Preparations

30: Preparations

Disclaimer : I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K.Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Valentine’s Day was approaching, and the students were unhappy with their inability to go to Hogsmeade for some Valentine’s fun. It led to some creativity on the part of young couples throughout the castle, trying to come up with other alternatives.

Trying to placate the angry upperclassmen, Professor Dumbledore had arranged for a Valentine’s feast. The four long House tables would be split into a series of smaller tables for two, with larger ones available for groups of friends and the younger students. Both Ron and Harry put their names on a reservation list for tables for two.

Still, it left them on their own to come up with something romantic to do for the day. Ron, who had forgiven Harry, although he still grumbled that he thought Harry was over that ‘pushing people away’ thing, told him that he had plans for the Room of Requirement. He’d asked Dobby to set up a romantic luncheon for Hermione and warned Harry, in no uncertain terms, not to interrupt.

This left Harry needing to find something else. A thought finally occurred to him when he and Ginny were casually discussing Christmas Eve and the ornaments they’d hung on the tree. He asked her about the images on hers, and she explained the swing had been her favorite thing at the Burrow when she was a kid. Mr. Weasley had hung it from an old oak tree, and she would spend hours swinging as high as she could. She was never very good about taking turns, and her brothers still teased her about it.

There was indeed a lightening bolt on her ornament, she admitted with a bright red blush. Fred and George had placed it there years ago, teasing her about her crush on Harry. He chuckled over this, realizing as he saw it that he’d missed that bright red stain on her cheeks that used to appear when he was around. He missed the elbows in the butter dish, too. He didn’t admit that to her, however.

Harry went out early on Valentine’s morning and transfigured some sticks into a makeshift swing, hanging it on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest near Hagrid’s hut. He left a large box of assorted chocolates resting on top of the seat. He wouldn’t tell Ginny what he had planned, and she was acting like a little kid, trying to get it out of him.

At breakfast, Hedwig delivered her a note asking her to meet him by the front door after lunch. He was surprised when a school owl dropped a card off to him, as well. He glanced at Ginny nervously, slightly afraid it was going to sing. She grinned at him impishly, as if knowing what he was thinking, and stuck her tongue out at him.

Thankfully, the card didn’t sing, but instead was hand decorated with Snitches and broomsticks, while the inscription read, “To my favorite Seeker…From your Golden Snitch.”

Quidditch and Ginny – what more could he want from a day? He smiled and put her card in his backpack. He suddenly realized that the thing he appreciated most about Ginny was her ability to make him laugh, even when he felt there was no reason to laugh.

He loved the sound of her laughter – light, rich, and melodious. He could instantly pick it out across the crowded common room, and it always made him want to laugh with her. She also had the ability to make him angry more quickly than anyone else he knew, as well. His mind still traveled back to that row in the common room, and how furious he had been with her. If anyone had told him they would have ended up kissing like that, he never would have believed it possible. He still felt apprehensive about her safety, but was trying to accept that it was her decision to make.

The trouble always came when he was alone. When he was with her, he wanted nothing else but to be with her always. It was when he was alone in his dormitory, pondering his dreams or Voldemort’s latest exploits, that everything became less clear. The easy solution would be always to keep her with him, but that just wasn’t feasible.

He was waiting for her with his Firebolt when she arrived after lunch. She grinned at him and swung her leg over the back of his broom. There was no awkwardness this time, as she pressed her body close and huddled against him. “Where to, my Valentine?” she breathed huskily into his ear, causing shivers to run down his spine, and all the blood in his veins to rush south.

“You’ll see,” he grinned, taking off towards the sky, thankful for his bulky Hogwarts robes. They had fun riding for a while before Harry eventually brought the broom down to rest next to the swing. Ginny squealed in delight, jumping off his broom and sprinting towards it. “Harry, you didn’t…I can’t believe how sweet you are. Go on, give me a push.”

