As fascinating as Nocturne was now that it was the middle of the night and was all but bursting with people, he didn't have time to loiter. Instead, he shook off whoever was tailing him; probably another pick pocket, one of the local watchers guarding the alley from outsiders, or maybe that vampire he'd seen lurking. Indeed he headed over to the roof of The Hung Drawn 'n' Quarters.
He set up his trunk, then paused when he was about to set the wards. He could feel his magic humming under his skin, and he wasn't sure how it would react now it was unbound. He didn't want to blow anything up. He frowned and pulled out a pebble from his bag.
Holding it in his hand, he sat himself down on his trunk and focused on the pebble. Concentrating carefully on his magic, he tried to gently float the pebble with his wand. It rocketed upwards but not as far as he feared it might. He twitched his wand to the left and marvelled at the steady stream of magic he could feel moving from his core into his wand and to the pebble. It was amazing.
His magic seemed both highly sensitive and highly responsive now. It also seemed to be bursting at the seams. It was a little like holding back a flood. A few things Professor Flitwick had said about the flow of magic, back in his first year, now made sense.
He put the pebble away after a little while practising with it and carefully cast his wards. It was challenging to hold the magic back now. It seemed to be fighting to get out now, to run wild. It was hard to control it enough to set the wards safely.
He was panting and sweating when he'd finished, and the wards were sloppier but stronger then they had ever been before. He thought he'd overpowered them a little much and hoped that the proprietor of the Hung Drawn 'n' Quarters wouldn't notice them. He'd been careful so they shouldn't interfere with any of the inn's wards. But it did look like he'd need a lot more practice to get his control and finesse back over his spell casting and not continue to over power things.
He sighed, cursing Dumbledore for all the trouble that man was causing him and climbed down into his trunk. He was eager to keep practising with his magic now it was free. Now he could feel it, he hoped he could end up much better at it than before. But he came to a grinding halt when he spotted the Christmas tree by the fireplace. Dobby and Winky must of set it up while he was ill.
He'd forgotten it was Christmas, and that people would be celebrating. Ordinary people did presents and decorated trees and things. No wonder the street was so busy! Even if Yule had been last week...
Being on a nocturnal schedule was still a little discombobulating, Harry thought.
He should probably get his Christmas gifts finished and posted out then. He'd perfected the protection bracelets now that he was going to give some to his friends. He just had to put the finishing touches on them.
They should protect the wearer from most low and middle-level hexes and jinxes. He had the recycling magic system down pat now so it would shield the wearer from the spell and absorb the spells magic to re-power it. It wasn't foolproof yet though, and Harry still wanted to make it stronger than a weak Protago. He had to admit though, having one, with the magic humming warmly on his wrist, was comforting.
So he wrapped them in parchment and transfigured it into brightly coloured Christmas paper. His magic was still a little out of whack, so the Christmas paper ended up far more garish than he intended. The tiny Christmas images moved a lot faster than he expected, reminding him a bit of Pigwidgin.
But he let it go and handed them off to Dobby and Winky with letters. One for Bill and one for Charlie went through the Gringotts box, and those for Fred, George, Hermione, Luna, Hagrid, as well as the four Slytherins 4th years and his younger Slytherin study group went to Hogwarts with his elves. He added an endnote on Hermione's Christmas Card hoping to hear all about the Yule Ball and sent them off with Dobby and Winky too.
It felt good to give people gifts. But what Harry really wanted to do was practise his magic. Now that he could, and it was unbound, he was itching to use it.
After all, the practice he'd had that year trying to feel his magic, this time it took to no effort to sink into himself until he was surrounded by it. Soon it was all he could sense.
Magic.
Warm and home and safety and life. It was so vibrant, and it burned brightly in his chest, and he let it swell and fill him until his skin tingled with it and it almost felt familiar... For a moment, he caught a flash back to a rag and scrubbing the floors at the Dursley's as a small child. His hands had been tingling like this, like magic...
