𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝗰𝗸, harry potter

˗ˋ 61

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE
✧
-: fifth year :-

── IN WHICH HARRY'S
ANGER FLARES

. . .

Silence hung between the three. It was heavy, filled with tension, as Harry just simply stared at Hermione, wondering if he had heard her correct, or if the late night had caused her to go completely crazy. A light night breeze rattled the windowpanes behind Ron and the fire went out, leaving behind a pile of ashes and embers and whitened coal with insides of bright, burning orange.

"About me what?" He repeated, warily.

"I'm talking about you teaching us Defence Against the Dark Arts." Hermione stated, quite plainly. Harry stared at her, still quite unable to believe what he was hearing.

And when he turned to Ron to find that expected support to one of Hermione's rather outlandish ideas - really, the uproar that came from the idea of S.P.E.W. had been one for the records, he was more than concerned to find that Ron didn't look even the slightest bit exasperated. Not at all.

Instead, he was frowning slightly, apparently thinking. Then Ron said, "That's an idea."

"What's an idea?" Harry repeated.

"You," Ron replied. "Teaching us to do it."

"But..." Harry was grinning now, sure the pair of them were pulling his leg and forcing himself to find some amusement in it all. Obviously they had both gone crazy. "But I'm not a teacher, I can't-"

"Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts," Hermione pushed.

"Me?" Harry said, grinning more broadly than ever. "No I'm not." He stated. "Aviana's better than me - surely you would know that and you, you've beaten me in every test-"

"Actually, I haven't," Hermione interjected coolly. "You beat me in our third year, so did Aviana, because it seems you're concerned about her position in this - the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Look what you've done!"

He shifted uncomfortably in place. The grin was fading, seeing she was serious, and his hand was beginning to ache again. "How d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron turned to Hermione for a brief moment, smirking slightly. He faced Harry again, shaking his head. "Let's think," he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. "Uh... first year - you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who."

"But that was luck," Harry, protested. "I was in first year, that wasn't skill-"

"Second year," Ron interrupted, "you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I-"

"Third year," Ron stopped the protests in their track, getting louder still, "you fought off about a hundred dementors at once..."

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't-" Harry didn't like this. He could feel that anger, that same anger he had felt every time anyone had come up to him to suggest that what he reported had happened to Cedric just simply happened, that anger that came with every one of Umbridge's comments, bubbling up within him. Yet, Ron kept interrupting.