Chapter 289: Harry's Spring and Arthur's Script
The day before Christmas break arrived with a crisp bite in the air, frost painting delicate patterns across the castle windows. Everyone gathered for the final online D.A. activity in the shimmering dreamscape, their breath visible in small puffs as excitement mingled with melancholy.
Amin and Nura had been collected by Amir earlier that evening, leaving behind only the echo of their laughter and the lingering warmth of fond farewells. High above in the dream realm, a certain dragon sprawled across the clouds like a sunbathing cat, utterly boneless in his relaxation.
"So, our courses end here," Harry announced, his voice carrying across the ethereal training ground. "We'll reunite after the holidays, so please practise diligently when you return home."
Disappointed murmurs rippled through the gathered students like wind through wheat. "Awww," came the collective groan, faces falling in unison.
"Also," Harry continued, straightening his shoulders with newfound confidence, "everyone performed exceptionally well today. I believe your efforts will bring you the rewards you deserve."
Enthusiastic applause erupted from the group, hands clapping together in a rhythm that seemed to make the dream clouds shimmer more brightly.
As the activity wound down, young wizards approached Harry one by one, their voices overlapping in a chorus of gratitude and well-wishes. The Weasley twins, however, had different priorities entirely.
"Harry, Harry!" they called out, practically bouncing on their heels. "We've been working on some brilliant new products. Do you think any of them might be potent enough to poison Umbridge? Just a little bit? Maybe make her voice sound like a dying toad for a week or two?"
Harry diplomatically dismissed their homicidal entrepreneurial spirit, weaving through the crowd toward where Cho Chang stood apart from the others. She was gazing intently at a Quidditch portrait that flickered and moved within the dream clouds, her expression distant and troubled.
"Are you alright?" Harry's voice carried genuine concern as he approached. "I heard Umbridge punished you again."
"I'm fine," Cho replied, though her downcast expression suggested otherwise. "Just some family troubles, and when I think about everything that's happening..." Her voice trailed off into uncertainty.
High above the clouds, the dragon had somehow procured a bowl of popcorn from thin air, crunching away with obvious delight as he watched the romantic drama unfold below.
"Oh, they're kissing," Aiden murmured to himself with a mischievous grin, adjusting the monocle that had mysteriously appeared over his left eye. "How terribly scandalous."
The dream dissolved like morning mist, leaving Harry to stumble groggily toward the Gryffindor common room. Golden sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting everything in warm honey tones and mercifully signalling the start of a new day.
"Harry, why are you so ridiculously slow!" Ron grumbled from his position sprawled across one of the overstuffed armchairs near the fire.
"Because..." A familiar dragon wearing an absolutely ridiculous expression materialised from the left side, somehow managing to squeeze himself onto the already-occupied sofa with supernatural grace.
"Aiden?" Hermione looked up from her correspondence, quill poised mid-sentence as she recognised the newcomer.
"Our pure-hearted Harry just surrendered his first kiss," Aiden announced with the solemnity of someone delivering earth-shattering news, completely ignoring the other two as he shared this fresh gossip.
"What?" Ron and Hermione exclaimed in perfect unison, their voices cracking with excitement.
Hermione hastily folded her letter and practically launched herself across the room, squeezing onto the sofa until all three gossip-mongers were pressed together like sardines in a tin.
Harry resignedly settled himself on the soft carpet, looking up at the trio with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "Do you three have nothing better to do than dissect my personal life?"
"So," Ron leaned forward eagerly, eyes sparkling with curiosity, "how did it feel?"
"Well... wet," Harry admitted with a slight frown. "But wait, we were in a dream, so why was there such a vivid sensation? Unless a certain dream creator was projecting their own experiences into the construct." He directed a pointed look at the dragon, who was still munching contentedly on his popcorn.
"Absolutely not," Aiden protested, though his cheeks flushed slightly pink. "This dreamscape operates as a lucid dream, constructed based on your own physical condition and psychological state. If you felt she was... ahem... that could only mean... well, speaking of which, Cho did look like she was about to cry."
A certain dragon, suddenly concerned about the story's rating, awkwardly changed the subject with the finesse of a charging bull.
"Your kissing technique can't possibly be that catastrophic," Ron teased mercilessly.
This comment made Hermione bristle with indignation, particularly since her own romantic interest seemed to be flourishing quite nicely, thank you very much.
"Harry's kiss must have been memorable," she said firmly. "Cho has been emotional lately. Don't you understand what she's going through? Family troubles, developing feelings for Harry while fearing Umbridge might retaliate against her mother, worrying about upcoming exams, and possibly being removed from the Quidditch team for poor performance. All these complex emotions intertwining together... of course she's distressed!"
Hermione, the relationship expert, frowned thoughtfully, her analytical mind working through the romantic complications like a particularly challenging Arithmancy equation.
"One person worrying about that many things simultaneously is bound to have an emotional breakdown," Ron observed. Then, noticing Hermione's quill moving steadily across parchment, he asked, "What are you writing anyway?"