But then it was gone.
Harry wondered what it meant and if it was a bit of stolen memory. But he hadn't known about magic before he'd got his letter, had he? So why had he thought he felt magic when cleaning way back then?
He pushed the thought away and on a whim opened his eyes, putting his wand gently on the floor in front of him.
"Accio," he commanded, holding out his hand.
Nothing happened.
He frowned but tried again. Feeling the magic in his chest, coaxing it down his arm, as if he was using a wand.
Nothing happened.
"Accio," he said again with feeling, willing the magic into his hand, willing it to wrap around his wand and pull it towards him.
Nothing happened.
He let out a frustrated huff. Very few people did wandless magic. He probably wasn't smart enough or strong enough. He was pretty average, but he had hoped...
"Accio wand!" He said firmly; willing...
Nothing.
"Accio wand!" He tried again channelling the magic, willing it to connect to the magic in his wand, drawing it to his hand. He could almost feel it, in his hands. He stared at the wand, willing it closer.
"Accio," he murmured again.
It twitched.
He let out a whoop!
So he practised. Again and again. He didn't manage Accio completely, but he got closer and closer. Wandless magic was hard. But now he could feel the magic in him, it didn't seem as impossible as all the books said it was. It was just a matter of channelling and willing it. Not that different from conducting it with a wand really...
He did, however, manage a Lumos, and an Alohamora and a levitation spell, eventually. Which was pretty fun and very cool. And it all felt vaguely familiar but he couldn't work out why...
He picked up his wand and started running through spells. Lumos took a while to get control over once more. It was brighter now, blindingly so. It was if now his magic was unbound, it was bursting to be free and to be used. It seemed to gush out of him like water from a broken dame and was hard-pressed to wrestle it under control. Indeed, the more he tried to force it to obey him, the more it seemed likely to set things on fire and explode them. It didn't want to be controlled. It didn't want to be bound, or tamed.
It was just as well that his repair spells were just as overpowered and he was able to fix everything! He practised and practised, but the more he forced it the worse it got. Which led him to sitting down and meditating again; feeling the magic.
Some believed magic was sentient that it was alive. That, made sense to him. So maybe internal magic was sentient too. Perhaps he had to talk to it? Coax it? Reassure it or himself really? For his magic was part of himself, he realised with sudden aching clarity. Maybe it had been chained for so long that it was desperate never to be chained up again...
Like himself really, it was an extension, a part of himself.
Harry sank into his magic and the hours disappeared as he focused on magic and the feeling of wonderfull oneness with it and the freedom of it.
Never again. Never again would they be chained.
When he rose sometime later and cast Lumos again, he could feel the stream of magic he called up at the spell's incantation. He could feel it and direct it and didn't have to fight it to get a bright light, or to force back the flow of magic to dim the light a little. He tried again and easily adjusted the flow of magic to a trickle to get a faint, very soft light. It was almost as if now, he'd reassured it, that they were free, that it was eager to work with him, not against him.
It took a while, but slowly he started to get the hang of it again. Gradually, it came to him, and he and his magic were in sync again. It was exhilarating using magic so freely, and he flicked through his textbooks practising and practising, revelling in the freedom and delight in using magic as much as he liked.
*
Harry crawled out of his trunk and sat on the roof, looking at the stars that 'afternoon' while he was taking a break. The night sky was cloudy but there were patches of sky that showed stars. He couldn't see as many here with all the lights of the city as he could at Hogwarts.
The alley below him was lit with darkly coloured lights, and eery music was playing. It was still full of people and seemed to get busier as it approached dawn and the end of the alley's working 'day.' It appeared that the alley's 'nightlife' was just as busy as it's regular trading hours though different people were coming out now, and were dressing differently too.
