[He could swear there's an aching sore that vibrates through him, not from the typical jolt of a pain over his scar, but the kind that comes from being kept away from Quidditch. It can be set aside on any regular day but when Ron announces his departure to practice, Harry bites his tongue to keep from saying anything nasty purely out of spite. After all, it's not his best friend's fault he had gotten banned from the team. Ron walks away with his broom over his shoulder and Harry merely waves a hand, shouts good luck, and turns down the corridor to find a decent distraction.
It's not his first choice but Hermione insists that they haven't been spending enough time in the library (a lie if there ever was one, it was their go-to space if there wasn't any chairs left in the common room) and it's a chilly late afternoon when he has his fingers curled around the edges of Quirky Charms and Petty Hexes: Volume II, with Hermione seated beside him.
He rereads the same sentence six to eight times as his mind wanders, too far away from the small corner of himself where his cares for passing Professor Flitwick's classes happen to be. How can he when his daydreams are of floating amongst the clouds, arms outstretched as he reaches for the quill. If only he could play one little game, just an afternoon of soaring and diving, no harm done.
But his thoughts return to Umbridge involuntarily and the way she holds his Firebolt hostage in her office. As if that weren't enough to make his insides twitch, Hermione sits besides him reciting segments of her notes, loud and boldly, as if she were addressing the entire room and not just the two of them.
His eyes roll, setting his own book down as he shoots an annoyed glance at her.] Hermione. As a prefect, aren't you supposed to discourage being loud in the library?
[ Hermione stops, mid-sentence, to address her best friend's unnecessary concern, one finger pressed against the dark ink of her notes, marking the place where Harry had interrupted her.
She glances back down at her complicated scrawl and exhales. ]
That's up to Madam Pince and I don't see her anywhere, do you?
[ Not that she's ever much liked the stuffy, uptight librarian of Hogwarts. She's always unnecessarily shushing people when, really, there are worse things going on in the library that she's the last to find out. People snogging in the back rows between the Goblin Wars of 1512 and General Spells for Domestic Witches ... and Pince is never around to catch them.
She lifts her finger from her notes, watches as the parchment catches in on itself and rolls right back up against the edge of her textbooks. ]
[Perhaps it would have been considered so, during the days of their first years in which Hermione was a stickler for practically every little thing. In those days, she might have scolded the boys for making such a racket over discussing Quidditch moves or sharing complaints on Potions class. Over time, Hermione's lightened up with her complaints and Harry's been ever thankful for it.
But he raises a brow when she addresses her lack of concentration. This is the girl who could keep her nose in a book during a boisterous Quidditch rally and get through hundreds of pages without pause. With all these revisions that need doing (at least according to her), there's plenty strange about her being off her usual focus.
And maybe he gets annoyed when she pokes him too much to study with her, but she's still his friend and there's honest concern when he speaks.] Did something happen?
[ Hermione lets out a breath of exasperation as though she might argue on the point of her feeling 'rebellious' but it comes out as more of a laugh, humourless.
Of course that's not really it, and she knows Harry's aware of that too.
She gives her notes a narrow-eyed stare for a second before turning to Harry. Oh, she'll conquer those facts. Maybe in another hour or so, even. When it comes to her studies, there's very little that can stand in her way - or her determination. And she's determined not to let this or anything else get in the way of that.
But.
As she looks at Harry, her expression softens, becomes a little less hard-edged with stubborn determination, allowing her own anxieties to leak through - just a bit. ]
Harry. I'm sure I'm not the only one who felt like we were actually doing something with the - [ She leans in, voice lowering. ] D.A.
I suppose I just feel restless. About Professor Dumbledore, about Umbridge ... everything.
[She isn't the only one with her concerns. Harry's lips press tighter together as she makes mention of it, all the things that have been tugging at him inside. There was still no word of Professor Dumbledore, of whether he'll be able to come back (not with Umbridge around, that's for sure), and there's that creeping sense of regret. That he never got the chance to properly speak to the professor at all. Not since last June, all because of Harry's own selfish frustrations.
