|HARRY POTTER'S P.O.V|
"And I'm not leaving him," Alexandria Weasley finalized.
The ginger witch was leant over her unconscious brother, her small arms wrapped around his upper body — which she was supporting on her lap.
"All right," I nodded, deciding against arguing because her decision may not only be better for Ron but also safer for her.
And so, after casting one last desperate look at the two siblings, Hermione and I charged down the cleared path. We continued through the door and halfway up the next passageway before either of us spoke again.
"What if he's —?"
"He'll be all right," I immediately dismissed Hermione's suggestion, trying to convince the both of us with my assurance. "What do you reckon's next?"
"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Snape's. . . ."
"All right?" I whispered, once we had reached another door.
"Go on."
I pushed against the heavy wood, swinging it open to reveal another room. Almost immediately, a disgusting smell infiltrated our nostrils — our eyes watered as we pulled our robes up over our noses in an attempt to block it out, only to see a troll (this one larger than the one we had tackled on Halloween) flat on the floor before us with a bloody lump on its head.
"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," I kept my voice hushed as we stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. "Come on, I can't breathe."
I pulled open the next door, which was identical to every other one we had passed through that evening, hardly daring to glimpse at whatever came next — but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.
"Snape's," I acknowledged, glancing at the bushy-haired witch beside me. "What do we have to do?"
The moment we had stepped over the threshold, a purple-flamed fire instantly ignited behind us in the doorway. The two of us were forced into the middle of the room, for a contrasting black fire had sprang to life in the doorway leading onward — we were trapped.
"Look!" Hermione had seized a roll of parchment lying next to the bottles, which I peered over her shoulder to read:
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
Hermione let out a sudden, great sigh that forced my attention away from the scroll and to her instead. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as I glanced down at her, my emerald eyes shifting between her and the slanted words. I was amazed to find that she was smiling, which (in that moment) was the very last thing I felt like doing.
"Brilliant," she said. "This isn't magic — it's logic — a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."
"But so will we, won't we?"
"Of course not," She dismissed, her warm brown eyes skimming through the poem once more. "Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison, two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple."
"But how do we know which to drink?"
"Give me a minute."
I did as she requested, watching as she read the paper several more times. After a few moments, she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them.
"Got it," She finally announced, clapping her hands. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire — toward the Stone."
"There's only enough there for one of us," I noticed, eyeing the tiny bottle. "That's hardly one swallow."
We gazed at one another, before I opened my mouth to speak again, "Which one will get you back through the purple flames?"
Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.
"You drink that," I said, grabbing the small bottle and holding it firmly within my closed hand. "No, listen, get back to Ria and Ron. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy — go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm no match for him, really."
"But, Harry — what if You-Know-Who's with him?"
"Well — I was lucky once, wasn't I?" I pointed at the lightening-shaped scar carved into my forehead. "I might get lucky again."
The girl's lip trembled for a moment, before she suddenly dashed towards me and threw her arms around me. My emerald eyes widened as I froze within her embrace, unsure of how to react. I slowly wrapped my free arm around her (the one that's hand was not clutching the bottle), and patted her back awkwardly.
"Hermione!"
"Harry — you're a great wizard, you know."
"I'm not as good as you," My pale cheeks warmed as the girl released me, alerting me that they were flushing pink with embarrassment.
"Me!" She repeated with a scoff. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and — oh, Harry — be careful!"
"You drink first," I said, watching as she selected the round bottle at the end. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?"
"Positive," She nodded, before taking a long drink from the bottle — her small frame shuddered from what I assumed was its taste.
"It's not poison?" I asked anxiously, as if expecting for the girl to drop on the floor.
"No — but it's like ice."
"Quick, go, before it wears off."
"Good luck — take care —"
"GO!"
|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|
"Ron?"
My voice, no matter how hushed, echoed throughout the large room — bouncing off of the stone walls to fill the deafening silence. I had been sat in the same spot for what felt like hours, but I knew deep within that it was probably only forty or so minutes.
Time seems to drag when you are alone, or at least that is what I would come to conclude.
My legs had long since fallen asleep, lost their feeling from not only my uncomfortably knelt position but also from the weight of my brother rested upon them. I had thought about lifting his head gently, in an attempt to stretch out my limbs and regain some feeling, but had decided against it in fear of somehow hurting him further.
