My first piece of fanfiction! Just something I thought up and had to write down. Hope you like it!
Don't own Harry Potter!
The War was over. Voldemort was gone. His forces destroyed. It should have been okay for everyone to let their guard down, relax, relish in this newfound peace. But, as Harry felt he should have learned by now, peace never lasts for long. The world was in a constant state of turmoil, throwing a temper tantrum at the rest of the universe, and peace time was only the Earth pausing to take a breath, ready to yell and stomp and scream even louder than before. Harry was glad to let his guard down, too willing to enjoy the quietness he deserved. But, as the fuming Earth wailed to the annoyance of all the other planets, "Life isn't fair!"
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were gathered around the Weasley kitchen table in various states of agitation.
Hermione was ignoring them all by practicing her essay writing. Because she had helped in bringing down Lord Voldemort, it had been a year since she had done homework, and she had begun to suffer from withdrawal. One would think playing a key role in defeating the world's most feared sorcerer would forgive a person of missing a couple tests, but not Hermione. Over the summer, she had read enough books and written enough essays to make up for the homework all three of them had missed, much to Ron's disappointment. He was in the annoying puppydog stage of boyfriendship that wanted nothing more than to spend every waking moment at Hermione's side, not only resulting in enough bickering to drive everyone in the house mad, but also that he spent a lot of time sitting around watching her study while being berated shrilly for making noise (Harry and Ginny didn't mind, as Ron's shouting matches with Hermione signaled some alone time together, away from Ron's glaring, protective stare.)
Ron was seated on Hermione's left, his arm around her shoulders and his eyes shooting Harry reproachful looks for putting Hermione in a mood that meant no snogging tonight for a certain redhead, despite the fact the Mrs. Weasley had finally left them alone. She had gone to Diagon Alley to acquire the necessary ingredients for their potion kits, and had reluctantly left them behind on the grounds that none of them had packed their trunks yet (except Hermione), and was assured by the teens that they would all have their trunks waiting by the door when she returned. She hadn't even been cross with them. They figured she was just glad Harry, Ron, and Hermione had listened to her mildly threatening advice about finishing their education.
Across from Hermione, Harry sat staring somberly at the table looking both guilty and worried. He was guilty about what he'd done to Hermione and worried about his return to school the following day. Hogwarts would never be the same for him. Dumbledore and Snape were gone, as were Dean, Seamus, Neville, and the rest of his classmates. He would be going back in Ginny's year, which he admitted, could be a plus, as they would have most of their classes together and he would be spending a lot more time with her. It had been a year since he'd studied in any way, and he would still have to take his N.E.W.T.S. at the end of term, chosen one or not. Whispers didn't follow Harry anymore, so much as a standing ovation, complete with thunderous applause and spirited whistling.
Even the castle itself had changed. The battle with the Death Eaters had blown most of it apart, and the castle had been remodeled for the first time since it was built. And of course, Harry had also changed during his absence from Hogwarts. They were both scarred by memories of Voldemort, his cold, snake like eyes weighing down their foundations. Hogwarts had always been a kind of haven, albeit a dangerous one. It had been the place where Voldemort's evil could not touch him, and now it was the place where he, Harry, had died at Voldemort's hands, if only temporarily. What if he didn't recognize his home when he got there? He tried to reassure himself by thinking that his friends would be with him, as they always had been, and it would be nice to take a year off from hunting dangerous, dark wizards and spend a nice, carefree year at school, where the only things you had to worry about were exams and Mrs. Norris. The bloody cat had managed to survive in all the carnage of the war.
To Harry's right, Ginny was fidgeting and wrestling to keep herself under control. She had three impulses at the moment that needed desperately to be suppressed. As courageous as she was, she was not stupid enough to invoke the wrath of Hermione Granger when she was in a mood. Her impulses were as follows, in order of importance: (1) to leap upon Harry and snog the pants right off him like there was no tomorrow (if Hermione was suffering from a homework deficiency, Ginny was suffering from a Harry's lips deficiency), (2) brag and tease Harry about being beaten by his girlfriend in qudditch, pointing out the her skills were unmatched and he was not worthy to wipe the scum off her broomstick, and (3) break the tension by reminding everyone that what had just happened had been exceptionally funny. She did none of these things, as she rather liked her lips, and did not fancy having them cursed off by a certain deranged, bushy-haired witch. However, she could not sit still much longer. She kept recounting the incident in her head and suppressing a smile with her hand, earning her threatening glares from Ron, and terrified, fleeting glances from Harry.
The Incident was such: Instead of packing their trunks, the teens decided to spend their time off from chores to have a little fun on their last day of summer vacation, despite the disappointed huffs of one Hermione Granger. They had played exploding snap, visited the little village, Ottery St. Catchpole, had a laugh at Ron after Ginny bewitched his hair to change colors according to his emotions (oddly enough, his hair returned back to its normal, flaming red once he realized what everyone was giggling at), watched as Harry finally succeeded (almost) in defeating Ron in a game of Wizard's chess, and set off a few Weasley's Wizard Wheezes fireworks. Everything went without a hitch until Harry asked if they wanted to have a quidditch match.
Hermione didn't like quidditch, and flew about as well as a sprayed doxy, but agreed to play in good spirits as long as they all promised to pack their trunks directly afterward. It happened after Ginny had scored her fifth goal. Harry and Hermione were now behind 2-6, and Harry's competiveness was binging out his awe-inspiring skill and finesse. It was universally agreed that Harry should give up on his dream of becoming an auror and focus on winning Britain the quidditch world cup as he swooped and dived around Ginny, looking more like a graceful dancer than anything. As Ginny made another desperate swipe for the quaffle, Harry threw a spectacular no-look pass behind him to Hermione that no one had seen coming. Unfortunately, this included Hermione. The ball had hurled threw her outstretched arms and hit her squarely on the nose, causing the other three to stop immediately and cast each other fearful looks.
Hermione's face turned purple as blood gushed from her nose and splattered her robes. Nobody moved. Until Ron turned to stare at Harry as though Hermione had just morphed into an acromantula and Harry was a delicious fly, mouthing the words, "Run, mate." Harry looked on the verge of doing so, and Ginny exploded in a fit of laughter, making a comment about Hermione having the hand-eye coordination of a confunded plimpy. The laughter ceased immediately after Hermione sent her an icy stare that frosted the leaves on the surrounding apple trees. Hermione was able to right her nose and vanish all the blood with a simple flick of her wand, but no one was much in the mood for quidditch anymore. Hermione turned and stalked back to the house, her arms folded tightly across her chest, leaving the rest of them to follow warily in her wake.
Thus the reason they were all seated uncomfortably at the kitchen table, as Hermione's quill scratched angrily across her parchment, probably relaying a list of worthy punishments, while the others awaited judgment. None of them had their wands, except Hermione, who's had been transfigured into the elaborate quill she was using. The others had laid theirs aside on the floor beside an empty box of wet-start fireworks before that fateful match. They were all too busy with their own thoughts to hear the faint pops coming from just outside the door. They weren't thinking about the possibility of an attack. Why should they? +There wasn't one. The war was over. Good had triumphed. There was no reason for people to lock their doors and put up defensive spells in fear of dark forces anymore.
None of these facts stopped the cloaked figure from striding into the room, pointing his wand at the preoccupied teenagers, and hissing, "For the Dark Lord!" Harry and his friends wheeled around in shock to see the threatening figure in the Weasley sitting room as he slashed his wand through the air like a sword, screaming, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Well, it's not the worst story I've ever written...tell me what you think. Should I continue with the story?