0422 Eve of Departure

Fred and George eventually apologized to Mrs. Weasley and made some promises. This wasn’t because they had deeply recognized their ‘mistakes’ and decided to mend their ways, but rather due to the additional requirements Remus had when reaching an agreement with them.

Regardless, the atmosphere in the house had improved considerably because of this.

As night fully embraced the village, the sky transformed into a canvas of deep, rich blue. The twinkling stars, usually so prominent in this rural setting, were outshone by the brilliance of the moon. Cool evening breezes, carrying the scent of wildflowers and freshly cut grass, danced across the boundless wilderness surrounding the Burrow. The knee-high grass swayed in rhythmic waves, creating an illusion of a green sea stretching as far as the eye could see.

Even though he had been living here for over half a month, Harry was still captivated by this leisurely, comfortable scene before him. He stood at the window, gazing at this view for a long time, only slowly turning away when Hermione and Ginny returned from their run and entered the yard.

The room was a mess. Harry and Ron’s holiday homework, clothes, and shoes were scattered everywhere. Ron was struggling to pack his luggage. Although there was still some time before school started, they couldn’t be sure how long this Quidditch World Cup would last. If it went on for a whole week like last time, it would be too late to do these things then.

“They’re back,” Harry said casually as he carefully folded his Gryffindor Quidditch robes into a square.

“Who?” Ron, so deeply engrossed in his packing struggle, took several moments to process Harry’s words. His blue eyes, clouded with confusion, slowly cleared as he realized who Harry was talking about.

“It’s really boring—” Ron grumbled, his frustration evident as he unceremoniously stuffed several pairs of maroon socks (a color he detested) into his already overflowing trunk. “I don’t understand why they still have to do this during summer vacation.”

“Because Professor Watson’s order was to run for half an hour every day,” Harry said. “Hermione is the teaching assistant for this course, so she definitely wants to excel in it.”

Ron’s face scrunched up in a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “That’s why it’s boring. I don’t understand how running and dodging dungbombs can be of any use…” His voice trailed off, but then he continued with renewed vigor, “Yeah, Professor Watson is indeed good, no doubt he’s a capable guy, but that’s the problem, Harry. Capable people are always a bit eccentric, like Dumbledore.”

Harry didn’t respond.

In truth, Ron’s statement wasn’t entirely accurate, and Harry knew it. The vast majority of young witches and wizards who had persisted with Professor Watson’s unconventional course had already seen the value of their current training. The seemingly ridiculous task of dodging dungbombs was, in fact, a clever way to increase their agility – a skill that could prove life-saving when dodging spells in a real magical duel.

Ron had already given up on this course, and for the past few days, possibly because Fred and George had received a large investment, he had been in a gloomy mood.

Ron always seemed sensitive when it came to money-related issues. Both Harry and Hermione were well aware of this, but they found themselves at a loss for how to address it. If they put themselves in Ron’s position – constantly overshadowed by successful older brothers, always making do with hand-me-downs, and now watching his twin brothers potentially on the brink of financial success – they might have been even more easily upset.

But neither Harry nor Hermione knew how to console their friend without potentially making the situation worse. So, as they often did in such delicate situations, they opted to change the subject or simply keep quiet, allowing Ron to work through his feelings in his own time.

The tense silence that had fallen over the room was suddenly broken by the sound of the door swinging open.

“You two are really slow at this,” Hermione said as she suddenly opened the door and walked in a while later.

She seemed to have just come from the bathroom, her hair still wet and she was drying her hair with a damp towel.

She was wearing a new sky-blue nightgown with white lace at the cuffs. Perhaps because she had grown taller during these days at the Weasleys’, Hermione’s ankles were exposed to the air. After entering the room, she looked around, then stepped over Ron’s trunk on the floor and sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, focusing on drying her hair.

A faint, fresh fragrance suddenly filled the air of the room, and even the light seemed to brighten a bit.

Ron’s reaction to Hermione’s entrance was immediate and obvious, at least to anyone who knew him well. His face underwent a rapid series of transformations – from surprise to embarrassment. In a poor attempt at nonchalance, he averted his gaze and buried his head in his trunk, pretending to be deeply engrossed in rearranging its already chaotic contents.

“Have you finished packing, Hermione?” Harry asked, pulling out the robe that was trapped under Hermione’s bottom. He shook it in the air before carelessly stuffing it into his trunk.

“I did it this afternoon while you were trying to get information out of Sirius and Remus about what’s going to happen at Hogwarts next term,” Hermione replied.

Ron, having somewhat recovered his composure, chimed in from his position at the desk where he was now pretending to organize his summer homework. His eyes, however, kept darting towards Hermione, never quite making direct contact.

“Oh, why aren’t you curious at all?” he asked, a note of frustration in his voice. “All summer, Percy has been teasing us into asking about this, but when we actually ask, he cites Ministry rules as an excuse. But I don’t see why it needs to be kept secret anymore, right? In this house, I reckon we three are the only ones who don’t know.”

“Ginny doesn’t know either, I asked her. And Ginny couldn’t get anything out of Fred and George,” Hermione said stretching. Her body, already showing signs of early development, had become even more vibrant due to the consistent exercise she’d maintained over the summer.

“If they were willing to tell us, they would have done so already, Ron. I’m more curious about who the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor will be next year. Sirius was about to tell us, but then we started discussing Harry’s scar, and he forgot about it.”

