Ever the curious one, Harry's interest had been tickled since he first laid eyes on this book. The first spell most of all looked promising, a mysterious polyjuice made out of mud? That somehow lasted more than an hour? Still, he would look extremely suspicious if he was found in his dorm with buckets and buckets of mud? Where was he supposed to collect the stuff anyways? He also remembered how hard it had been to collect Crabbe and Goyle's hair.
He needed to think this plan through if he didn't want to be the laughingstock of his year, something he had gone through for way too long for his comfort. Then again the spells on this book promised a much-needed respite from it all.
Exiting the classroom, Harry made way for the quidditch field, a place where he hoped to collect mud as discreetly as possible, while wondering who he could disguise himself as. Except Malfoy and maybe Ron, there weren't that many guys his age Harry did see as a possibility for impersonation —though he did think that Dean Thomas was quite the looker, and that infiltrating an enemy quidditch team would make, if not Wood, the Weasley twins proud.
On the other hand, he realized, most of his friends were girls. The Patil sisters, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Susan, Angelina and Katie, Cho, and after having spent the past 3 weeks in her company at the burrow, even Fleur. On the other hand apart from the quidditch team and the Weasley family, with the notable exception of Neville, Harry never had that many guy friends. He thought it must've been due to his being maybe less brash and loud than the other Gryffindor boys. The Dursley family didn't exactly encourage brashness and loudness.
Lost in thought, he passed by the library, stopped, retraced his steps, stood in front of the entrance, took off his glasses, put them back on. Squinted. Squinted even more.
Was Hermione being... Violent? To books? He thought that this might be a polyjuiced deatheater at the very least, judging by the rudeness with which Hermione opened random potions books, scried through them with her eyes like laser beams, and shoved them back in the shelves. He'd only seen her this upset during her 3rd year, where she sometimes worked 30 hours a day.
"Eeeeh, everything okay Hermione?" Said Harry tentatively as he made his way inside the library
Hermione's piercing look almost made him regret asking. She was looking very accusatory at him, and he felt very sweaty all of a sudden.
"You. Harry James Potter. Are hiding something. I don't know what. I don't know if it's the same thing Ron is hiding. I just know that there's no way you could have made a draught of the living dead. That means you cheated. That means I'm going to be on your trail Harry. I'm the bloodhound"
With that, she took a deep breath, and in the confines of his simultaneous fear and amusement at Hermione's biblical anger, he found himself wondering whether he should remind her that her patronus was an otter, not a bloodhound.
But then another stray thought came to him. Should he bring Hermione in on the fun? He didn't want a bloodhound behind him, inspecting his every move, and Hermione would be an efficient research partner, though not a very fun one.
What should he do?
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