Harry laughed and began pushing her higher and higher, delighting in her squeals. They spent the afternoon outside, each taking turns, and eventually swinging with her sitting on his lap facing him. He pulled the ribbon from her hair and watched as the golden-red strands spanned out in the wind. Summoning the chocolates from where they had placed them on the ground, he asked, “What flavor filling do you like?”

“Hmmmm. If it’s chocolate, Harry, I pretty much like them all.”

“Try this one, then,” he said, chuckling and giving her one with strawberry nougat.

“Mmmm,” she sighed, licking the chocolate from her lips. He watched her in fascination without realizing she’d been trying to get his attention for several minutes.

“Harry! Where were you? Some place warm and tropical, I hope?”

“Sorry?”

“I asked you which one was your favorite.”

“Oh! I like the vanilla-filled ones.”

She pulled one out and, instead of handing it to him, proceeded to place it in his mouth, a gesture he found strangely erotic. He swallowed visibly, not even tasting the candy as she leaned in and kissed him hard. They shared the chocolate, enjoying the sensation of tasting it off each other’s lips. He found he really enjoyed Valentine’s Day this year, and thought this date was much better than any old trip to Madam Puddifoot’s would have been.

******

February turned into March, and the snow gradually melted from the Hogwarts’ grounds. On the first of March, Ron celebrated his seventeenth birthday. The plan was for Harry to get Ron out to the Quidditch pitch for some practice and pre-season strategy, while the girls set up a party in the common room. Getting Ron to agree to anything to do with Quidditch wasn’t difficult. Their next game would be against Slytherin, and Ron was anxious to get practices underway.

Harry was the last one remaining in the dorm that morning; he’d had a rough night sleeping and tried to lie in a little to make up for it. He began untying the string on his pajama bottoms, planning on taking a quick shower before heading out with Ron. He’d taken to sleeping shirtless since that night of the infamous after-party, when he couldn’t get his pajamas on. He’d discovered he liked the freedom of not wearing a shirt when sleeping.

Since his row with Ginny, his nightmares had resumed with intense frequency. He’d done his best to cover the dark circles beneath his eyes, but knew his friends were worrying. He had promised Ginny that he’d talk to them rather than pushing them away, but it wasn’t so easy to change the habits of a lifetime.

He let the hot water of the shower spray over him, invigorating him and readying him to face the day. He practiced his wandless magic by successfully summoning his clothes to him in the stall. His skill had improved greatly, and he now found himself hiding it from others when his natural inclination seemed to lean more and more towards using it. He’d already far surpassed what Mr. Taylor was able to do.

He grabbed his Firebolt and walked with Ron over to the pitch. The day was chilly, but the sun was shining, and it felt good to be outdoors. Harry noticed more birds flying about than he’d seen on his morning runs and welcomed these harbingers of spring.

“We have to really begin pushing Kirke and Sloper,” Ron said. “Crabbe and Goyle are brutal with the Bludgers. The way Slytherin won their game against Hufflepuff was by injuring all three of their Chasers. We’ve got to work on our Beaters to keep control of the Bludgers. It’s the only way Ginny, Katie, and Holly stand a chance.”

Harry didn’t much like the idea of Ginny’s only chance of escaping an injury being Jack Sloper or Andrew Kirke. They were definitely better than last year, but by no means outstanding.

“Of course,” Ron said. “With you playing, I’m certain Malfoy has instructed them to take you out at all costs. He knows from past experience that he can’t beat you otherwise.”

Harry ignored Ron’s last comment, but knew he was right about the Beaters. More than likely, he would be their primary target, and that was good, for Ginny’s sake, anyway.

He and Ron continued to strategize and generally have a good time tossing the Quaffle back and forth. Harry realized that it had been a long time since just the two of them had done anything together, and he’d missed it. He adored Ginny and Hermione, but sometimes it was good to just have some ‘bloke time’ with Ron.

