An Opus Alchymicum Vol 2: The Witch-Consul's Riddle

A Scratch and a Snitch

November breezed into Hogwarts like a cold blast from the Arctic. Every morning the ground was covered in a thick layer of frost, and the Prefects were commandeered to walk around casting melting charms on the walkways, just so that more students didn't slip on the icy surface and follow Neville, who had already slipped over three times, for spells in the Hospital Wing.

Even more icy than the air and frost was Hermione's attitude to Ron Weasley. She now point blank refused to speak to him, or even acknowledge his existence. She rebuffed his stumbling, half-hearted attempt at apology, on the one time he was brave enough to try, and actually got so upset in her angry rant that Professor Sprout - who was trying to teach them at the time - had to send Hermione to a time-out amongst some flowering Columbian Opioid plants until she calmed down.

"It's not even because Ron put her in danger," Papageno explained to Harry. "She might have been able to overlook that, because he was trying to do the right thing. It's the fact that you were so hurt that she cant forgive him."

"Oh ... really?" Harry queried, as a happy glow stole across his cheeks.

Harry stared fondly at Hermione as they watched her perform a sort of faerie rain-dance along the shores of the Great Lake. For it had turned out the Opioid plants were of a particularly potent variety, and Hermione had spent Transfiguration trying to catch an errant, hallucinated unicorn who was prancing between the rows of seats, until Professor McGonagall excused her from the lesson and told Harry to take her for some fresh air.

It was still very odd to be talking to Papageno, and Harry wasn't entirely sure how comfortable he was with it yet. The more he thought about what Pap was, the more he felt like he was intruding on the most private and intimate parts of his best friend. The mere act of looking at the dæmon felt thrillingly forbidden, but Harry was addicted to the sensation. It was like talking to another person, too, and Harry was often careless in his speech, saying things to the cat that he might not have said to Hermione's face.

Then he would remember that Hermione and Pap were of one mind, and she'd know everything he'd said, and Harry would be far too embarrassed to speak to her when they met up. Like when he told Pap that he played Quidditch much better when Hermione came to watch, and that he often flew by her seat just to hear her clapping for him. It made him fly that little bit faster and catch the Snitch a little bit quicker.

Quite why that embarrassed her so much Harry couldn't fathom. But when they had both stopped flushing enough to speak, after Hermione joined Harry following a training session, she repaid his compliment by giving him the best motivational speech ever invented in the history of Harry Potter's world.

"Are you ready for the match against Slytherin on Saturday?" Hermione asked, as they walked slowly back to the castle from the Quidditch pitch with Pap circling their feet.

"Well ... I've been practising a lot," Harry mumbled, wringing his hands. "And I think I've been okay."

"You've been better than okay," Hermione told him supportively. "You've been brilliant. I bet that little golden ball is sick of being in your fingers at this point!"

"Thanks," Harry grinned shyly. He was still fumbling with those same digits, though. "But it'll be different in a match, won't it? There will be a whole seven other players, and they are all Slytherins. I'm pretty sure Fred and George Weasley went easy on me with their Beater work in training. The Green Snakes wont be as courteous. They'll more likely try to hammer me off my broom!"

"You're nervous," Hermione stated gently, sounding surprised.

"Bit nervous, yeah," Harry muttered. He couldn't quite meet Hermione's eye just then