I fixated my blue gaze on Ron's relaxed facial features, studying how calming he seemed to be in such a problematic state of numbness. My fingers were delicate as they ran through his soft locks of ginger hair, moving them away from his forehead whilst continuously monitoring the steady rising and falling of his chest.
I hummed a tune under my breath, in need of hearing anything other than his shallow exhales.
I could feel the iciness of the hard floor beneath me even through my uniform, the unforgiving cold managing to seep through the heavy material of my schoolrobes and skirt. And yet, I was not sure which was more chilling — the stone floor or the emptiness of the chamber. Because of this, I was glad for my brother (even if he was unresponsive). For, if there was one thing Ronald Weasley could provide, it was warm comfort.
"Alexandria!"
Another, familiar voice filled the room — the unexpectedness of which made me jump, and therefore unintentionally jerk my otherwise-motionless twin.
"Hermione?" My nose scrunched in confusion when the bushy-haired witch came bounding back through the door, this time alone — her bespectacled accompany was no where to be seen. "Where's Harry?"
"He continued on," She panted, collapsing on the floor beside Ron and I. "The last challenge was Snape's — but it wasn't magic, it was logic — there were seven potions; three were poison, two were wine, one allowed the drinker to continue on, while the other allowed for me to return to you two."
"He's gone on alone?"
"There wasn't a choice," Her panic-filled brown eyes slowly fell to the redhead below us. "There was only enough of the potion for one person to drink. . . . Is he all right?"
"I hope so," I sighed, allowing for my attention to shift to Ron as well. "He's breathing, but he hasn't moved."
"We need to get him to the Hospital Wing."
I gave a slight nod of my head in agreement, "But how? He will not wake up and, offense to him, neither of us can lift him."
"We're witches, remember?" Hermione repeated the mentioned boy's earlier words with a small smile, from when we were trapped by the Devil's Snare upon first entry through the trapdoor.
I laughed loudly, the sound echoing throughout the room and reminding me of why I love Hermione Granger.
"Here," She stood, pulling her wand from the pocket within her robes to point at the unconscious male atop of me. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The weight that had been heavy on my lower-body suddenly lifted, and I immediately stretched my numb legs out — feeling the tingling sensation as blood filled them once again.
"How will we get out of here?" I questioned after a few moments, swaying as I struggled to stand.
"Harry told me to take the broomsticks," She led me passed the remaining black chessmen, and then through the door and into the room with the flying keys — which continued to soar above our heads in a thick cloud, as if they had not even noticed our entrance.
I nodded swiftly, leaving Hermione stood in the middle of the chamber (my brother floating above her head) while hurrying to retrieve the broom that we had ridden earlier that same evening. Once I had returned to her side, I mounted the broom easily — she slowly slid on behind me, careful as to not break her concentration on the spell and send Ron crashing to the hard floor below.
I kicked off of the ground, the sensation of the air blowing through my hair flashing images of the Quidditch pitch through my mind — I wished more than anything that I was there, zooming through the fresh air rather than slowly moving through a dark corridor and into a room with Devil's Snare.
I narrowly skimmed passed the plant, ascending us toward the squared light in the ceiling that was the open trapdoor.
I was traveling the slowest I ever had on a broomstick, as to avoid scaring the girl behind me and to assure that Ron's floating figure was matching our pace.
My blue eyes glanced momentarily away from our destination, moving instead to the curling plant below — the tentacle-like vines were stretching upward and toward us, as if preparing to snatch us clean out of the air.
"Keep Ron close," I instructed aloud to the bushy-haired witch behind me, forcing myself to look away from the plant and toward the rapidly approaching square of light.
A delicate sigh tumbled from my parted lips as I leaned down closer to the handle of the broomstick — my hands were wrapped tight around the front, providing good control for when we passed through the small space and into the room with the monstrous Fluffy (Hagrid's three-headed dog).
The creature was awake, seeing as there was no music playing, and so it immediately began growling as the three of us came shooting out of the trapdoor. Our speed must have surprised it, for it paused to watch us momentarily before the heads could yap into action. This gave us just enough time to slip toward the door.
With the newly increased speed and Hermione focusing her complete attention on Ron, I pulled one of my hands away from the handle of the broom for a moment. As we passed through the (thankfully open) doorway, I leant down to snatch up Harry's Invisibility Cloak from where it had been placed in the direct route.