Buildings that had been shut in the earlier hours of the night seemed to be opening up. There were bars and a few clubs, and people moved through the streets looking for things. He spotted working girls, and boys, and vampires stalking people, not all of whom were unwilling. He watched shop and stall owners peddle their wares, and street vendors shouted out their cuisines and deals.
He watched the pickpockets move through the alley, and watched the different people going about their evening. Nocturne really was an exciting place. And he could see it all from up here.
He sat on his trunk for a long time, watching and learning the alley's ways, soaking up the feel of the alley and the noise around him.
This was freedom.
*
He had another breakthrough as well that night before he went to sleep. He'd spent an hour or so working on his Metamorphmagus skills. He could grow his hair now at will and change it into different colours, though he had only managed natural colours, not anything outlandish. He could coax his eyes to brown and could darken his skin a few shades and grow his nails. Though he couldn't shorten them or his hair, he had to cut them.
When his practice of magic had worn him out, and he'd eaten the dinner that Dobby had made (Harry assumed it was from Hogwarts) he crawled into bed. He'd been planning to read his mother's journals, but he was simply too tired now. So he curled up under his mother's blankets and practised clearing his mind before sleep. He tried sinking into the centre of his mind like Bill had taught him.
He'd always practised it before but hadn't managed to sink into it properly until that moment. This time he managed to fall deep into his magic. It burned bright orange-red in his mind's eye. It was glorious. Warm and alive, and it felt like home, and he never wanted to leave.
He could have been there for a moment or hours, soaking up the warmth and wondering at the feeling of it. But then when he focused properly on clearing his mind, things seemed to shift.
He'd never managed to find the centre of his mind before. The blocks on his magic, his mind magic, had always got in the way. But his mind felt different now, slightly alien but familiar too. It was odd and unsettling. There were blank patches now, holes that weren't there before. Things were more evident now, and he could almost sense the impressions of the bindings that used to be there, forcing him into something he wasn't. He could sense the scaring that the old goat's bindings had left behind and the bruises the compulsions had left on his instincts.
Just as he was about to drift off, he felt something shift again, and before he realised it, he'd sunk deeper into his magic, his mind.
It was both like sinking deeper into himself and yet he just knew, somehow, that while his magic was centred in his lower chest and stomach, the mind was centred in his head.
He'd never really understood until now what the books had meant by that. But now he could feel it, now he could feel himself, all of him; what the books said made total sense. Of course his magic was centred in his solar plexus, while the mind was in his crown. Now he can feel it, he understood.
It was dark, cool and calm. The scars literally a vivid angry red in his minds eye. And when he lightly touched the purple green bruised patches, he could feel the echo of 'hate Slytherin,' and 'trust Dumbledore.' They echoed of what was once an instinct, but was no more. They ached and were proof that it happened, but held no power now. And he slowly one by one, pushed magic into each mental bruise until it ached less and the colour faded and shrank leaving a faint mark that he could hardly feel.
It was exhausting, but when he finished healing each and every one, he felt steadier, less confused. And when he thought of Slytherin house, he didn't feel much of anything at all. Where before there was always that hint of distrust and dislike, now he just thought of his study group that he liked, his peers that he liked, and how much he didn't like Malfoy.
He then reached out to touch one of the wisps of colour floating around the wide dark space. He saw a flash of Halloween and a troll. He let go with a gasp. Memories. He and Bill hadn't discussed what it would be like once he got to the centre of his mind, as he'd never come close, but the book had. They'd said it may be like this.
He'd have to shape it next, he thought. Shape his mind's centre, make it a place, a defendable sanctuary and sort his memories. He shuddered at the thought of some of the more painful ones, wondering distantly if maybe he'd be able to find the Obliviated ones.
He fell asleep looking at the different colours, wondering what the eery white ones were.
*
It was early in the Nocturne morning when he climbed out of the trunk for his run. It was still little odd waking up during the Nocturne morning and seeing the stars out and knowing that while it was considered morning in nocturne, it was night time in muggle London. He did like it though.