“If it wasn’t for that stupid cow Parkinson’s idiocy,” Harry exclaimed, his voice filled with indignation, “Sirius would still be the professor for this course!”

Ron, seemingly unable to bear the heated atmosphere in the room any longer, moved to the open window. The cool night air washed over him as he took a few deep breaths before responding.

“It’s probably for the best, mate—” he said, his voice carrying a mix of resignation and an attempt at optimism. “Quirrell, Lockhart, and Lupin, look at their unfortunate experiences. Only Professor Watson is an exception, but you can’t compare him to others, can you? No one can see through how capable he is… At least Sirius is safe now. He hasn’t been sent to Azkaban or St. Mungo’s, and he can still happily go to the World Cup with us in good health. That’s good enough.”

Harry had to admit, grudgingly, that Ron sometimes displayed surprising insight. Reflecting on Ron’s words, he also found himself agreeing. Perhaps it was indeed better this way. The thought of Sirius free, happy, and able to attend the Quidditch World Cup with them was indeed something to be grateful for.

However, a nagging worry still plagued Harry’s mind. “Whoever comes to teach this course, I just hope they won’t be Voldemort’s pawn—” he said, his voice laced with concern.

“Why would you think that, Harry”

The reaction to Voldemort’s name was immediate and dramatic. Ron, having grown up in a wizarding family where the his name was never spoken, visibly flinched. It was as if someone had suddenly doused him with ice-cold water in the dead of winter. His face paled, making his freckles stand out even more starkly against his skin.

Hermione, despite her Muggle upbringing and generally rational nature, wasn’t entirely immune to the fear that name inspired. She straightened up abruptly, her eyes widening in surprise. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she wanted to admonish Harry for using the name so casually, but no words came out.

Noticing their reactions, Harry elaborated, “Sirius and Remus talked to me earlier, instructing me not to sneak into the Forbidden Forest this term, and not to use the secret passage to go to Hogsmeade when it’s not open—” His voice was gloomy, “My dreams must have made them think Voldemort is planning some sort of scheme, and this scheme is likely related to me.”

Hermione was quick to voice her agreement with the adults’ caution. “But you have to admit, it’s indeed possible, isn’t it, Harry? I think Sirius and Remus are right, we must be more careful…” Her brow furrowed in concentration as she continued, “And Professor Watson’s physical education class, you should start training again too. At least if you encounter any danger, it could increase your chances of escape!”

Ron, however, was not convinced. He turned from the window, his face a mix of exasperation and forced boldness.

“Oh, you’re just being needlessly worried, Hermione,” he said dismissively, waving a hand as if to brush away her concerns. “Even if You-Know-Who is really planning some scheme against you, Harry, he can’t possibly break into Hogwarts, can he? I’d like to see how he plans to kidnap you under the noses of Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Watson.”

Hermione’s response was swift and sharp. She fixed Ron with a disapproving glare, her brown eyes flashing with intensity.

“You-Know-Who isn’t just powerful in magic, Ron,” she said, her voice taking on the lecturing tone they’d all become familiar with. “He’s also a master of cunning schemes. The book ‘Major Magical Events of the Twentieth Century’ describes many cases where You-Know-Who effortlessly brought the Ministry of Magic to the brink of collapse and threw the entire wizarding world into panic.”

She paused, her expression softening slightly as she turned to Harry. “Of course, I’m not suggesting Harry should live in constant fear, but at least, you should take Sirius and Remus’s advice seriously, Harry.”

The tension in the room had reached a palpable level. Ron, clearly uncomfortable with the serious turn the conversation had taken, and perhaps even more uncomfortable with Hermione’s presence in her current attire, decided it was time to make his exit.

“Alright, tomorrow is the World Cup. Let’s not make everyone tense with this kind of talk right now, Hermione,” he said, his eyes darting towards Hermione before quickly averting his gaze from her form in the thin nightgown.

“Oh, it’s really hot in here, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, his face flushed as he stumbled towards the door. The coolness from the open window seemed to have no effect on his sudden discomfort. “I need to go take a shower. Mom said we have to get up at five in the morning to set off, so we’d better go to sleep early.”

With that hasty explanation, Ron fled the room, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in a moment of awkward silence.

Harry, his mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Voldemort and the ominous warnings from Sirius and Remus, took a moment to process Ron’s abrupt departure. The cool breeze from the window contrasted sharply with Ron’s claim of heat, leaving Harry slightly bewildered. He turned his gaze to Hermione, his emerald eyes questioning behind his round glasses.

“Is it hot?” Harry asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice. He glanced back at the open window, where the night air continued to bring in the refreshing scents of the countryside. The coolness of the breeze against his skin seemed at odds with Ron’s complaint. Turning back to Hermione, Harry’s brow furrowed as he noticed an unusual flush creeping up her cheeks.

Hermione, typically composed and eloquent, seemed to shrink under Harry’s questioning gaze. “Oh—” she stammered, a hint of guilt in her voice. Her hands, which had been idly playing with the hem of her nightgown, suddenly stilled. “Um, maybe…” she trailed off, her usually confident demeanor faltering.

“Well then,” Hermione said, her voice artificially bright as she hurried towards the door. “Get some rest early, Harry. Good night—”

With those words, Hermione slipped out of the room, leaving behind only the lingering scent of her shampoo and a faint trace of the tension that had permeated the air moments before.

Harry stood alone in the room, feeling as though he had missed something important.

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