"What am I going to do?" she whispered, horror visible on her face. A soft groan escaped from her lips as she slumped on the comfortable couch, hiding her face underneath a random throw pillow.
Her best friend looked at her pitiful form, his merry laughter never ceasing. He couldn't help it. The situation she had landed herself was too comical for him to just be a good best friend and pat her on the back, saying that everything would be all right.
Hermione gave him a one-eyed glare, her other eye still hidden behind the pillow. "Shut up," she growled. "Harry Potter, I called you here because I expected you to comfort me like what a good best friend should do."
"Ha ha. I'm sorry... too funny... can't stop laughing," he said in between gasps. His chuckle only worsened when the brunette weakly threw the pillow into his direction. It had landed a few meters in front of Harry, not even hitting Hermione's supposed target.
"You call that a throw?" Harry exclaimed, resuming his 'Quidditch Captain' voice. "Hermione, if I am the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, I am so gonna deny you the position."
"Not helping!" she said in a sarcastic, sing-song voice. Hermione forced herself to sit upright on the couch. She then brought her knees into her chest, resting her chin on top. A miserable look settled on her face as she shot a look at Harry. "Tell me when you are going to stop laughing, Harry. I think I'll just go back to the common room now and wallow in self-pity."
"Oh, the drama!" he exclaimed, plopping down beside Hermione. He leaned his head on her shoulder, which she rudely pushed away. "How immature!" he cried, pointing an accusatory finger on her. "Maybe Nott's childishness had rubbed off into you."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "This isn't a laughing matter," she retorted, glaring. "You know how terrified I am of flying."
"You've ridden an airplane countless times before," he pointed out.
"But that's different!" she said. "There's some educated pilot who knows how to drive the damn thing!"
"Uh-oh," Harry said, mock horror on his face. He knew that a cursing Hermione was a very, very angry one. "Calm down. Nobody had ever died while riding a broomstick, you know."
He actually thought it was the right thing to say. Alas, her nervousness only fueled. "Don't tell such lies, Harry," she said. "I've made researches about Quidditch before and according to them, about ten percent of Quidditch players, professional and non-professional, died because of Quidditch-related accidents. That's a lot already!"
Harry rolled his eyes, his face now turning serious. "Then don't go," he pointed out. "No one's forcing you..."
"Except Teddy," she said, making a sour face. "He expects me to go, Harry. He just... assumed that I can fly a bloody broomstick just because I went to the same school as Viktor Krum." Hermione groaned once again and hid her face with her hands. "What am I going to do?"
"Ditch it. No big deal," he said, frowning. "It's as simple as that. You don't have to be such a worrier over this matter."
"It is a big deal," she interjected, removing her hands from her face to stare at Harry pointedly. "You have noidea how Theodore Nott gets angry. He's childish, remember? He gets angry over petty things. And I..." She paused and scratched the back of her neck absentmindedly. She was trying to think of the right word to say. "I... don't want to upset him. You get me?"
Harry looked astonished. "That's how close you are with Nott... and Zabini already?" he asked in disbelief.
Hermione managed to crack a sheepish smile. "They... kinda remind me of both you and Ron. Blaise had been a good adviser, Harry. Just like you. And you do know how much I don't want to disappoint both you and Ron, right?"