It was different going for a run in the streets and alleyways, but it was an excellent way to explore. And he'd felt twitchy after spending so much time sleeping or lying down in the trunk. It was good to go for a run and get his body moving.
When he returned to the roof top after his shower, the moon was rising over the roofs of London. It was beautiful. It was different from watching the sunset from the trees of the forbidden forest, but beautiful all the same. Harry dismantled his wards, shrank his trunk and packed it into his bag. It was almost time for the alley to wake again, and he was starting to get wary.
He automatically pulled up the hood of his cloak but paused. He currently had long reddish-brown hair, and brown eyes. And he had managed to move his scar behind his right ear. No-one would recognise him...
Grinning, he climbed down the side of the building, quickly scaling the drainpipe, without being noticed and slipped into the Hung Drawn 'n' Quarters. It was Christmas Eve in London. Not that it really carried though to the alley, as nearly everyone celebrated Yule instead. Which was strangely liberating for Harry.
He decided that he would treat himself to breakfast. He was here, and free and not stuck at Hogwarts at the Yule Ball. The Quibbler would be out on Sunday and would have all sorts of surprises for the world. That was all worth celebrating. He hoped Hermione was having a good time. He hoped she wasn't in trouble because he wasn't there.
Bill was right. The Hung Drawn 'n' Quarters was as cheap as it was dirty. But not nearly as bad as Harry had expected. The plates, cutlery and tables were clean as were the glassware. It was just the floors, walls and ceilings that were filthy, and the windows. It looked as if it was once horribly dirty but had recently had a half-finished attempt to clean itself up.
He used one of his last 2 Galleons to get himself a hot breakfast and watched as the patrons trickled downstairs for food and out into the waking street.
It was loud by the time he was finished and had read another few chapters of the book on The Darke, with the cover charmed hidden. The book was interesting, but the inn was so loud it was setting off all his instincts. All the old survival instincts that are now freshly freed from Dumbledore's suppressive magic. He tried to focus on his book and used it as an exercise in control...
But it was hard.
He sat in a back corner and carefully kept his hair from changing and his mage senses from overwhelming him. Instead, he used the feel of his own magic to ground himself and kept his mind clear; to stop the emotions he could sense from overwhelming him. He controlled the urge to run, to hide, to not be seen. He was safe here in his anonymity.
It was hard, but he managed slowly to keep himself from being overwhelmed as he sipped a butterbeer and ate a sticky toffee pudding. He was free now. He could have toffee pudding with his breakfast if he wanted. No-one could control him now.
Things seemed to slowly slip into place. It helped that the food was delicious, despite being cheap. He listened to the chatter for a while and worked out that the proprietor, Madame Morbid had recently bought the business off a bloke called Dung. This Dung bloke had nearly run the place to the ground and had to sell it to stop himself from being declared bankrupt by the Goblins. Apparently, Morbid was working on fixing it up a bit.
He didn't jump when a tall curvy lady in black approached him. He'd sensed her coming, despite how many people were in the room. He was pretty sure she was Madame Morbid, but he wasn't sure and just hoped he wasn't about to get yelled at.
She had long grey hair and gothic makeup on. She was irritated and curious, and her magic crackled under her skin. Keeping one hand carefully on his wand, he nodded at her politely.
It did nothing to remove her scowl.
"You're squatting on my roof," she said in a surprisingly deep, gruff voice.
He blinked. "Well met Ma'am," he said formally.
"Your squatting on my roof," she repeated, ignoring the greeting, "my inn not good enough for you, boy?"
"Don't call me boy," he snapped coldly, fingering the knife he had hidden in his hip pocket. He carried it everywhere now. Especially since he'd almost had to use it that morning on his run. It was a regular risk in Nocturne when he was still seen as an outsider and the unbinding had left him jumpy.
"It's got nothing to do with the quality of your inn ma'am and everything to do with not being able to afford it. Unless you're willing to trade work for board, I can't pay you. So I picked an empty roof. It's not harming anyone, its not a crime," he snapped.