I pressed the silky fabric into my lap, my blue eyes trained on the obstacles ahead, and tucked it securely between my thighs. I then returned both hands to the handle of the broom, casting a glimpse behind me to the concentrated brunette.
"Should I land?" I questioned as we zipped through the corridors, slowing our speed to make it easier for her and Ron.
"No," Hermione spared me a quick glance, before straightening out her wand-arm slightly. "We have to get him to the Hospital Wing, as quickly as possible."
I nodded silently, refocusing my attention ahead of us and dipping the broom slightly when we nearly rammed into the ceiling.
After a long while of carefully flying through the familiar corridors, which were lit dimly because of the late hour, and avoiding the likes of ghosts, prefects, and Filch — we finally managed to reach the large, double doors of the Hospital Wing.
I landed us gently, swinging one leg off the broomstick and backing away to watch as Hermione stayed in her place behind where I once was. She carefully lowered Ron toward the stone floor beside my feet, finally breaking the spell so that she too could climb off of our transport.
"I am never riding another broomstick ever agai— "
"All right, I get it," I playfully rolled my eyes at her proclamation, fishing my own wand from my robes and pointing the crafted wood at Ron. "Wingardium Leviosa."
His body swayed for a moment and then, for the final time that evening, he unwillingly rose off of the floor. Hermione pushed open one of the doors and held it, allowing for me to pass Ron through and follow behind him — my gaze was heavy in concentration as I paid the spell every mind.
"Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione called throughout the Hospital Wing, and the older woman in question came bounding out of a back-room not even a second later.
"What are you three doing awake at this hour?!" The plump Healer was adorned in what appeared to be pajamas, the nightdress completed with slippers and a nightcap. She paused upon seeing Ron, her angered stare quickly switching to one of worry. "Oh dear, what has happened?"
She hurried over to us, her hand flicking in gesture for me to place him on one of the small beds — the white, clean blankets of which she pulled down. I followed her instructions, gently hovering him over the place before breaking my concentration.
The wand gripped in my right arm fell to my side as my arm did, but I was too distracted by the tending of my brother to notice.
"Is he all right?"
Madam Pomfrey held her own wand over Ron's pale face, slowly waving it down the entire of his body. I watched worriedly, my bottom lip becoming caught between my teeth involuntary — even as Hermione caught my unoccupied, left hand in both of hers to provide comfort.
I barely managed to send the girl a small smile of gratitude, too worried by the sight of Madam Pomfrey scurrying away to retrieve an armful of potions.
"He will be fine," She placed the bottles on the small table by his bed, before quickly glancing away from her work and to Hermione and I. "You girls sit on those beds there, I will check you two out when I am finished here."
Hermione led me over to the designated area by the hand, before releasing her grip all together and separating from me to sit at the foot of the bed beside mine. I allowed myself to fall back on top of the blankets, a sigh of relief passing through my lips as my eyes fell shut and the back of my head collided with the soft pillow.
It was not until a few moments later, when I heard Madam Pomfrey bustling over Hermione, that I finally opened my eyes once again — I stared up at the ceiling above me, studying every obscure mark or stain.
"Are you all right, dear?"
My head turned slightly to the right, the skin of my cheek brushing against the white pillowcase. My blue eyes fixated on the Healer, who immediately pressed the back of her hand to my forehead with a worried facial expression.
I felt horrible, for having left Harry Potter defenseless through that trapdoor — where he may have to fight the unimaginable alone.
The guilt weighed on my chest, heavy on my lungs and lessening the oxygen supply. It made me feel groggy, more tired than the fact that I had not slept in nearly twenty-four hours.
However, as I laid in that bed with suffocating thoughts clouding my mind, I found myself pondering more over the question of why I was so worried rather than the guilt. For, if I loathed Harry Potter as much as I claimed to, why was I so worried about him?
The terrifying fact of the matter was — perhaps I did not detest the bespectacled wizard as much as I thought I did.
—————
Three days passed, and I was once again stood outside the doors of the same Hospital Wing — but the need of the visit was much different, seeing as I had Ronald and Hermione on either side of me.
Harry Potter was inside, laid out on one of the beds where he had been for the entirety of that time span. He had been found unconscious in the final room through the trapdoor, him and the Stone discovered by Professor Dumbledore himself.
"Do you think he's awake yet?"