"A letter to Krum," Hermione replied without looking up. "Unlike someone whose emotional range could fit comfortably in a teaspoon."
She rolled her eyes dramatically, completely missing the fact that Ron's particular teaspoon was currently overflowing with vinegar.
Ron said nothing for a long, tense moment, his jaw working silently as he angrily scribbled his way through his neglected essay. He muttered several uncomplimentary things about Bulgarian Quidditch players under his breath, then abruptly broke free from Aiden's casual embrace and stalked out of the room.
"What's gotten into him?" Hermione asked Aiden in genuine confusion, watching Ron's retreating figure with puzzled concern.
"Youth," Aiden replied sagely, raising his eyebrows in a way that somehow conveyed volumes about the tragic complications of teenage romance.
Hermione remained thoroughly baffled and headed upstairs with her letter, leaving the two boys alone by the dying fire.
"Aiden, I..." Harry hesitated, struggling to find the right words.
"You weren't particularly thrilled while kissing Cho, were you?" Aiden immediately zeroed in on the heart of the matter with surgical precision. "It didn't have that magical quality you read about in romance novels... flowers blooming, birds singing, the earth moving beneath your feet."
"So you do understand..." Harry began, then stopped abruptly as realisation dawned. "Wait, were you actually spying on us?"
"My dear boy," Aiden said with exaggerated patience, "you kissed someone in a dream that I personally wove together. Did you honestly expect me to meticulously filter out every hormonal surge and emotional fluctuation? I'm not omniscient, you know."
The truth was, of course, that the dragon had simply wanted to witness the pure-hearted saviour's first romantic encounter. But the facts also demonstrated that Harry might not harbour feelings for Cho as deep as he'd imagined.
Perhaps he had only fallen for the confident, commanding presence she displayed on the Quidditch pitch, rather than the person beneath.
"Need to note this down and pass it along to Ginny later," Aiden muttered under his breath.
"Note what exactly?" Harry tilted his head curiously.
"Nothing important. Christmas is approaching in just a few days, and I suddenly thought of your gift. Wanted to jot down some ideas before I forgot." Aiden deflected casually, rising gracefully to his feet. "Anyway, farewell for now."
He departed the Gryffindor common room with a theatrical flourish, leaving Harry sitting alone by the crackling fire.
A peaceful day drifted by like a lazy summer cloud. Although Christmas vacation loomed just around the corner, all the professors dutifully completed their final lessons with varying degrees of enthusiasm and relief.
That evening, deep within the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, Arthur Weasley found himself assigned to guard duty. He sat with his legs comfortably crossed, holding a steaming cup of tea that had been thoughtfully provided by the department director.
"Speaking of which," Arthur mused aloud, "you're all so formidably capable here. Why do you still need us ordinary folk to stand guard?"
"Because we're frustratingly constrained by Ministry bureaucracy," the director replied, rubbing his temples with obvious exhaustion. He handed Arthur a thick stack of official decrees, all bearing Fudge's increasingly elaborate signature. "Look at this nonsense. Those incompetent pests upstairs are drowning us in regulations and prohibitions."
"So what exactly do I need to do tonight?" Arthur asked, his years of navigating Ministry politics having given him a keen nose for detecting brewing conspiracies.
"Well, perhaps it would be better if your nephew explained the situation directly."
The director reached into his robes and withdrew what appeared to be an ordinary white net, though it seemed to shimmer with an inner light.
"A net?" Arthur examined it with the fascination of someone who collected plugs and other Muggle curiosities.
Droplets of condensed dreams gathered toward the centre of the net, and soon Aiden's three-dimensional projection materialised like a magical hologram.
"Speak quickly, I'm in the middle of..." Aiden's voice cut off abruptly as he processed what he was seeing. "Uncle Arthur?"
"Oh, hello there, Aiden!" Arthur's face lit up with genuine pleasure. "Is this some sort of new magical innovation? Absolutely fascinating!"
"Not exactly new, no," Aiden replied, clearly thrown off balance by the unexpected family reunion. "Why are you contacting me in the middle of the night?"
"Well, he had some questions about that particular matter we discussed," the director interjected with a casual shrug, somehow managing to squeeze himself into the projection's field of view. "I wasn't entirely certain whether I should elaborate, so I thought it best to consult with you first."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Aiden sighed deeply, the sound carrying clearly through the magical connection.
"You are aware that the Ministry's internal power struggle has reached a rather critical stage, aren't you?" Aiden asked carefully. "As someone who's been publicly labelled as belonging to Dumbledore's faction, what sort of treatment do you imagine you'll receive?"
"Just some social ostracism, I'd expect?" Arthur replied with genuine confusion, his tone suggesting he considered this barely worth mentioning.
In his fundamentally decent worldview, mere workplace politics seemed like a trivial inconvenience at worst. After all, hadn't the Weasley family lived quite contentedly in the wizarding world despite holding various unpopular opinions over the years?
"If only it were that simple," Aiden said, shaking his head with obvious frustration and growing concern.