She narrowed her eerily, pail blue eyes at him, "how long are you here for?"
"I'm leaving the second of Jan," Harry said.
"Alright kid," she said, looking at him appraisingly, "I'll give you a room, and I'll even feed you," she added her eyes racking over his skinny frame.
Harry narrowed his own eyes, "what's the catch?"
"You get this place clean." She said gesturing with a long red nail around the bar.
"Alright," Harry said after casting another eye about the place, "I can do that. I'm good at cleaning."
"Good," she said after raising a doubtful eyebrow. "Merry Meet and Welcome to The Hung Drawn 'n' Quarters Inn. I'm Madame Morbid." She said, finally offering a proper cheery greeting.
"Merry Meet Ma'am," he said carefully, "I'm Hadrian."
She showed him up to a small attic room that looked like it had once been part of a set of servants quarters. It had a set of oddly steep, narrow stairs going down to the cellar and kitchens. It was dusty, but she cleared it up with a flick of her wand and opened the windows. The window was small but lead out onto to the roofs edge and the dark, bustling street.
Harry didn't unpack but did set his trunk up at the end of the bed and warded it to the high heavens before he went back downstairs. He was armed with his wand, his box of Bi-carb soda, as well as rags, brushes, and shrunken mops all in a bucket. He'd asked Dobby and Winky to liberate them for him from his cupboard at Hogwarts.
He found Madame Morbid in the kitchen, and she showed him the storeroom with the magical cleaning products and set him to work. He started on the outside. If the business was known for being rundown and dirty, cleaning the outside would help people realise it had turned over a new leaf.
He set to work on the windows first. Scrubbing years of caked-on crime within an inch of its life with bicarb soda, the vinegar, lemon and a bunch of scrubbing brushes and rags. Dobby and Winky joined in eagerly. Though Harry insisted they didn't have to. They had argued that it had been a while since they'd had the pleasure of giving something really dirty a good scrub. If he was really very worried, he should consider the extra cleaning a Christmas bonus, if it made him feel better about it. He'd just laughed and thanked them for their help.
He ended up using his Firebolt to help him get the higher windows that he couldn't reach. It must be a rather comical sight. Harry was perched on the handle of his broom washing windows with the help of Dobby and Winky who were standing with a sticking charm, on the tail of the broom.
They got the windows done and moved on to giving the walls a good scrub. They discovered that the paint over the outer stonework of the building was not brown but cream. And the building had an old English style with highlights of dark wood that gleamed after Harry scrubbed and polished them.
It took them the better part of the evening, but they managed. And by the time they were done, Harry was more than ready for lunch. Morbid went outside to inspect, passing Harry a big bowl of stew and bread on her way out. Harry went to share it with Dobby and Winky only to find they'd disappeared. So he set about devouring his stew alone instead. Morbid came back in with a stunned expression on her face and demanded, "how'd you do that? I didn't think they were white!"
"Elbow grease," Harry said bluntly.
"No magic?" She asked, clearly surprised.
"Not really. Not much. Just good old fashioned elbow grease." Harry said, looking up, "It's too old to be cleaned with magic. Magic is good to help it along, but this old stuff needs to be truly scrubbed off before you can banish the muck."
He'd thought she'd looked impressed as she left him to his meal. He was just eating the last of his bread when Winky popped in.
"Winky? You two didn't stay for lunch." Harry said a bit disappointed.
"We is not needing three meals a day like wizards is," she said, wringing her hands together.
"We was delivering yous Christmas presents to yous friends sir, and be picking yous up, for tomorrow morning, sir." She kept wringing her hands together.
"Don't hurt yourself," he chided, then, "what's up Winky?"
"Ms Grangy is back from the ball, young master Harry sir, but she is very upset, sir. She be crying, sir" the elf said.
"What? Is she okay? What happened?" Harry asked.
