Kevin came back to the Gryffindor common room late to find Hermione exactly where she'd been when he left: curled on the sofa by the dying fire, a book open in her lap, Crookshanks occupying the armchair with the proprietary confidence of a cat who has decided the armchair is his.
"You're still up," Kevin said.
"You're later than you said." She looked up and patted the cushion beside her.
He dropped onto the sofa. She shifted without looking, tucking herself against his side with the automatic ease of a habit they'd both stopped noticing sometime around fourth year.
"Tomorrow's Potions," she said, producing the textbook from somewhere. "The Draught of Living Death. I've been working through the preparation steps, but there's a discrepancy between Slughorn's listed method and your notes."
"Show me."
She held the book open and pointed. "Here — the Sopophorous Beans. Standard method says slice and juice. Your margin note says crush."
"Crushing extracts more juice. More juice means a stronger potion, and it's actually faster — the cell walls break rather than needing to be worked open." Kevin scanned the next page. "The real point of failure in this potion is the Moonstone. If it's not ground to a fine enough powder, the whole thing destabilises at the simmer stage. And when you bring it to the boil, go to medium heat for ten seconds — the standard instruction undershoots the temperature window."
She was already writing in her margins, neat and precise.
"What about—"
Kevin looked over. She had fallen asleep somewhere between medium heat and whatever she'd intended to say next, her cheek against his shoulder, the pen still loosely between her fingers.
He looked at her for a moment. Retrieved the pen carefully. Closed the book. Then he picked her up, crossed the common room, tapped her dormitory door with his wand, and waited.
The door opened a crack. Lavender Brown looked out, took in the situation, and opened it wider without comment. She'd been here for this scene before. So had Parvati, who was asleep and not required.
Kevin settled Hermione on her bed, pulled the blanket up, and turned to leave.
"Kevin."
Lavender's voice was quiet, careful, the way voices get when someone has been working up to a question.
"What's Ron up to lately?" she asked. "Does he — does he like anyone?"
Kevin turned back. Lavender was standing with her arms folded, looking at him with the particular vulnerability of someone who has decided the indirect approach is safer than the direct one.
He thought about Ron and Draco's trajectory over the past year. The constant bickering. The way they'd essentially become two halves of the same migraine-inducing organism, incapable of going thirty minutes without irritating each other.
"Honestly?" Kevin said. "I think he's got something going with Draco."
Lavender stared at him.
"You've seen them, right? Practically inseparable. Draco won't leave him alone for a morning."
"That's — they're fighting all the time—"
"Sure," Kevin agreed, entirely straight-faced. "That's one interpretation."
Lavender looked like she was processing several things at once. Kevin left her to it.
Ron, he thought as he headed back to his dormitory, you're welcome. This saves both of you a lot of unnecessary drama.
The sixth year settled into its rhythms.
For the students, the load had lightened — fewer compulsory classes, more free time, the sudden discovery that self-direction was both more pleasant and more difficult than having every hour accounted for. Harry, Ron, and Draco used the extra time to argue in greater comfort and at greater length. Ginny was playing Quidditch again and apparently very good at it.
For Kevin, it had gone the other direction. Teaching first through fourth years daily, maintaining his potion orders for Diagon Alley, keeping one eye on the Horcrux timeline, another on the Slughorn situation, a third on Gren Dore, and whatever was left over on Grindelwald and Voldemort — who had, notably, been conspicuously quiet. No Ollivander disappearance yet. No Muggle bridge.
Voldemort was regrouping. Kevin had a reasonable idea of what that meant for the timeline ahead, and he was already thinking about how to reshape it.
Saturday arrived with the particular glory of a day that belongs to no one.
Kevin was brewing something in his workshop when Hermione, perched in the armchair, held up a small vial to the light.
"How long does the full dose last?"
Felix Felicis. Slughorn's prize for the best Draught of Living Death, first lesson. She'd won it easily, and had been looking at it with the speculative expression of someone who sees a tool and is assessing its optimal application.
"Full dose? Half a day, roughly. The luck compounds as long as it's active, then drops off. You can't stack doses."
She turned the vial. "Best timing?"
"Before an exam where the outcome genuinely matters and you haven't been able to study adequately. Which is not you, ever."
She set it down, expression faintly dissatisfied.
The door opened. Harry, Ron, and Draco arrived in the formation they'd apparently agreed on as standard.
"Kevin. Hermione." Ron was already moving. "Quidditch tryouts — you said you'd come."
"Not going," Kevin said.
"You didn't even—"
"I know what you were about to ask. I'm not going."
"I haven't finished my sentence—"
"You were going to ask me to come to Quidditch tryouts and cheer you on. The answer is no."
Ron stared at him. "How did you—"
"Because I've known you for six years." Kevin set down his stirring rod. "I actually am coming, I was being dramatic. Let's go. Hermione?"
She was already putting on her cloak.
Ron stood very still for a moment, processing.
"You're the worst," he said, with genuine feeling.
"You already agreed," Kevin told him. "Let's move before you think too hard about it."Chapter 178: Lavender's Question, and the Truth About Ron
Kevin came back to the Gryffindor common room late to find Hermione exactly where she'd been when he left: curled on the sofa by the dying fire, a book open in her lap, Crookshanks occupying the armchair with the proprietary confidence of a cat who has decided the armchair is his.
