Harry Potter 1. Quidditch in the Backyard

BOOM. A thunderclap of sound rocked the air behind the Burrow, causing multiple ripples in the backyard scrying pool.

BOOM. A gnome poked his head out of a patch of Mrs. Weasley's mood-lilies and clapped his hands over his ears, grumbling angrily and causing a shower of crackling purple sparks to rise from the blooms.

"Oy, Harry, these have got to be the best ever! Betcha Hermione and Mum would explode faster than a Blast-Ended Skrewt if they caught us trying these out!"

Harry smiled giddily at his friend, mirroring Ron's rakish grin.

"They're pretty terrific, Ron. How many do you think we've got left?"

Ron frowned judiciously into a small black bag, then weighed it in his hand.

"I'd wager three hundred at least; just enough for another match, eh Harry? Or are you up to it?" Ron asked wickedly.

"Hah! Bring it on!" Harry cried, jumping back onto his broom and rising almost instantly into the air.

Ron dumped the bag out in his hand, revealing hundreds of iridescent gold spheres just about the size of fish eggs. He leaned in close and whispered, "Viktor Krum…and the Chudley Cannon Chasers, Falmouth Falcon Keeper, one Kenmare Kestrel Beater and one--"

"And one Wimbourne Wasp Beater!" Harry shouted from above.

The orders were given. Immediately the balls flew up into the air, coalescing and changing color to form six Quidditch players, clothed in their respective uniforms and sitting high atop flying brooms. Then Ron unlatched a battered old box of Quidditch balls, tossing them into the air.

Shortly after, another BOOM shook the Burrow, signifying the end of the match. The explosion caused by the breakup of the many tiny balls was considerably louder, although not as long, as Ron's satisfied sigh. The two boys sat on the ground next to their brooms, exhausted and plastered with sweat.

"Finally got that git Krum, didn't we Harry?" he said happily.

"Sure we did, Ron," Harry answered, looking at him carefully. "Why did you pick him again? I thought we were going to use the last set of Mimic-Orbs for the whole set of Chudley Cannons."

"Harry, as much as the Cannons are the best _team_ in the league, Krum has to be beaten! We have to practice our skills against him to get better! It's our—our—duty, Harry!" Ron gestured helplessly with his hands.

"So are you saying he's the best, Ron?" Harry asked slyly.

Ron colored furiously, spitting a vehement "_Never_!"

"Are you sure you're not still just jealous of him because he took Hermione—"

"Did I just hear my name?" Hermione said from behind them, causing them both to turn around with a jerk.

"Oy, I think I got whiplash," Harry complained, rubbing his neck.

"Er, Hermione, when did you get back? Is Mum here?" Ron asked rapidly, trying to ignore his thumping chest as he stared up at Hermione.

"What, not even a 'hello, Hermione, thanks for going out to get food to cook for us' or 'My, what a kind witch you are—good to see you back'? Honestly. And the two of you—you're both covered in sweat! What were you doing, using Mimic-Orbs to make poor imitations of Quidditch players and being proud 'cause you beat them?"

"They're not poor imitations! They're like the real thing! And we beat them, five times, easy as—oops." Ron halted, then smiled sheepishly at Hermione.

"Ah-HA. Just as I thought! You know those are not to be used to imitate people! You could be held in the Juvenile Wizard's Brig for at least three weeks! And how in Merlin's name did you even rack up the Galleons to buy that many?" Hermione put her hands on her hips, fixing a burning stare upon them both.

Ron could already feel his face melting off. "Well, you see, Hermione—Harry here made great pals with this girl at my brothers' joke shop—"

"Oh! You met Dabra already?" Hermione interjected, looking suddenly as if the whole world were a library and it rained books everyday.

"Dabra? I thought it was Debra…" Ron asked, turning to Harry.

"I just talked with her for a little bit…she didn't recognize me at first, and it was kinda cool to introduce myself for once." Harry said, not looking at Hermione or Ron.