"The ball sir. Young Weazey be doing something Dobby be's thinking. Winky be getting her hot chocolate sir, and hot blankets sir. Winky be looking after your Grangy for you sir."
"Yous Grangy says she'll be writing in the morning, sir, after she be gone home," Dobby said, popping in suddenly, tugging on his ear for a moment before catching Harry's disapproving look and left his poor ear alone.
Harry slumped, "bugger. I was hoping she'd have fun. She was really looking forward to it. I have her address, I can probably pickpocket a bus fair in Muggle London..." He mused, "I want to make sure she's okay."
"I'll wait for her letter, so I know she's up then I'll head over. Will you let her know for me?" He asked them.
Dobby nodded and popped away to let her know, and Harry took his dishes into the kitchen and got back to work.
Harry, along with Winky and Dobby, then worked their way through the unoccupied bedrooms and the hallways. They managed to shift centuries of grime from the floors and get the wooden walls shiny again. They developed a system. Dobby would pour on more liquid and a bit of magic into the dirty surfaces, Harry scrubbed furiously, and Winky then banished the loosened dirt and muck.
It was rather relaxing. Doing the mindless physical work also gave him a chance to sort his head out. And he'd really needed the time in his head. He needed to figure out how he felt about things, now, and what he'd been missing. He felt more himself by the end and found himself starting to remember how, as a child, he had often pushed magic down into his hands when he cleaned to help move the dirt along a bit. He wondered when he'd forgot that?
Years of cleaning and scrubbing at the Dursley's had left Harry a comprehensive and efficient cleaner. In no time at all the three of them had managed to do the bathrooms, hallways and unoccupied rooms. The rooms themselves were pretty clean already it was just mopping, dusting and cleaning the surfaces.
But how on earth had he used magic to help him clean as a child? He'd never heard of magic until he got his letter... He'd not even had an inkling. So why was pushing magic into his hands, and willing the dirt to shift, so instinctual? So familiar.
*
Instead of going to his room to sleep after finishing the upstairs, Harry got to work on the downstairs cleaning. He was on a roll, and too worried about Hermione to sleep. He was itching to know what had happened. He knew if he tried to sleep now, he'd just stay awake or have nightmares. Better to keep busy.
Now the kitchen was quiet, he started there. The kitchen was mostly clean already, it was the first thing Morbid had done when she took over the place. But there was still a floor to scrub, tiles and grounding to clean, and a fireplace and floo to make sparkle.
The dining room was next, and Harry, Dobby and Winky set about scrubbing the insides of the windows which were just as filthy as the outsides had been.
Next, there were the walls and ceiling. Again the Firebolt was rather useful for getting to the high out of reach places. Cleaning off all the grime revealed bluestone, and shiny wooden walls as well as worn redwood floors. The floor was perhaps the worst of all. Harry assumed that if it was anything like the upstairs floors, it would be hardwood. But with the sheer amount of grime in it, potion stains and fossilised spilt food... He wasn't sure.
Despite hating cleaning for his aunt, it was really nice to see appreciation in Morbid's eyes for his hard work, when he finally got the floors clean.
"You don't need to work all the time kid, you can spread it out, expected it to take you the whole week." She said, coming over around midday, "don't forget to sleep, kid."
Harry nodded, but said, "don't sleep much, figured I'd make the most of the place being quiet. I'm almost done washing the floor, then it can be re-polished."
She nodded and left him to it. He managed to finish most of the floor in the late hours of the muggle morning. He was exhausted, sweaty and aching and thought he may now be able to sleep.
He startled and jumped a mile when Winky popped away. He blinked and looked at Dobby, who just said, "Ms Grangy called."
Winky reappeared a moment later with a letter. The paper was slightly rumpled in one corner, and there were a few tear spots on it.
"Harry,
Dobby said you'd come to visit but don't worry about it, I'm fine. I went home early this morning on the Knight Bus. I started writing this on the bus so please ignore any wobbly handwriting. This thing is a death trap!