I shrugged upon hearing Ron's question, my pale hands pressing themselves flat against the heavy wood of one of the doors, "He needs the beauty sleep."
However, as I leant forwards to push open the door, a sudden force on the other side kept me from doing so. My nose scrunched in confusion as I took a cautious step backward, allowing for the castle's Healer (Madam Pomfrey) to peek her head out through the small crack made.
"He is resting, no visitors right now."
"Please," Hermione begged, stepping closer from where she had been stood behind me with my brother. "We will be quick, and we won't cause any trouble."
The older woman huffed, before mumbling something about "giving her a moment" whilst shutting the door and disappearing within the Wing. It was hard to hear through the thick wood, but it seemed as though she was arguing with the Potter over whether or not to allow us entry.
Finally, after a tiresome five or six minutes, the door opened fully to reveal the painfully white room.
"Thank you," I said to her, trailing after my mates when they ran towards the bed of Harry Potter.
"Five minutes only."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione had her arms wrapped tightly around the wizard, who struggled to return the embrace from his current position, "we were sure you were going to — Dumbledore was so worried —"
"The whole school's talking about it," Ron said as I slowly approached them, clapping Harry on the shoulder after Hermione finally released him. "What really happened?"
I stayed silent, watching the three interact with the worrisome battle of the Potter replaying in my mind. It was not until I took a gentle seat at the foot of his bed that he noticed me, his emerald eyes locking with my blue ones.
"Are you feeling all right?"
"Me?" I laughed the question off, despite the pang radiating through my heart as the idea fought to consume me. "You are the one in the Hospital bed, Potter."
"Oh, really?" The edges of his lips turned upwards, expressing the playful connotation of his words. "What gave it away – the Healer or the Wing?"
I rolled my eyes, but could not help the gentle smile that forced itself onto my facial expression.
It was almost difficult to focus as Harry told Ron, Hermione, and I about what truly happened that night through the trapdoor: it was not Professor Snape in pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone, but Professor Quirrell (our stuttering Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher).
No details were spared from the moment Harry separated from Hermione; about how the Stone appeared to him through the Mirror of Erised (which had been stored there after its relocation), and the horrors hidden underneath Quirrell's purple turban — Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself, had taken sanctuary beneath it.
"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally, after Harry had finished. "Flamel's just going to die?"
"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that — what was it? — 'to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure'."
"I always said he was off his rocker," Ron stated, seeming impressed by the information.
"So what happened to you three?" Harry asked, his emerald eyes skimming over my brother in blatant choice of ignoring his statement.
"Well, I got back all right," began Hermione. "I casted the levitation charm on Ron — Alex flew us back up — and after we dropped Ron off here, she and I were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the entrance hall — he already knew — he just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the third floor."
"D'you think he meant you to do it?" Ron asked the bespectacled boy in question. "Sending you your father's Cloak and everything?"
"Well," Hermione exploded, and I had to swallow a sigh upon hearing the over-dramatized enunciation of the word, "if he did — I mean to say — that's terrible — you could have been killed."
"No, it isn't," Harry said thoughtfully, the tone of his voice proving that — although he was speaking to us — his mind was elsewhere. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It's almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could. . . ."
"Yeah, Dumbeldore's off his rocker, all right," Ron repeated proudly.
I slapped a hand over my mouth to silence any laughter, only resulting in the eruption of an odd, snort-like noise. The three around me broke into laughter at the sound, the happiness lightening the heavy mood that had been weighing over us.
"Listen, you've got to be up for the end-of year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course — you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrolled by Ravenclaw without you, and this one nearly tumbled off of her broomstick —" My brother ruffled my hair at the recognition, causing my cheeks to turn pink in remembrance of the embarrassment event. "— but the food'll be good."
At that moment, just as Harry's mouth opened to either comment on Ron's suggestion or to jab at my near-accident, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.
"You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," She said firmly, waving her hands continuously until I had stood from my place at the foot of the bed.
—————
The end of our first school year was celebrated with a feast the following evening, one larger than any other we had indulged in over the terms.
The wondrous Great Hall was overdressed in an abundance of green and silver, to represent the winner of the House Cup — Slytherin. A huge banner covered the wall behind the High Table, bearing their crest (a serpent).
I was seated between Dean Thomas and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, one of my hands clamped tight over my mouth as I choked whilst stifling the loud laughter attempting to force itself through.