"Yeah, he talked with her and all the sudden it was like WHAM—do you want any extra stuff from the Joke Shop, boys? Fantastic, Harry—you should talk to girls more often!" said an enthused Ron.

"Well, I can't believe you already wrangled something out of that girl. She's supposed to be quite intelligent, you know; Fred and George hired her because she was able to enchant a telephone to dial itself and have its buttons change numbers every three seconds to confuse the person using it. Do you realize how complicated that is? She's Muggleborn, like me, apparently her parents figured she was magical when she was only three and found some old Squib to teach her. They actually renamed her "Dabra," instead of her original birth name, to be a nickname for "Abracadabra." If you ask me, that's going a little overboard, but I suppose—"

"Enough, Hermione!" Ron moaned. "What'd you do, read a book on this girl?"

"Honestly, Ron, I just talked with Fred and George about her and want to get to know her. Is that such a crime?"

"Hermione, I just think we could talk about something else! Something interesting, --like--Quidditch!" Ron yelled to a retreating Hermione.

Harry thought he heard a dry "hah" from Hermione, but he couldn't be sure. He lay back down on the grass, closing his eyes to the afternoon sun, and starting thinking back about Dabra. Just from the brief talk he had with her, it seemed she _was_ very intelligent, like Hermione had said. It had been really great to finally meet someone—some girl—not starstruck by his scar. Or "scarstruck," as Ron had once termed it.

"I can never have a conversation without her blowing up at me, mate," Ron said glumly. "It's like having a human Howler walking around with you—awful."

Harry took a moment to remember Ron was speaking of Hermione.

"Yeah, I think she's probably just tired from going to the Wizard Mart with your mom. Last time she went Mrs. Weasley had her carry something like four bunches of extra-large nightshade, a Muscular Mushroom, and maybe a bushel of apples," Harry said.

Ron whistled. Being the youngest boy, he'd gone for years on shopping trips with his mother, only to come back with sore arms, scratches from some of the feistier plants, and a huge headache.

"Maybe I'll go check on her then, mate. You know, try to get her back in a good mood before tonight."

"Right," said Harry, smiling to himself, with eyes still closed. "Go put her in a good mood."


	2. Ron Gets the Girl

Upstairs Hermione lay on her bed, taking a rare glance at _Witch's Weekly_.

_Hmm_, she mused, _"Romantic Scandal Gives Gringotts Goblins a Bad Name"…I'll have to share that one with Ron sometime while he's eating too much, that'll take away his appetite for sure._

"Hullo, Hermione!" Ron said in a bright voice from outside the door. "Mind if I come in?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know, Ron."

"Look, I'm sorry about cutting you off earlier. It was interesting, I just…I don't know."

"It's ok, Ron…I was just tired."

Ron mentally tallied another mark up for Harry; how did he read women like that so well?

"So can I come in?" he asked again hopefully.

"Sure," Hermione said.

"What?"

"Sure."

"Huh?"

"I SAID 'SURE'!" she yelled.

A quiet voice replied, "Oh." Ron opened the door and came in to sit on the bed by her feet.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Hermione lowered _Witch's Weekly_ to stare at him.

"Did you want something?" she asked.

"I—I—" Ron couldn't believe it. He'd mustered the courage to come to her room—himself without Harry—just to talk to her and maybe make her feel better. It seemed like the dumbest, most transparent idea now. She'd think he was an idiot. Or she'd think he'd come to taunt her. Worse, she might think he fancied—

"Ron?"

"Er, HermioneIwantedtoaskhowshoppingwastodayandifyouweretired," he blurted.

Hermione blinked and put down the magazine.

"Gosh, Ron, that's really sweet. As a matter-of-fact, it was pretty exhausting. There were quite a bit of things to get—" She said up to speak, setting Ron's stomach churning. She were only a foot away! He was completely caught by her animated smile and moving hair—that hair was so soft-looking—he could probably touch it if he just lifted his hand. Ron shook his head, dazed.