I know you're worried about how it went, but I'm fine. McGonagall was furious that you left. She confronted me when I got back the morning of the ball. I didn't tell her anything. But apparently, they spent the first week looking for you! I don't know where you hid, but it was a good spot. They even questioned your aunt, I heard. I suspect you'll be in for a world of trouble when we get back. I tried to explain that your aunt needed you and quoted the rules and the charter, but they didn't listen. (The charter is a really interesting read by the way! But has no order or index at all! It's very frustrating!)
Anyway, they insisted you'd let the school down. I don't know what they're thinking anymore.
Now the ball. The ball was horrible. No that's not quite right. The ball itself was beautiful. After, was horrible.
Luna and I got dressed together in the RoR with a few of the Slytherin girls. They were really nice! And it was fun having some girls to be girly with for a moment. I felt like a princess. The looks on everyone's faces when I came down the staircase looking like a someone, instead of a nobody-book-worm. It was very satisfying indeed. It shut Ron right up!
You'll never guess what he did the other day. I heard, he yelled across the great hall for Delecoure, the French champion, to go to the ball with him. He then ran off to sulk! It would have been funny if he wasn't such a prick afterwards. When I got back to school the day before the ball, he demanded I go with him, As I was a girl. I may have snapped back a little, along the lines of, 'oh well done Ronald, yes I am a girl.'
Upon assuring me, he'd always known that I was a girl, he insisted I go with him. He had the gall to not believe me when I said I already had a date. He thought I was lying to cover my 'embarrassment that no-one wanted to go with me.' The prick didn't believe me when I said I had one! The twerp.
But I went with Victor (Krum). He was dressed very smartly, Harry. We had a lovely intellectually stimulating conversation about the differences between our countries and our schools.
I do like our conversations a lot, Harry, but, it's nice being able to have a constructive discussion with someone other than you on occasion.
I admit it was also nice to feel like a girl for a change, to feel beautiful. Victor and I danced together quite a lot. It was a lot of fun. He's very kind and rather charming. A true gentleman, you'll be pleased to hear.
Until Ron screwed it up!
We had a row.
Ron had been sulking the whole time about not having a date. (Not that he would have danced with one anyway!) He ended up getting into a row with me and drawing Victor into it. He called me a traitor to Hogwarts and to Gryffindor!
I've already been un-housed, that didn't even make sense!
He said I was fraternising with the enemy, handing the enemy our secrets. Which is precisely what Karkaroff warned Victor against! Honestly, this is a tournament to foster international friendships and relationships!
Victor ended up giving Ron a black eye, defending my honour. And Ron then got him with his slug hex.
They were separated. But Ron was still a git to both of us. He got a week of detention and Victor is confined to the ship for the rest of the break. It was horrible, Harry. The night had been going so well, and Ron had to spoil it, and somehow made me feel like it was all my fault.
It wasn't!
I miss you, especially our morning runs. I hope things are going well for you. I went for a run this morning after I got home. It wasn't the same by myself. Mum and Dad had wanted me back so we could spend Christmas together, but I got home, and they were gone! They're dental surgeons. They got called in for emergency surgery this morning according to the note on the fridge. They said something about a crash and having to sew someone's jaw back together.
Which sucks for the guy who's hurt, I hope he feels better soon. But seriously?! They said they wanted me back and I went to all the trouble and now they are not here! On Christmas!
I'm going to call their receptionist tomorrow to see how much time they have actually taken off to spend with me these holidays. Because at this rate I'm going to be here all alone. Which I would have preferred to do at Hogwarts, where there is a library, and magic!
Plus my cooking skills are not that great, you may have to teach me at some point so we don't starve when we're both out of school.
I'm thinking of staying in the Leaky Cauldron for a few days before we go back to school. We could talk then if you want. Are you staying in the alley?
Hermione."