"You're still up," Kevin said.
"You're later than you said." She looked up and patted the cushion beside her.
He dropped onto the sofa. She shifted without looking, tucking herself against his side with the automatic ease of a habit they'd both stopped noticing sometime around fourth year.
"Tomorrow's Potions," she said, producing the textbook from somewhere. "The Draught of Living Death. I've been working through the preparation steps, but there's a discrepancy between Slughorn's listed method and your notes."
"Show me."
She held the book open and pointed. "Here — the Sopophorous Beans. Standard method says slice and juice. Your margin note says crush."
"Crushing extracts more juice. More juice means a stronger potion, and it's actually faster — the cell walls break rather than needing to be worked open." Kevin scanned the next page. "The real point of failure in this potion is the Moonstone. If it's not ground to a fine enough powder, the whole thing destabilises at the simmer stage. And when you bring it to the boil, go to medium heat for ten seconds — the standard instruction undershoots the temperature window."
She was already writing in her margins, neat and precise.
"What about—"
Kevin looked over. She had fallen asleep somewhere between medium heat and whatever she'd intended to say next, her cheek against his shoulder, the pen still loosely between her fingers.
He looked at her for a moment. Retrieved the pen carefully. Closed the book. Then he picked her up, crossed the common room, tapped her dormitory door with his wand, and waited.
The door opened a crack. Lavender Brown looked out, took in the situation, and opened it wider without comment. She'd been here for this scene before. So had Parvati, who was asleep and not required.
Kevin settled Hermione on her bed, pulled the blanket up, and turned to leave.
"Kevin."
Lavender's voice was quiet, careful, the way voices get when someone has been working up to a question.
"What's Ron up to lately?" she asked. "Does he — does he like anyone?"
Kevin turned back. Lavender was standing with her arms folded, looking at him with the particular vulnerability of someone who has decided the indirect approach is safer than the direct one.
He thought about Ron and Draco's trajectory over the past year. The constant bickering. The way they'd essentially become two halves of the same migraine-inducing organism, incapable of going thirty minutes without irritating each other.
"Honestly?" Kevin said. "I think he's got something going with Draco."
Lavender stared at him.
"You've seen them, right? Practically inseparable. Draco won't leave him alone for a morning."
"That's — they're fighting all the time—"
"Sure," Kevin agreed, entirely straight-faced. "That's one interpretation."
Lavender looked like she was processing several things at once. Kevin left her to it.
Ron, he thought as he headed back to his dormitory, you're welcome. This saves both of you a lot of unnecessary drama.
The sixth year settled into its rhythms.
For the students, the load had lightened — fewer compulsory classes, more free time, the sudden discovery that self-direction was both more pleasant and more difficult than having every hour accounted for. Harry, Ron, and Draco used the extra time to argue in greater comfort and at greater length. Ginny was playing Quidditch again and apparently very good at it.
For Kevin, it had gone the other direction. Teaching first through fourth years daily, maintaining his potion orders for Diagon Alley, keeping one eye on the Horcrux timeline, another on the Slughorn situation, a third on Gren Dore, and whatever was left over on Grindelwald and Voldemort — who had, notably, been conspicuously quiet. No Ollivander disappearance yet. No Muggle bridge.
Voldemort was regrouping. Kevin had a reasonable idea of what that meant for the timeline ahead, and he was already thinking about how to reshape it.
Saturday arrived with the particular glory of a day that belongs to no one.
Kevin was brewing something in his workshop when Hermione, perched in the armchair, held up a small vial to the light.
"How long does the full dose last?"
Felix Felicis. Slughorn's prize for the best Draught of Living Death, first lesson. She'd won it easily, and had been looking at it with the speculative expression of someone who sees a tool and is assessing its optimal application.
"Full dose? Half a day, roughly. The luck compounds as long as it's active, then drops off. You can't stack doses."
She turned the vial. "Best timing?"
"Before an exam where the outcome genuinely matters and you haven't been able to study adequately. Which is not you, ever."
She set it down, expression faintly dissatisfied.
The door opened. Harry, Ron, and Draco arrived in the formation they'd apparently agreed on as standard.
"Kevin. Hermione." Ron was already moving. "Quidditch tryouts — you said you'd come."
"Not going," Kevin said.
"You didn't even—"
"I know what you were about to ask. I'm not going."
"I haven't finished my sentence—"
"You were going to ask me to come to Quidditch tryouts and cheer you on. The answer is no."
Ron stared at him. "How did you—"
"Because I've known you for six years." Kevin set down his stirring rod. "I actually am coming, I was being dramatic. Let's go. Hermione?"
She was already putting on her cloak.
Ron stood very still for a moment, processing.
"You're the worst," he said, with genuine feeling.
"You already agreed," Kevin told him. "Let's move before you think too hard about it."
Hear me out y'all the bonus chapter is written, it's ready, sitting in the dark like a firefly waiting to be set free into the night. Only your powerstones hold the key, folks. Don't you let it sit there waiting. Set it free now