“So,” Harry ventured. “Does Hermione have anything special planned for your birthday?” He tried to keep his face innocent, but he couldn’t not acknowledge Ron’s birthday, as that would tip him off for certain.

“I’m certain she’s up to something,” Ron said, a grin spreading over his freckled face.

Harry grinned back. “You are so whipped!”

“I am not. Look who’s talking.”

“Nah, I still don’t do my homework until the last minute. Tell me, Ron, when are you planning to do your essay for Trent?”

Ron’s ears turned red, and he mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that? Didn’t quite catch it,” Harry needled him.

“I already did it, all right. That doesn’t make me whipped; it makes me smart enough to take her help on homework when I can get it.”

Harry laughed out loud. “Whatever you say, mate.” He tossed the Quaffle at him with force and sped off in the opposite direction. Ron caught it and managed to hold his balance, quickly giving chase.

When Ron caught up to him, he hurled the Quaffle, and Harry had to dodge the force of the blow. Ron laughed, as Harry had to maneuver quickly to scoop up the Quaffle. “So, are you and Ginny getting on all right these days?” Ron ventured, raising an eyebrow and trying to sound casual.

Harry’s spine stiffened slightly; they had to get something straight, and now was as good a time as any. “Listen, Ron, I know that you’re only trying to protect her. I am, too. I’m just not exactly clear on the best way to do that. No matter what happens, even though I’m not trying to hurt her, we will have more rows. This is Ginny we’re talking about. You’re going to have to stay out of it and let us work it out.”

Ron sighed heavily. “I know that. It’s just hard; she’s my sister. She was hurt, and you were acting like a git.”

“I’m aware of that, Ron, but how would you like it if I threatened to bash your head in every time you and Hermione had a row and you acted like a git?”

Ron laughed. “Harry, you’d have to beat me up on practically an hourly basis. I hear what you’re saying, though, and I’ll try to back off. But no more of this ditching us for our own protection stuff. We all know the risks and think they’re worth taking. Sometimes, you act like you think we’re going to be abducted right out of the castle or something.”

Harry zoomed away without making any promises, although he was touched by Ron’s words. He led his friend towards the supply shed. “We’d better head inside; I’m certain the girls are wondering what’s keeping us.” He tried to sound casual but knew Ron was looking at him suspiciously.

“Okay, Potter, spill it. What’s going on with you lot?”

Harry blinked and arranged his face into the most innocent expression he could. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Ron glared at Harry for a few moments, but Harry remained mute, returning the stare.

“Are you trying to look in my head? You better not be using that Legilimency on me to see if I know about the surprise party, Harry.”

“Give me a break, Ron. There isn’t enough in your head to spy on. Besides, I wouldn’t do that without your permission. That time before I didn’t know I could do it.”

Ron’s expression softened. “I know, just please tell me Fred and George aren’t coming.”

Harry smiled. “Well, I can’t promise anything. You know them – they just show up. I’m not certain George would be up for it yet, though. Pretend to be surprised, okay? Hermione and Ginny worked hard on this. And, whatever you do, don’t tell them I gave it away.”

Ron clapped him on the back. “I could really hold this one over on you, mate.”

“But you won’t,” Harry replied confidently as the two friends made their way back to the common room.

It was dark as they walked in, and the room appeared empty. Ron glanced around in confusion before his housemates yelled, “Surprise!” A huge cake appeared on the table decorated with a Keeper guarding three hoops.

“Happy Birthday, Ron,” Hermione said, kissing him lightly on the lips.

Ron beamed, thoroughly enjoying the spotlight and being the center of attention. He pushed his hair back in a gesture that reminded Harry of his father in Snape’s Pensieve. Neville led him over to where a huge stack of presents was piled in the corner.

The Gryffindors spent a grand Saturday afternoon celebrating Ron’s birth – and without a visit from the twins, much to Ron’s relief.