"—and bought even a package of young TonFruit. I can't imagine what—Ron, are you alright?" Hermioned asked in concern. "You don't look well. Here, let me see if you've got a temperature."

Without another word, she placed her hand on his forehead. Ron could only see half of her face thanks to the slim brown arm in front of his nose.

"I feel fine, Hermione," he said. He reached up and took her hand down from his face and then, daringly, didn't let go.

"How do _you_ feel, Hermione?" He asked, looking right at her with a mixture of hope and longing and something that looked like absolute fear.

Hermione found she couldn't breathe. She kept looking at his face, seeing his sweet eyes and nice cheekbones that led to a very pleasant nose just over his—

"DINNERTIME!" They both jumped at the sound of Mrs. Weasley's voice.

Hermione stood up, as did Ron. They walked without a word, but Ron held the door open for Hermione. She smiled openly and appreciatively at him, making him feel he was flying high on a broom, impossibly high over Viktor Krum's head.


	3. The Hermione I Know

Dinner that evening was a delightful affair; the TonFruit and nightshade casserole steamed purple and smelled delicious. Everyone, including the often-picky Ginny and recently-dieting Mr. Weasley, showered Mrs. Weasley with compliments that made her face turn the same pleasing red as her hair.

After everyone had wolfed down one helping and started another, Mr. Weasley touched his mouth with his serviette and set it on the table.

"Molly, children, I need to tell you something rather dire. I hardly like to spoil dinner—"

"Then don't, dear," Mrs. Weasley said quickly.

"Molly, I am afraid I must. I want you each to be aware that the Ministry has been alerted that one of You-Know-Who's spies running amuck. In truth, they have asked those who know not to spread the news, as it may reach the spy and forewarn them. But…I rather felt I had to."

Harry stopped eating and looked at Mr. Weasley intently, who had been subtly avoiding meeting his eyes.

"Mr. Weasley—why should you have to tell us specifically?" Harry asked, feeling a dark sense of foreboding.

"Because, Harry, the spy is supposedly going to try and become very close to you. I want you especially to beware any new relationships with those nearby." Mr. Weasley held Harry's gaze for another moment, then looked down at his plate.

Everyone was silent.

"Right, well then," Mr. Weasley said perkily, "In an effort to dispel this gloom, I have something new and exciting to show you!" He exited, heading into the workroom.

"Not another set of enchanted jump-cables," Ginny whined softly, making Harry snicker and Ron groan in remembrance.

Mr. Weasley returned to place a new Muggle toy on the table: a "slothful Susan," he proudly announced. In his excitement he began to set the centerpiece onto the table, and Hermione hurriedly picked up the casserole dish to move it out of the way.

She tried to inform Mr. Weasley of the centerpiece's proper name, but just as she was saying "It's actually called a _lazy_—" her arms started to wobble with the strain of holding up the bowl. "Aaaahhh—" she yelped, as the bowl tipped and spilled all over her plate, shirt and lap. And, incidentally, Ron's hands. He looked sheepishly at her, his hands still cupped around hers on the bowl.

"Sorry—couldn't stop it in time," he said.

"Ron, dear, go help Hermione to the sink," Mrs. Weasley said, more than a hint of regret in her voice for the wasted casserole.

In the kitchen, Ron scrubbed the casserole dish as Hermione rinsed her arms.

"This top is completely ruined," she said despairingly.

"The Hermione I know wouldn't care," Ron said, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Honestly, Ron!" Hermione huffed. "Are you suggesting that _I_ somehow mysteriously changed into this spy during dinner?"

Silence.

"It could've been before dinner."

"You're ridiculous, Ron! I am Hermione Granger, your friend _and_, I'll have you know, a girl who likes to wear nice clean clothes." Hermione harrumphed.

"Ok, that sounded more like you. And I _know_ you're a girl, and that your clothes always smell very clean," Ron said unthinkingly.

