Chapter 12
Chapter 12
"What the bloody hell are you wearing?" Ron made a disgusted face.
Harry looked down at his buttercup yellow pajamas. "I let Dobby do my shopping," he sighed.
He'd specifically told Dobby to go wild as long as he didn't look like the headmaster. Hopefully that would balance out the wardrobe he had Dobby purchase. How was he to know that letting the house elf do his school shopping would result in him having an entire wardrobe suitable for all weather conditions, several shoes and boots, a new book bag that was easy to organise, and great care products, after all. He was just a dumb teenage boy who couldn't see the consequences of his actions unless they slapped him in the face with a dead fish.
"I told him not to buy anything pretentious, just ordinary school shopping." He fingered his sleeve. It was so soft it felt almost liquid. "I forgot he used to be a Malfoy elf," he added drily. "And he obviously has his own style."
Ron snorted with derision. "You look like a ponce. Gonna let him pamper you too now? Some curls? A little makeup?"
Neville came over. "It's a little bold, but cheerful, which describes Dobby well, right? And it's definitely very good quality. It's going to last you a life time." His lips twitched when Harry gave him a long suffering look.
"It's nice to be rich," Ron sneered.
"I'd prefer to have parents rather than money, but to each their own, apparently."
He'd always wanted to say that every time his supposed best friend started in on how much money he had. He'd kept his mouth shut to preserve their friendship, but that was dead and buried now; he didn't care anymore.
"How dare you-" Ron immediately raged.
"How dare you." Harry's voice was low and soft and so cold it burned. It drew Ron short and -like any other bully- he chose retreat. The other boy snorted again and went to bed. "I've got better things to do than hanging out with cowards and ponces." He drew his curtains shut and put up a privacy ward. All the other boys automatically layered on silencing charms. Ron's snores had forced them to learn that spell early on and he still managed to break through three layers of them.
"We're going to keep out of that, mate," Dean said and Seamus nodded. "Nice outfit, though. Very fetching," the latter snickered.
Harry crossed his arms. "Do you want me to take a pillow to your head. Because if you go down that road, mate, you're going down."
All boys glanced at each other and pounced on their beds -grabbing for pillows- at the same time.
"Bring it!"
---
"What are you doing up this early?" Hermione asked with confusion.
It was six o'clock on the morning after the welcoming feast and -normally- Harry would have been 'asleep'; only stumbling out of bed by eight o'clock. Unless there was Quidditch training.
Of course, in reality he had been practicing magic or reading in bed. It was his private time, and he never had wanted to share it with anyone else. Not even his best friends.
Harry looked down at his partial Quidditch uniform and then raised his eyebrows at her. "Exercising," he said.
"Yes, obviously," she huffed, "You've been adamant that you're not going to play Quidditch, though, and yet here you are."
She sounded faintly irritated and it had Harry's hackles rising. "We're at war, Hermione. Stamina, strength, flexibility; it's all important during battle. So, I'm going to exercise and train."
"It's not like we're going to be battling at Hogwarts." She rolled her eyes.
"Are you on something?" Harry asked incredulously.
Hermione flushed red and dropped her head in her hands. "I'm sorry, it's just... School has barely started. The end of the year is months away, and you've been so militant about everything. I know there's a war going on. You don't need to keep hammering it home!"
Harry stared at his best friend and wondered if she really knew. Up until now, she and Ron had treated everything as an adventure. Something they did because no one was doing anything, yet both of them had this odd faith that it all would work out. That their parents or teachers -or the Order- would swoop in at the last minute and make it all better.
And for them, that's exactly what had happened each year.
Yes, Cedric had died, but they hadn't known him. And to them, Sirius was this pitiful person they'd kept some distance from because he wasn't all there.
They had been terrified during their adventures, true, but they'd also been heroes with a just cause. And they hadn't had to pay a price.
'Or-' Harry thought as he looked at the wet sheen to Hermione's eyes and her harsh grip on her book, '-it had become too real.'
Hermione had been seriously injured during the battle at the Ministry, and she would always have that scar. Perhaps she needed the distance Hogwarts provided them; the illusion that they were safe and nothing could touch them here. At least for a little while.
He could give her that.
He gave her an obnoxious shrug. "Well, you asked," he said with an annoyed tone. "And I like working out, sue me!" He stomped off towards the portrait hole without looking back.
He ignored Hermione's harrumph and her mutterings about immature and irritating boys.
He'd intended to pull her aside and tell her not to try fixing things between Ron and him. It was a useless exercise that would only stress her out. But maybe she needed it to keep her mind off of things.
And besides, it would be safer for her if they had a falling out.
---
It might seem weird that Harry was ghosting through Hogwarts on an early morning as part of his calisthenics when he had the cottage trunk, but he had to explain away his increased fitness somehow. During the summer, the illusion of Harry had been exercising regularly inside Dudley's second bedroom. Now, Harry was walking briskly towards the Room of Requirement. Because of course that's where he would go. It was perfect for working out in all kinds of conditions, and it was much better than having to brave the Scottish weather on the Quidditch field.
He wasn't bored of the trunk yet, but it would be a good safehouse when he was on the run. That day would come soon enough, and he couldn't predict how long the war would be. The cottage was his safe haven right now. He didn't want it to become a prison.
Besides, he was very curious about the capabilities of the ROR, and he was looking forward to discovering them all. In fact, he had an idea that would help him immensely if it bore out.
First though, he would call his family. He wasn't the only one who was excited to find out what the ROR could do, and he wanted to discuss what happened in the last twenty-four hours with them. At least one of them had been guarding him the whole time.
Both elves were absolutely furious with Lupin and Harry needed that. His nightmares about Sirius falling through the veil and his dead loved ones condemning him had returned with a vengeance, and his workout regime wasn't the only reason he was up so early.
Winky also quickly disabused him of the notion that it was better for his best friend if he made a decision for Hermione without her input. She didn't need to use many words to draw the comparison between his complaints about Dumbledore and that decision.
Unfortunately, Harry couldn't act on that shameful realisation because that would have actually been a too mature response.
More and more, he had to fight the urge not to yell 'constant vigilance' at the top of his lungs at inopportune moments. He had barely recovered from being painted as a crackpot and attention seeker, though. He knew better than to give his enemies more ammunition.
Still.