I was suddenly hit with an overwhelming, albeit hilarious, sense of déjà vu.
"This feels a lot like the night of the second task in fourth year, doesn't it?" I whispered.
"How do you do that?" He asked.
"Do what?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Read my mind," he replied seriously.
I grinned, and he kissed me. His lips were soft and light as I cupped the side of his face with my hand. We were leaning back against the couch arm when there were sudden, thundering footsteps from my right, quickly followed by a yelp.
The two of us broke apart to see Weasley with a hand slapped over his eyes, neck bright red. The scene was so ironic, I had to laugh.
"Again, Weasley?" I asked with humor in my voice.
"Get a room," he mumbled, spinning around and walking back up the stairs, covering his eyes the entire way. I wasn't surprised when he banged into the wall trying to enter his dorm again.
"I love him, but he needs to start going to bed earlier," Potter grimaced.
I chuckled quietly and rested my head on his shoulder. "You think we could stay down here for a little longer?"
"I think my explanation to Weasley can be spared a minute," Potter replied nonchalantly.
I curled up against him, letting my eyelids droop to the sound of the fire crackling and the smell of raspberries and broom polish. All I wanted was to forget about everything and stay here forever, wrapped up in Potter's arms.
But the most ideal situations were also always the most unrealistic.
I had been having a conversation with Ginny and some of her fifth year friends at the Gryffindor table when I realized the time, and that half the people in the Great Hall were already gone. I made hasty goodbyes and left for the common room, unsure if tonight was a meeting night for Potter and Dumbledore or not.
When the portrait door swung open, I was met with the usual crowd of mostly older kids that hung around at this time. In one of the corners of the room were Weasley and Potter, while Hermione was nowhere to be found. I guess Lavender had been around recently. Weasley was sitting cross-legged on the ground while Potter stood next to him.
As I stepped closer to them, I noticed something was off. Potter looked concerned, and Weasley's expression appeared to be Luna's normal dreamy one, which was a hilarious sight on his face. He was staring out the window in only his pajamas, looking a little paler than usual.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Weasley asked giddily. "The moon?"
"Divine," Potter responded.
I raised my eyebrows and looked at Potter questioningly. "Who gave him a concussion?" I asked.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he replied. Then he looked at Weasley again and asked, "Had ourselves a little late night snack, did we?"
"It was on your bed, Harry, the box," Weasley said hurriedly, suddenly standing from the floor and rushing towards us. "I'd just thought I'd try one. Or twenty. I can't stop thinking about her, Harry."
I couldn't believe he was still raving on about Lavender Brown. "Honestly, I reckoned she was starting to annoy you," I said.
"She could never annoy me," he gasped animatedly, looking at me as if offended. Then he got real close to Potter and grabbed both of his arms. "I think I love her!" He exclaimed, nodding furiously.
Potter pulled away slowly. "Well... brilliant," he said, glancing at me pleadingly. I was completely lost.
Weasley turned his head and stared out the completely dark window again with a huge, happy smile on his face. "Do you think she knows I exist?" He asked hopefully.
"I hope so," I replied. "She's been snogging you for three months."
Weasley furrowed his brows at me, the smile vanished from his face. "Snogging? Who are you talking about?"
"Who are you talking about?" I repeated back to him, now utterly confused.
"Romilda, of course," Weasley replied, his face softening when he said her name. "Romilda Vane."
"Okay, very funny," Potter smiled.
Weasley took the empty chocolate box container he had been eating out of from the mini table beside him and chucked it at Potter. It bounced off his ear, and Potter shouted out.
"Hey, what was that for?" He demanded.
"It's no joke!" Weasley insisted. "I'm in love with her!"
"Alright, fine, you're in love with her," Potter said, astonished. "Have you ever actually met her?"
"No," Weasley realized. Then he looked up, eyes shining. "Could you introduce me?" Without waiting for an answer he floated over to the window again and sat down, the dreamy expression back on his face.
Potter and I shared a glance, and then my eyes caught on something on the floor that appeared to be a card. I picked it up and examined it. On the inside was an image of Romilda Vane, blowing a kiss to whoever was unfortunate enough to see it.
I grimaced and handed it to Potter. He looked it over and quickly covered a snort with his hand.
"I forgot about these," he said. "They were the chocolates Hermione warned me were spiked with love potion."
I crossed my arms over my chest moodily. "I've never liked Vane," I decided firmly.
Potter smiled cheekily at me before grabbing Weasley's arm and hauling him up. "Come on, Ron. I'm going to introduce you to Romilda Vane."