Hermioned eyed him with a small smile as Ron began to blush.

"But wait…the Hermione I know wouldn't have to defend herself about clothes. She'd be worried about Harry and start thinking of a plan right off the bat, maybe she'd come up with a code for making sure we're really us—"

"ARGH!" Hermione cried, drying her hands furiously and stomping back into dining room.

Cleanup was left to Harry and Ginny. Harry brought the rest of the dishes over (still streaming with the purple TonFruit and nightshade casserole juices) and joined Ginny at the sink to do the drying.

"Tell me again why won't your Mum just use magic on these?" Harry asked grumpily.

Ginny continued to scrub.

"Ginny?" Harry asked.

"Oh! Sorry, Harry—I was just thinking…what was it you said?" Ginny asked, flushing brightly.

"Why can't we magic the dishes clean?"

"Apparently Mum thinks it builds 'character,' " Ginny replied dejectedly.

They scraped and rubbed quietly, until Harry stopped and looked directly at Ginny.

"Ginny, are you ok? You were really quiet at dinner…and when your dad said that bit about the spy—"

"I'm fine, Harry, thanks for asking," she replied, also turning to him but looking downward. "I was just remembering—don't be angry—when you were talking to Fred and George's new assistant, there was something strange about her. I get a really bad feeling about her, Harry. I—I just think she's trying to get close to you and don'twanttoseeyougethurt," Ginny rushed, finally looking up at him.

Harry stared at her. "You mean you think Dabra's the spy?" he asked incredulously.

"She's my age, Ginny! She works for _Fred _and _George_, for Merlin's sake! Do you really think they'd hire someone out to get me? And that the spy would work in a joke shop I hardly go to?" Harry's voice got louder and louder; he didn't know why he was defending this girl he hardly knew to Ginny.

"Fine," Ginny said simply. Harry noticed a shininess in her eyes as she walked past, and he immediately felt like he'd been squashed by a Hungarian Horntail.

"Why me?" he asked, looking at the ceiling.


	4. Sneaking Around

Hermione awoke in the middle of the night to carpet-muffled footsteps just outside her door.

_10 points from Gryffindor for being out-of-bed after hours_, she thought wryly.

Rising carefully from the bed, she donned her black school robes over her pajamas and cracked open the door. To the right she could just make out the silhouettes of two tall wizards, each with broomstick in hand and one with a mysteriously missing arm.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Clearly they were not just going for a nighttime fly, but also to sneak in somewhere with an Invisibility Cloak and _without_ her.

Without her indeed.

She smiled in recognition of a secret knowledge, pulled out her wand and sent a whispered spell at one of the boys' backs.

Once Ron and Harry exited the Burrow, Ron stopped and looked at Harry.

"Mate, do you think we should've asked Hermione to come? She'll kill us if she—"

Harry suddenly clapped his hand over Ron's mouth and hissed, "_Shhh_!" The two boys stood stock-still underneath the Invisibility Cloak, eyes flicking nervously around.

"Sorry," Harry said lowly, "I thought I heard something…let's just wait a bit."

The two boys waited, Harry standing motionless and Ron struggling not to fidget.

"Er, ok," Harry said, unsure. "Let's go."

They started off again into an alleyway of the neighborhood, when suddenly Harry steered them to a white house on the right. The dark windows revealed nothing of its rooms, and the slim front columns were crooked and chipped.

"Mind telling me where we're headed, Harry? Some Death Eater meeting of which I wasn't reminded?" Ron joked nervously.

"We aren't going _here_, Ron," Harry replied. "I'm looking for a Portkey to Fred and George's shop. They gave me this—"

A thud and pained "Oof" suddenly emanated from a nearby bush.

"Yaaahh!" Ron yelped, jumping behind a startled Harry. The boys pulled out their wands and braced themselves for—

"Hermione?" Ron asked incredulously.

The petite witch brushed herself off and wiped dirt from her nose.

"Um, yes," she answered. "Ta-da!"