******

As March pressed on and the weather brightened, Harry began taking his morning run around the lake. Despite all of his previous practicing on the Quidditch pitch, that first morning he thought he was going to keel over and die. He’d dragged his shaking limbs back inside, and even Mr. Taylor took pity on him and went rather easy on him that day. Easy for Mr. Taylor, that is.

As the weeks went by, Harry’s endurance and stamina improved, and he found he actually enjoyed the running. It was a good way to burn off steam, and it left him tired enough so that he slept peacefully. He asked Ron if he would like to join him some morning, and Ron looked at him like he had three heads. “Get up at five in the morning to run all the way around the bloody lake? With no one chasing you?”

Harry hadn’t asked him again. He’d noticed that neither Ginny nor Hermione had volunteered, either.

Malfoy, on the other hand, had noticed his early morning runs and had taken to positioning himself somewhere each day so that Harry would be forced to run right by him. He was surprised, as he’d never pictured Malfoy as an early riser. As he ran past, he’d noticed the blonde’s eyes narrow dangerously in intense concentration.

It didn’t take long to realize Malfoy was trying to project his thoughts towards Harry. He was testing to see if Harry could actually read his mind. The thoughts were usually about Ginny, but sometimes were about Sirius or even Voldemort – anything the Slytherin thought would provoke a reaction. Harry fought hard to control his emotions and not lash out, knowing that’s what Malfoy wanted. He had made a mistake at the DA meeting and revealed too much; now he had to cover. He couldn’t confirm Malfoy’s suspicions that he could perform Legilimency.

He desperately tried to conceal the twitch that Malfoy’s thoughts always brought on as he ran past him with the most unconcerned face he could muster. He could see the frustration growing on Malfoy’s face each day, and that made it worthwhile for Harry. What he’d really like to do was jump on him and pummel those thoughts about Ginny right out of his ugly head. He practiced his deep breathing exercises to try and calm his hostile emotions.

The running really helped him burn a lot of that pent up aggression, and he was grateful for it. Generally, he put on a huge burst of speed each time he went by Malfoy. It was also strengthening him physically, as he learned to his great surprise one afternoon while sparring with Mr. Taylor.

Harry felt he’d come a huge distance with his fencing technique since that first day he’d practiced with Remus. He and Mr. Taylor had each worked up a good sweat as they parried back and forth. That afternoon, the match had gone on for some time. At first, Mr. Taylor shouted out directions like, “Keep your sword up higher,” or “Lean slightly to the left,” but soon they had lapsed into silence, due to the intensity of the fight.

Every once in a while, Mr. Taylor would drop a brief fact about himself, trying to interrupt Harry’s concentration. These were silly useless things, such as, “I never sleep past seven o’clock,” or “I always use three sugars in my coffee. One should take advantage of anything that can make life less bitter.” Mr. Taylor had done this frequently from the beginning, particularly after realizing that any fact about Quidditch was certain to rouse Harry’s attention. He’d told him he was a Chaser, and a right good one at that. Harry had grown accustomed to this trick and was succeeding in ignoring him.

Harry lunged quickly and rolled on his back to escape Mr. Taylor’s thrust. He quickly jumped to his feet and raised his sword, clanking it down hard on his opponent’s weapon. Mr. Taylor fell to the ground, his sword falling uselessly beside him. Harry stood there, looking stunned; it was the first time he’d ever won a round.

Mr. Taylor slowly got to his feet. “Congratulations, Mr. Potter. Well done. It’s been a very long time since I was so deftly beaten.”

“I…I’m certain it was a fluke,” Harry began lamely.

“Never apologize for winning using your skill, Harry. You beat me fair and square; the praise is well earned. Accept it graciously.”

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“You’ve earned yourself a break. This lesson is over for the day. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

Harry was both awestruck and elated. For the first time since Dumbledore had revealed the prophecy to him, he felt that he actually had a chance of winning this fight. If he could beat Mr. Taylor, who was certainly more skilled and practiced with a sword than he was, even if it was just a fluke, then he also stood a chance against Voldemort. As they sat down for tea, he asked, “Any more thought on how you think Voldemort can be beaten?”