"I can't decide which is uglier," Dean continued in a low voice, a large grin spread across his face as he glanced around to assure that none of our pupils were listening. " — the Slytherins or their attitudes."
"Be quiet!" I muttered, moving my hand away from my face to lightly slap the boy's upper arm — although I could not help the smile tugging at my lips. "They've won the House Cup!"
"Well, whose fault is that?" He teased in a clearly playful tone, his shoulder bumping into mine.
"Okay — sod off —"
Together we laughed, but our conversation was silenced by distraction when the chatter of the entire Hall fell into a sudden hush.
I followed the stares of those around me, which were all directed toward the entrance. Immediately, my blue eyes locked on the contrasting green ones of Harry Potter — who was stood in the doorway, obviously uncomfortable with the fact that the attention of the whole school was focused solely on him.
And then, less than a moment later, talk loudly filled the Hall once again. Despite the new noise, most students still watched Harry as he crossed the distance to slip into the seat across from Hermione and beside Ron.
I eyed him carefully, but was not given the chance to comment; Professor Dumbledore arrived moments later, causing for any babble to die away.
"Another year gone!" Our headmaster, Dumbledore, said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were . . . you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. . . .
"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with two hundred and sixty-two points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."
Upon recognition, the Slytherin table erupted into a storm of cheering and stamping. It was a rather sickening sight, especially to witness the prideful Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore, and his next words not only stilled the room but faded the Slytherins' smiles. "However, recent events must be taken into account.
"Ahem," The elder man cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling behind the half-moon spectacles resting on his wrinkled nose. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes . . .
"First — to Mr. Ronald Weasley . . ."
My blue eyes widened and redirected to the brother in question, whose face had went purple; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.
". . . for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."
Gryffindor's cheers echoed throughout the Hall and, over the noise, I could hear our older brother Percy telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"
At last, there was silence again.
"Second — to Miss Alexandria Weasley . . . for understanding the importance of loyalty when it is needed the most, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."
I could hear not only Percy once again, but Ron's laughter as the cheering replayed somehow louder than it had before. Dean choked beside me, slapping his hand against mine and apologizing for his earlier teasing (which I disregarded with a gentle smile).
"Third — to Miss Hermione Granger . . . for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."
The mentioned witch to my left buried her face into her arms, and my eyes widened upon hearing her muffled sobs. I wrapped an arm over her shoulders, using my free hand brush down her bushy brunette locks.
Gryffindors up and down our table were beside themselves — we were a hundred and fifty points up.
"Fourth — to Mr. Harry Potter . . ." Professor Dumbledore forced the room into a deadly silence. ". . . for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."
There was a momentary pause; before, those with the capability of adding, yelled themselves hoarse upon realizing that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points — exactly the same as Slytherin.
Professor Dumbledore raised his hand, and the room gradually fell silent.
"There are all kinds of courage," He smiled. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."
My jaw fell ajar, whilst I glanced between my three mates in utter surprise — even Hermione had raised her head from the table and wiped her tears. A grin slowly grew on my face, before I had jumped to my feet and thrown my fist up into the air with a loud cheer.
Gryffindor had won the House Cup.
I nearly tumbled when climbing over the bench, pushing passed two or three other first years to reach the still seated (and wide-eyed) Neville Longbottom. I leaned down to throw my arms around him, squeezing him into a tight embrace that many others fought to join.
"I am so sorry for how we left you," I apologized into his ear, releasing him from the compressed hold to study his facial expression.
"D-Don't mention it."
And then, adorning a thankful smile, I pressed my lips to his plump cheek for a brief moment. Over the continuous cheers of our House, I could hear some of the students around us gasp at my action. I ignored this, however, pulling away to return to my seat with the sound of Seamus Finnigan clapping Neville on the back behind me.
"I may not have won any points," Dean spoke as soon as I had slipped back onto the bench beside him, "but can I get one of those in purely celebratory matters?"
My blue eyes rolled upon hearing the suggestion, but I could not help the warming of my cheeks when he playfully leant down towards me with his lips puckered. I laughed loudly at the sight, placing a hand on his face and pushing his head away.
"Which means," Professor Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, "we need a little change of decoration."
He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall's hand with a horrible, forced smile.
—————
I had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, what with everything that had happened between us taking them and now, but come they did. To our great surprise, both Ron and Harry passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best grades of the first years — but I was happy to be able to say that I was not too far behind her.