He sets his book down now, closing it entirely because, unlike Hermione, he doesn't really expect his own interest in their studies to spark to life again anytime soon.]
Of course you're not the only one, Hermione. I — we were on the right track. We were finally getting somewhere.
[And then Umbridge ... the scar on his hand where the faint letters of I must not tell lies rest earns a slight throb.]
But we knew the risks. And you — [He looks to Hermione, sighing quietly.] You made the right call, you know. With that hex. It saved us in the end.
[ Hermione leans back, her cheeks going a bit pink with the compliment. Or - well, the fact of the statement. She's glad she did it even if she felt a little horrible about doing it in the first place. Of course she'd done it with the intention to protect everyone involved, but she never really expected anyone to actually trigger the hex. ]
But now what? If I have to listen to Professor Umbridge telling us to read another chapter in our books about the theory of self-defence, I may very well scream.
[ Well, not really, Hermione's far too proper a student for that. (With the rare exception of Trelawney.) ]
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( ━ and then there were two )
( ━ study session )
no subject
[ Hermione stops, mid-sentence, to address her best friend's unnecessary concern, one finger pressed against the dark ink of her notes, marking the place where Harry had interrupted her.
She glances back down at her complicated scrawl and exhales. ]
That's up to Madam Pince and I don't see her anywhere, do you?
[ Not that she's ever much liked the stuffy, uptight librarian of Hogwarts. She's always unnecessarily shushing people when, really, there are worse things going on in the library that she's the last to find out. People snogging in the back rows between the Goblin Wars of 1512 and General Spells for Domestic Witches ... and Pince is never around to catch them.
She lifts her finger from her notes, watches as the parchment catches in on itself and rolls right back up against the edge of her textbooks. ]
Besides, I just can't seem to concentrate today.
no subject
[Perhaps it would have been considered so, during the days of their first years in which Hermione was a stickler for practically every little thing. In those days, she might have scolded the boys for making such a racket over discussing Quidditch moves or sharing complaints on Potions class. Over time, Hermione's lightened up with her complaints and Harry's been ever thankful for it.
But he raises a brow when she addresses her lack of concentration. This is the girl who could keep her nose in a book during a boisterous Quidditch rally and get through hundreds of pages without pause. With all these revisions that need doing (at least according to her), there's plenty strange about her being off her usual focus.
And maybe he gets annoyed when she pokes him too much to study with her, but she's still his friend and there's honest concern when he speaks.] Did something happen?
no subject
Of course that's not really it, and she knows Harry's aware of that too.
She gives her notes a narrow-eyed stare for a second before turning to Harry. Oh, she'll conquer those facts. Maybe in another hour or so, even. When it comes to her studies, there's very little that can stand in her way - or her determination. And she's determined not to let this or anything else get in the way of that.
But.
As she looks at Harry, her expression softens, becomes a little less hard-edged with stubborn determination, allowing her own anxieties to leak through - just a bit. ]
Harry. I'm sure I'm not the only one who felt like we were actually doing something with the - [ She leans in, voice lowering. ] D.A.
I suppose I just feel restless. About Professor Dumbledore, about Umbridge ... everything.
no subject
He sets his book down now, closing it entirely because, unlike Hermione, he doesn't really expect his own interest in their studies to spark to life again anytime soon.]
Of course you're not the only one, Hermione. I — we were on the right track. We were finally getting somewhere.
[And then Umbridge ... the scar on his hand where the faint letters of I must not tell lies rest earns a slight throb.]
But we knew the risks. And you — [He looks to Hermione, sighing quietly.] You made the right call, you know. With that hex. It saved us in the end.
no subject
[ Hermione leans back, her cheeks going a bit pink with the compliment. Or - well, the fact of the statement. She's glad she did it even if she felt a little horrible about doing it in the first place. Of course she'd done it with the intention to protect everyone involved, but she never really expected anyone to actually trigger the hex. ]
But now what? If I have to listen to Professor Umbridge telling us to read another chapter in our books about the theory of self-defence, I may very well scream.
[ Well, not really, Hermione's far too proper a student for that. (With the rare exception of Trelawney.) ]