Hermione: I Think You're Putting on Pants (Please Read and Vote)

Harry hesitated, continuing to inspect the hat carefully, especially its lining.

The Sorting Hat began to writhe, bellowing, "I'm perfectly clean! I've never been this clean in a thousand years—not for a single moment. Inside and out!"

"Put me on already!"

"You're the one who left me by the bathroom door. What are you complaining about now?"

Harry put the hat on, reluctantly.

"You really are excellent," the Sorting Hat whispered eagerly in his ear. "And you're very brave, too, standing up for your friends. Ah, what a wonderful deed, worthy of praise."

"I'll have to think about how to turn it into a song."

"Cut the nonsense and get to the point." Harry rolled his eyes.

"You have no sense of fun. Gryffindors love hearing me sing," the Sorting Hat sighed. "Fine, then. To business."

"I originally planned to tell you about the trial when you were at least in your third year."

"But you've already proven yourself. You're brave without being reckless, determined without being too cunning. The strong don't draw their swords against the weak—that's the Gryffindor ideal."

"And you succeeded, too. A first-year, alone, killing a Troll..."

"Just get to the point." Harry interrupted it again, sounding exhausted.

The Sorting Hat grumbled, "I'm complimenting you, you impatient little wizard."

"The first part of the Gryffindor trial."

"You need to get into the Slytherin Common Room and take the portrait of Slytherin. The second trial is described on the back of the portrait."

Harry's face turned a little green.

"Surprised?" the Sorting Hat teased. "It really is a stroke of genius."

"Who would ever think Gryffindor would put the test for his successor in the common room of Slytherin—the house founded by the person who hated him most?"

Harry rubbed his face hard. "Now that's a real problem."

"Indeed." The Sorting Hat nodded its pointy tip. "Gryffindor once said that courage wasn't especially rare, but courage without brains was just recklessness."

"But it's often harder for smart people to find courage."

Harry agreed wholeheartedly.

Smart people... understood too well how to avoid trouble and seek advantage. Maybe they weren't lacking in courage; reason simply told them when to cut their losses.

"Getting into the Slytherin Common Room will take some cleverness. Let me tell you, Slytherin is probably the most exclusionary—" The Sorting Hat prattled on.

Harry expressionlessly took it off.

Ron gazed at Harry eagerly. "What's the trial?"

He paused. "Can you tell me?"

"Impolite brat, I haven't even finished talking yet," the Sorting Hat cried.

Harry poked it. "You're so long-winded. Have you been cooped up in an office for so long without anyone to talk to that you've got a desperate need to vent?"

Before the Sorting Hat could retort, Ron poked it too. "So, can I know what the trial is?"

"I can only tell the trial's details to someone who's qualified," the Sorting Hat said, bobbing its brim. "But I can't control what the successor chooses to do. I'm just a hat."

Ron understood, turned around, and looked at Harry with the same eager expression.

"We only know the first part for now." Harry wasn't particularly secretive about it. Having another person know about it meant another perspective, which could only help him. "I need to find a way into the Slytherin Common Room."

Ron froze, staring at the hat in disbelief.

What kind of trial was that?

"Have you thought of anything yet?" He frowned and racked his brain for a long time but couldn't come up with a plan. Then he turned to look at Harry, who had taken off his clothes and picked up a fresh change, ready to head to the bathroom.

Harry shook his head. "My only thought right now is to take a bath. Want to come?"

Ron jolted. "You're not worried about the trial?"

"We've got seven years." Harry shook his head. "There's no rush. Let's talk to Hermione tomorrow and discuss it together. I'm exhausted today."

"Oh, you're going to tell her about it, too?" Ron was taken aback, feeling a little sour. It wasn't that kind of jealousy; he simply wouldn't be the Chosen One's only friend anymore, so he'd lose that special distinction.

Harry nodded. "Of course. She's clever."

"I think I'm enough to help you," Ron muttered.

Harry sighed. "And I wonder who it was today that I asked to bring a professor, only for him to forget everything I told him."

Ron blushed and pleaded, "Oh, no, Harry."

"Not coming for a bath? Then I'll go by myself." Harry waved the clothes in his hand.

Ron rummaged through his trunk. "Wait, I'm coming too."

They went down to the fifth floor, where the bathrooms were. It was late, and there weren't many people around. In the relative quiet, Harry soaked in the warm water and let out a long breath.

So much had happened today.

Even as a Witcher, he was only eleven years old. It was hard not to feel drained, both physically and mentally.

What weighed on him most was that curse of love.

Harry felt dazed. It wasn't until his conversation with Dumbledore today, after half a year, that he'd finally felt a solid sense of belonging, that he really was part of this world.

Parents?