When we reached Slughorn's office, Potter stopped and looked at me. "Slughorn and I aren't on the best terms right now. Let's hope that when he sees Weasley, it'll be enough."
I glanced at Weasley, who was currently humming a romantic tune under his breath and swaying to the beat. "If he isn't reason enough, I don't think anything will be."
Potter knocked, and the metal slot that I could have sworn was only just recently installed slid open. The top half of Slughorn's head peaked out, but his face fell when he saw Potter.
"I'm sorry, sir, I wouldn't bother you if it weren't absolutely essential," Potter assured. Next to him, Weasley started twirling like a ballerina.
"What's the matter with Wenby?" Slughorn asked.
"Very powerful love potion," I whispered.
Weasley chose that moment to very helpfully ask, "Where's Romilda?"
"Very well," Slughorn sighed. "Better bring him in."
There was the sound of many locks being opened, and then the door swung inwards. Slughorn was standing there, still in his robes despite the time of night, already opening one of his many cases.
"I'd have thought you could whip up a remedy for this in no time, Harry," Slughorn said as he began pulling out ingredients.
"Well, I thought this called for a more practiced hand, sir," Potter replied.
Weasley hugged Slughorn around the middle, muttering, "Hello darling. Fancy a drink?" I tried to hide my grin as I pulled Weasley away and led him to one of the puffy armchairs.
"Perhaps you're right," Slughorn agreed.
"I'm sorry, by the way, professor," Potter said. "About earlier—our misunderstanding." I assumed he was talking about one of his many failed attempts to get the original memory from Slughorn.
"Oh, not at all," Slughorn replied easily. "All water under the bridge, you know?"
"Well, I expect you're tired after all these years," Potter continued as I tried to get Weasley down from the top of the chair. "All the questions about Voldemort."
"Don't use that name," Slughorn said, voice raised, pausing completely for a moment.
Weasley fell off the back of the chair with a thud. When Slughorn and Potter looked back at me I raised my hands in the air defensively. "I tried," I protested.
Once Weasley was finally seated upright again with minimal injuries, Slughorn handed him a glass with the antidote. "There you are, old boy. Bottoms up," he urged.
"What's this?" Weasley asked ecstatically.
"Tonic, for the nerves," Slughorn replied simply.
Weasley grinned and downed it all in one gulp. Immediately his face fell and the color disappeared from his cheeks. He looked like a flower that had wilted in a matter of seconds. Even his flaming hair appeared duller.
"What happened to me?" He asked, sounding absolutely exhausted.
"Love potion," Potter smiled at him.
"And a bloody strong one at that," Slughorn added.
"It was pretty funny while it lasted," I commented.
"I feel really, really bad," Weasley said in disbelief.
"You need a pick-me-up, my boy," Slughorn decided, now filling four glasses with some warm colored liquid from a wrapped bottle. "I had other intentions for this," he said. "But I think, given the circumstances..."
He handed a glass to each of us, and Weasley began drinking his immediately.
"To life!" Slughorn toasted Potter and I.
Beside me, Weasley collapsed to the ground. Before I realized what had happened he started twitching and writhing on the ground, white foam spilling out of his mouth. Potter and I fell to our knees on either side of him, shaking his arms and shouting his name. My drink lay forgotten, spilled across the rug.
"Professor, do something!" I screamed.
Slughorn only stood there, frozen. "I- I don't understand!" He said, not doing anything besides watch Weasley slowly choke on his office floor.
Potter shot to his feet, running over to Slughorn's case and rummaging through it's drawers. Meanwhile, Weasley's pulse was slowing. His breaths were becoming scarce, and his veins bulged against his neck as he jerked.
"Potter, hurry," I yelled.
Potter ran back over and shoved a small brown rock down Weasley's throat. I put a hand on his chest, feeling desperately for a heartbeat, an inch of movement, anything. I thought distantly of what we would have to tell Hermione if Weasley died, and I didn't think I could bear it.
The second we waited over Weasley's body felt like the longest of my life. Then finally, miraculously, Weasley's chest contracted. He gave a great, gasping cough and propped himself up on his elbows shakily.
Potter and I backed away, and I tried to stop the dizzy spinning of my head. Next to me, Potter was taking deep, frantic breaths.
"These girls," Weasley muttered weakly. "They're gonna kill me." Then he lowered himself back onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling in shock.
I felt just as bad as he looked, and Weasley looked pretty bad.