“Well, if you continue improving like this, I’d like to think you’d do it with Godric Gryffindor’s sword.”

Harry laughed. “Like the Basilisk? I don’t think so; Lucius Malfoy has already told him about that.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. We’ll come up with something that isn’t Dark.”

Harry was silent for a few minutes, pondering. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerve, he admitted what had been plaguing him for months. “At the Ministry…after she killed Sirius…I used the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange.” He painfully swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat remembering that night.

Mr. Taylor remained silent for a long time, until finally Harry raised his eyes to look at his instructor.

“Dumbledore told me,” he stated simply, surprising Harry. He hadn’t realized that Dumbledore had known. “Keep that to yourself, Harry. There is no need for that information to fall into the wrong hands. How did it make you feel?”

“Sorry?”

“Did it make you feel powerful? Did you get pleasure from causing her pain?”

Harry was confused. “I didn’t feel pleasure; it didn’t even work.”

“Exactly. The fact that you didn’t feel pleasure, even though she’d just killed the person closest to you, is very significant. It’s how I know that you’d never be able to perform a Killing Curse, either. It speaks volumes about your character, Harry. It isn’t something to be proud of, but I don’t think you are.”

“No, sir. But I wanted to hurt her.”

“Of course you did; that’s normal. You wanted her to hurt the way you were hurting, but not to hurt her for the sake of hurting. There is a difference. What you really wanted was to change what had happened, to bring Sirius back. There isn’t a spell in existence that can do that, however.”

They finished their tea in silence and considered what had happened, both in their conversation and during the duel. Afterwards, Harry made his way back to the common room to share his success with the others.

******

In addition to the heavy physical training Mr. Taylor was putting him through, Harry had to contend with Ron. Quidditch practices had resumed, and Ron’s intensity was as strong as ever. He’d scheduled practices at every opportunity and trained the entire team with vigor. His obsession sometimes had him up as early as Harry, although he was not running around the lake. Instead, he’d sit in the common room and go over the strategy book while moving miniature Quidditch players on a board his brothers had given him for his birthday.

Ginny and Andrew Kirke, who were both preparing for their OWLs, were growing more and more exasperated with Ron’s practice schedule. Ginny finally told him to go ahead and hold practice, but she wouldn’t be there. Ron settled down slightly, but not much. He did grant both Ginny and Andrew some extra slack. Katie also told Ron that she needed to have time to study for her NEWTs in addition to Quidditch. He went around muttering something about, “Since when had everyone turned into miniature Hermiones?”

The day of the Slytherin match dawned colder than the preceding week had been, with heavy gray skies. Harry hoped it would be a quick game, and that they could finish before the rain began. He joined the team for breakfast in the Great Hall and tried to eat heartily, remembering the last game and how long he’d had to go without eating. He didn’t have much of an appetite, however, and when he looked around the table at the team, no one else appeared to be eating much, either.

The Slytherin match was always dirty, and, this year, Malfoy was acting as if he had something to prove. Tensions among the students had been running high all week. Madam Pomfrey was exasperated with the number of scrapes, scuffs, and fight injuries she had to mend. Malfoy had been particularly smug, inciting choruses of Weasley is Our King, in an attempt to rattle Ron. For his part, Ron seemed to be handling it better than he had last year. A win and some confidence had gone a long way towards improving his self-esteem.

Harry walked to the changing rooms, hand-in-hand with Ginny. Her face was pale with fatigue. He knew she’d been staying up late every night, studying. Her gaze was steely, however, and he could detect the same thrill of the competition that he felt. “Stay alert up there, Gin, and watch out for those Bludgers,” he warned.

“I’ll be fine, Harry. Don’t you be worrying about me; you just watch out for yourself. You’re the one they’ll most likely be aiming for. Don’t go and try catching any Bludgers this time.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

Ginny tweaked his nose as she ran towards the girl’s changing room, yelling, “You’re so cute.”