Witchers didn't have anything like that.

Harry submerged himself in the pool, blowing bubbles. Ron started to worry he was drowning, and Harry only struggled back up to the surface when Ron did.

After his bath, he went back and had barely laid his head on the pillow before falling asleep.

There was no Halloween holiday, so they still had classes the next day. Friday meant Potions Class.

Unusually, Snape didn't pick on Harry much. He took off only five points.

After class, they headed to the Hospital Wing on the second floor to visit Hermione. As they passed Professor McGonagall's office, Harry stopped and told Ron to wait a moment.

He went inside, then came right back out a short while later.

"What happened?" Ron handed Harry his book bag.

Harry sounded casual. "I went to get my detention. It's only half a month this time."

Ron's voice rose. "You just finished your last one!"

"And you saved Hermione. Professor McGonagall was going to give you—"

Harry waved him off. "Keep your voice down. She's protecting me. Professor Snape was there yesterday too. You heard him; he wanted to give me detention."

Ron bit his lip and clicked his tongue loudly. "I knew it. Professor Snape is no good."

Harry didn't argue.

They soon arrived at the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey was busy, but as soon as she saw the two of them come in, she set down what she was holding and hurried over to ask, "Are either of you feeling unwell?"

"No, we're here to visit Hermione Granger," Harry replied.

Madam Pomfrey's brow relaxed a little. "She's in there."

She led the way.

"How's Hermione's injury?" Harry asked.

Madam Pomfrey said, "She needs to rest for another day. She can go back on Saturday night. Her injury hasn't been affected by magic, so it's easy to treat."

As she spoke, she drew back the curtain. "Miss Granger, you have visitors."

Hermione, sitting halfway up in bed, startled and turned to look. "Harry, Ron, you're here?"

"I'm sorry." Harry's face was expressionless. "Yesterday..."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm the one who should be sorry. If you hadn't been there, that Troll's club might have killed me. You saved me."

"Look at your face." Harry glanced back at her, pulled over a chair, and sat down. "You didn't sleep at all last night. Were you in pain?"

Hermione shook her head. She did look haggard, with sallow skin and dark circles under her eyes. "I was thinking."

"Because of me, Gryffindor lost ten points again."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Didn't Professor McGonagall give you twenty points afterward?"

"Those twenty points were yours." Hermione emphasized the words. "They had nothing to do with me."

Ron quietly added, "It wasn't just points. There's half a month of detention, too."

Hermione stared at him in shock, drawing in a sharp breath. "Another half a month of detention?"

"Yes, just now, when we passed Professor McGonagall's office," Ron explained.

Hermione's face grew even more apologetic. "I'm sorry, Harry..."

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Harry shook his head. "If it had been you, would you have been willing to save me then?"

Hermione nodded firmly. "Of course."

Harry spread his hands. "There you go."

Hermione lowered her head. That wasn't the only thing she was troubled about.

Harry glanced at Ron. "Didn't you have something else to say to Hermione?"

Ron froze and clenched his fists.

Harry raised a hand and gently tapped the back of his head. "Come on, say it."

Ron stammered. He'd spent all day yesterday rehearsing what to say, but after sleeping, he'd forgotten it all. Now he could only force out, "I'm... I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have said such harsh things yesterday."

Hermione shook her head. "No, you were right."

"I was the one at fault."

She paused, her voice catching slightly. "I just still don't understand. It was a school rule, after all."

Harry flicked his wand. The hand towel on the bedside table flew over and landed in Hermione's hands. "Rules are dead. People are alive."

"If you break a school rule, the punishment is only losing points."

"Maybe detention, too," Ron added.

Harry shot him a look and continued, "That shows that at Hogwarts, school rules are only a mild form of restraint. When you want to do something out of line, they're there to make you stop and consider whether you have the courage, whether you've thought it through, and whether you're ready to accept the consequences."

"They only represent the house to some extent, Hermione. They aren't the most important thing."

Hermione paused.

Harry's voice softened. "What matters most isn't what the rules say. It's the bonds between people."

Even he thought it sounded a little ridiculous coming from him.

Witchers were all emotionless monsters.

The look in Hermione's eyes gradually grew more resolute. "Thank you, Harry. I think I understand now."

Harry nodded, clapped his hands, and composed himself. "Then let's talk about something else. Yesterday, the Sorting Hat told me about the trial. For the first part, I have to get into the Slytherin Common Room and take something. Do you have any ideas?"

Hermione froze, her face suddenly flustered, caught off guard. "Oh... let me think."

Just moments ago, he'd been offering such tender comfort.

Now he'd abruptly brought up something so practical.

And with herself lying in bed, Hermione suddenly had the impression that she was watching Harry briskly put on his pants.

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