And suddenly, our wardrobes were emptied and our trunks packed; notes were handed out to all students, warning for us not to use magic over the holidays ("I always hope they'll forget to give us these," My older brother, Fred, commented sadly upon receiving his); Hagrid was there to take us down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; we were boarding the Hogwarts Express, talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as we sped past Muggle towns; pulling off our wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station.
It took quite a while for all of us Hogwarts students to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, monitoring for us to go through the gate in twos and threes so that we did not attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.
"You must come and stay this summer," Ron invited Harry Potter, making my eyes widen in protest, "both you and Hermione — I'll send you an owl."
"And I'll intercede that owl," I jerked my chin, unable of raising a hand because both were occupied by luggage.
"Oh, please," Harry scoffed, smacking his trunk against mine and nearly causing for me to fall over — to which my eyes narrowed in a glare. "You will miss me."
"Miss you like I would a hole in the head."
People jostled us as we moved forward toward the gateway and back to the Muggle world, some of them calling:
"Bye, Harry!"
"See you, Potter!"
"Still famous," I scrunched my nose at the 'Boy Who Lived', but the words were playful and weighed by innocence.
"Not where I'm going," He laughed loudly, gently placing Hedwig's (his white owl) cage on the ground. He wrapped his newly-freed arm over my shoulders, forcing my small body into his side while I fought against the hold. "I promise you."
I jabbed one of my elbows into his ribcage, causing for him to yelp before consequently releasing me. After he had picked up his pet's cage once again, the four of us passed through the gateway together.
"There they are, Mum, there they are, look!"
I easily recognized the voice of Ron and I's younger sister, Ginerva; my blue gaze found her moments later, only to discover that she was pointing at the raven-haired boy beside me.
"Harry Potter!" She squealed, and I stifled a laugh. "Look, Mum! I can see —"
"Be quiet, Ginny, and it's rude to point."
My smile morphed into a grin upon seeing my mother, to the degree that I hurried away from my mates.
"Mum!"
I rushed into her arms, allowing for my trunk to tumble to the ground as I nearly lost grip on Amara's cage.
"Busy year?" The warm woman smiled, the tightness of her embrace providing a familiar feeling that I had not realized I had missed.
"Very," Harry responded, appearing behind me with Ron and Hermione. "Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh, it was nothing, dear."
"Ready, are you?"
A large, furious, purple-faced, and mustached man suddenly walked up to us — he was followed by a tall woman and a plump boy about our age, both of whom seemed to be very terrified.
"You must be Harry's family!" My mother greeted kindly, only for the man to scowl in return.
"In a manner of speaking," He said, and his fierce words filled the pit of my stomach with guilt. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day."
Once the three had left again, I retracted from my mother and wrapped my hand around Harry's wrist. I flashed a sheepish smile to my sister (who had been waiting patiently for a hug of her own), before tugging the boy a few feet away and gesturing for our mates to follow.
"I'm sorry."
"What?" His emerald eyes had widened, clearly taken aback by the suddenness of my apology. "I-I-I mean — what?"
"I'm sorry," I repeated, releasing his wrist and instead wrapping my arms around myself as my blue gaze darted towards the ground below. "I'm sorry for being mean to you all year."
"You-you weren't," He cleared his throat, leaning down to nudge his shoulder against mine and therefore redirect my eyes to his. "I was not the kindest to you either —"
"Yes, but," My bottom lip was pulled between my teeth as I shuffled my feet in discomfort, "I didn't realize that your family was that rude to you, you must have it harder than I assumed —"
"Just be quiet, Ria," He grabbed my shoulder, and the interruption reminded me of why I was so rude to him in the first place. "I just enjoy toying with you — how flustered you become — I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Don't begin a war you cannot win, Potter."
"I know I'll survive, I mean — I am the 'Boy Who Lived'."
"I'll see you this summer," A smile slipped onto my lips, and I placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah," Ron and Hermione joined us, the former of the two speaking.
"Hope you have — er — a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Harry's uncle while I removed my hand from his shoulder and took a small step backward.
"Oh, I will," said Harry, and Ron, Hermione, and I exchanged surprised glances upon seeing the grin he wore. "They don't know we're not allowed to use magic at home. I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer. . . ."
Editing Complete: 6/11/19