Harry blushed and headed towards the boy’s door, a very contented grin splayed across his face. He changed into his scarlet Quidditch robes and joined the rest of the team. None of the Weasleys were in attendance this time, and Tonks was tending Remus, who was now finally back at Grimmauld Place and recovering nicely. He wasn’t up to travelling to Hogwarts yet, however. He peered out into the stands and saw Mr. Taylor sitting with Professor Dumbledore. He was dressed in Gryffindor colors, which pleased Harry immensely. One of the little facts Mr. Taylor had told Harry during their duels was that he’d been in Ravenclaw. He was wearing red and gold today in support of Harry.

Ron gave his motivational speech and ended it by telling Harry, “Catch the Snitch and try not to get hurt this time.”

Harry responded with a very rude gesture.

They all went onto the field as Luke Donovan’s droll voice introduced them. Ron and Malfoy approached each other with loathing, each trying to break the other’s hand as they shook them. Harry thought it resembled a clash of the titans as the two rivals stood there, glaring at one another. Finally, Madam Hooch broke them apart, and the game was on.

As expected, Crabbe and Goyle went at it quickly, slamming the Bludgers toward Harry and the Chasers with malice. Crabbe seemed to be focused on Harry, while Goyle lobbed the heavy balls towards each of the Chasers. Harry held his breath as one narrowly missed hitting Ginny in the head. She whipped her head around, glaring at Goyle and giving Harry an impudent smirk in the span of a second. She really is something , Harry thought as he dodged yet another Bludger.

Katie Bell scored for Gryffindor first, with Ginny getting another one in rapid succession. This only further enraged the Slytherins, and the game descended rapidly into a series of penalty shots. Gryffindor managed to keep a slight lead, but just barely. Whoever caught the Snitch would win this game.

Harry scanned the pitch, willing the Snitch to appear with his mind. Come on. Big, fat raindrops began to fall, rapidly turning into icy pellets. Harry could see his breath through his fogged glasses and quickly performed an Impervious Charm. He heard a grunt as he was doing so and turned in alarm to see Holly Proctor falling from her broom.

Fortunately, she didn’t fall from a great height, and the ground was soft with mud. Still, Madam Hooch sent her up to the hospital wing, so she was out of commission. There could be no substitutions once the game was in play. With Slytherin on a permanent power play, Gryffindor soon lost its lead and began to fall behind.

Harry could see the frustration on Ginny and Katie’s faces as they struggled to get a hold of the Quaffle. The rain was really pelting down now and despite the wet, despite the threat of Bludgers, despite the fact they were losing, Harry couldn’t help but appreciate the way her wet robes clung to Ginny’s petite frame. He was immensely glad Mrs. Weasley wasn’t there to see him ogling her daughter, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. No matter how many times he dragged his eyes away, they always ended back on the diminutive redhead.

It was during one of these times, when Harry found his eyes watching Ginny pass the Quaffle, that he saw the Snitch. It was hovering at eye level, just beyond where the Chasers were huddled, stealing the Quaffle back and forth. Malfoy saw it a moment after Harry did, but it was too late. He was off like a shot, barreling between Ginny and Katie as he reached for the golden-winged ball. Malfoy was right on his tail, and he tried to nudge Harry out of the way as they raced for the prize. Harry grabbed on to it and felt Malfoy’s hand scratch his as he closed it over the ball. He held it up in triumph as Luke Donovan said in a monotone voice, “Gryffindor wins, 210 to 170.”

Crabbe hurled one last Bludger in Harry’s direction, but Ginny yelled a warning, and Harry easily maneuvered around it. The team gathered around him in glee, shouting, “Congratulations, we did it!” to one another.

Harry heard Ron’s voice above the roar. “Hey, Harry, will wonders never cease? We won a Quidditch match that didn’t end up with you in the hospital wing.”

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