The boys stared, still not lowering their wands. A moment passed.

"Ok, fine, I found you by casting that spell for illuminating footprints mentioned in _Stalking Sneaky Liars, Rebellious Teens, Untrue Lovers, and_--and--you know, I can't remember the rest of the title," Hermione said thoughtfully, wrinkling her forehead in concentration.

Ron recovered more quickly than Harry. "Well, nice to see you—"

"How DARE you leave on some sort of midnight adventure without me, without telling someone! Do you know how dangerous it is right now? Don't you remember Mr. Weasley telling us about the spy?" Hermione demanded, recovering her fury.

Harry stepped forward. "Hermione, we're actually looking for information on that right now," he informed her. "Remember the man you saw in Fred and George's joke shop?"

Hermione frowned in thought. "Yes! How do you know where to find him?" she asked, curious.

"I'm not trying to find him yet; I think he left something in the shop."

"You didn't tell me all that, Harry!" Ron accused him. "Where was I?"

"Bothering Fred and George about getting free Canary Creams, I believe," Hermione answered dryly.

"Whatever," Ron said shortly. "Let's find the Portkey—what's the clue, Harry?"

Harry pulled out a Chocolate Frog package from the pocket of his robe.

"I can't figure out how this is supposed to lead us to the Portkey," Harry complained. "I've looked at it a dozen times."

Ron reached over and snatched it. "Let me see! You know I've tasted loads of these…collected the cards, y'know…"

Ron held the wrapper in his hand, inspecting it expertly and opening it. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"There's no candy in here, just the card," Ron said. He pulled it out, glanced at it and flipped it over.

"Er, Harry, it's blank—and the picture doesn't have anyone in it," Ron announced, perplexed. Harry peered at it over his shoulder.

"Oi! Look!" Harry said suddenly.

The picture on the card slowly formed…two black silhouettes against glowing red…

The boys stared, speechless, but Hermione recognized them immediately.

"_Fred and George_!" she shrieked. "Ridiculous! As though they could compare to the likes of Nicholas Flamel and Dumbledore and other collectible-card wizards."

As they continued to look at the card, the two figures got on a broom and flew to the top of a house that looked very similar to the ramshackle cabin Ron, Harry and Hermione stood near.

"Well, time to get the brooms out!" Hermione said cheerfully.

Ron and Harry looked at each other.

"I didn't bring mine…" "Me, neither…"

_An hour later…_

"This is so bloody awful," Hermione complained.

"Language, Hermione, language," Ron teased. At least that's what Hermione imagined he said—his voice was slightly muffled beneath her as she stood on his shoulders and he held her ankles. She was peering over the roof of the cabin for any Portkey-like objects.

"How are you doing down there, Harry?"

Poor Harry was bent in a table-position, elbows and knees on the ground.

"Just—find—it—please," he gritted.

Hermione continued to look. "All I see…oh NO!" she said furiously.

"_What_?" both boys asked in unison.

"HOLD ON!" she yelled. The next moment all three of them had crashed down along with a wooden plank and a rectangular sign that proclaimed "FRED AND GEORGE'S PORTKEY" in big red letters.

The trio held the Invisibility Cloak over their heads as they walked to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

"I still can't believe Fred and George were so _blatant_ as to actually write "Portkey" on the Portkey! Don't they know how stupid that is? What if some Muggle saw it? And I bet that house isn't vacant, I saw tomatoes growing near the porch—"

"Quiet, Hermione," Ron said, grimacing. His stomach felt absolutely miserable after the sickening jerk of the Portkey. "This would've been a lot easier if we had tried to find it in the _daytime_, Harry…"

Harry paid no attention. He motioned to the group to stop. They watched the joke shop windows, seeing no light inside.

Hermione suddenly pointed to their right. The three stood intently motionless as a small figure in a black cloak stole across the street. It paused at the door for a moment, then unhesitatingly opened the door and went inside.


End file.

Harry Potter, Adventure, Romance