A Summoner in the Wizarding World

In Ronald Weasley's bedroom at the Burrow, the soft tapping of rain against the window created a tranquil atmosphere. The room, adorned with Quidditch posters, exhibited a comforting disorder. Surfaces were strewn with books, parchment, and magical trinkets, while the gentle glow of a bedside lamp bathed the clutter in warmth.

The air carried the familiar scent of damp parchment and the distant aroma of breakfast wafting from below. The wooden furniture, bearing marks from magical mishaps, shared space with a hand-knit blanket casually spread over the bed. An old broom leaned in the corner, and the bedspread proudly displayed Gryffindor colors.

"Hermione," I inquired, glancing at the rain-soaked window. "Hypothetically, if, let's say, a Death Eater targets me without my wand, what would give me the best chance at survival?"

Hermione, engrossed in a thick book, looked up, pondering the question.

"Besides guns, you mean? I suppose a shield made of strong alloys, enchanted beforehand, would buy you some time. Goblin steel would be the ideal choice, as it can absorb most spells, including Avada Kedavra. Even a mediocre one would prevent serious injuries if used correctly. But if you tire, you would lose regardless. Why did you ask, though?" she asked, giving me a suspicious look.

"Just curious," I replied. 'For now, my shadow armor should be more than enough. Though a long-range sniper weapon would definitely cover some of my weaknesses.'

"Anyways, Harry," Hermione said, looking at me seriously, "Ron and you seem not to take OWLs seriously - the exams are next year. Don't you think putting in more effort is a given? Ron keeps ignoring me whenever I try to remind him; maybe you have a better chance?"

"I guess I can make sure he studies seriously," I said slowly, to which Hermione brightened. "However, knowing Ron, that would be quite thankless and painful."

With an uncertain glance, she suggested, "I can lend you notes just like previous years... if it's not too unreasonable, I'll owe you a favor..."

That does sound like the Hermione I know - either she wants others to learn, or she just needs Ron to graduate. Regardless, it's an opportunity for me.

"How about this, I'll get Ron to sit down on Saturday morning, and we can take turns tutoring him - it's also a good way to build our own knowledge. And on Sunday afternoon, you and I can hang out in Hogsmeade as that favor?"

As that scenario unfolded in her mind, Hermione drew a harsh breath and avoided meeting my eyes, her cheeks flushing slightly. Seemingly struggling with something, she nodded lightly. Unable to stand the awkward silence, Hermione stood up, saying, "Sorry, Harry, I need a breather," and hastily departed.

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Hermione's POV:

Ginny and I sat by the window in the cozy common room, the fire casting a warm glow on the ancient stone walls. As the departure day draws nearer, the Quidditch excitement buzzed around us, but my mind was preoccupied by the need to share something that had been on my mind. Before I could start, Ginny asked, her eyes narrowing in a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Hermione, spill it. What's going on with you and Harry?". She had noticed me and Harry not talking as comfortably and avoiding each other, as expected of Harry's long-time fan and my best female friend.

I took a deep breath, contemplating how to broach the subject. "It's about yesterday. Harry and I were talking, and he said something that...well, it sounded like he was asking me out."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Harry asked you out? Seriously?"

I nodded, feeling a flush of uncertainty wash over me. "Yeah, but it's complicated. He didn't exactly ask directly either, and I thought of him as a friend, not someone I'd have feelings for. And then there's Ron."

Ginny studied me for a moment before letting out a small laugh. "Merlin's beard, Hermione, you're overthinking this. Look, Ron's my brother, and I love him, but if you like Harry, don't let him be the only thing holding you back, just go for it. And don't worry about me; I'll be fine."

I appreciated her support but couldn't shake the guilt. There was a brief flicker of sadness in her eyes that betrayed her true emotions. "Ginny, I didn't want things to get weird between us. You're my friend, and I never meant for any of this."

She shrugged, her gaze shifting to the dancing flames. "It's not your fault. If Harry chose you, then it's probably for a reason. Maybe Harry's just as unsure about his feelings as you are."

Her words brought temporary comfort. "You really think so?"

Ginny nodded. "Give it time, Hermione. Relationships aren't so straightforward. Get to know Harry, and let get to know you. You two can figure this out together."

We sat in a thoughtful silence, which Ginny broke with a small smile. "No hard feelings, okay? We're friends, no matter what."

I smiled back, feeling a surge of gratitude for her understanding. "No hard feelings."

And so, in the midst of swirling emotions and uncertain futures, Ginny and I came to an understanding, one that would strengthen for years to come.

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Back to Harry's POV:

The early morning sun bathed the Burrow in a golden glow as I lugged my trunk down the rickety staircase. The prospect of attending the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys was exhilarating, yet there was a peculiar tension lingering as I descended the stairs – the obvious consequence of my awkward confession to Hermione the day before.

"Morning, Harry!" Ron greeted me with a wide grin, clapping me on the back as I reached the bottom step. "Ready for the World Cup?"

"Definitely," I replied, my excitement momentarily overshadowed by the awareness of Hermione's presence in the room. She sat at the kitchen table, nose buried in a book, avoiding eye contact.

"Good morning, Harry," Mrs. Weasley called from the stove, stirring a pot of porridge. "Make sure you've got everything packed. We don't want to miss the Portkey!"

As I grabbed a piece of toast, Hermione couldn't contain her awkwardness any longer. She glanced up from her book, eyes wide, and muttered a stiff greeting. "Morning, Harry."

"Morning, Hermione," I replied, feeling the tension thickening like molasses in the room.

Fred and George strolled into the room, mischief dancing in their eyes. "Feeling a bit jittery, Harry? Need Hermione to give you a boost?" George quipped, eyebrows waggling playfully.

"No, I'm alright, thanks," I said, ignoring their attempts to get some reaction out of me.

Ron shot us a confused look, then turned to Hermione. "Hermione, you coming to the World Cup with us?"

Hermione hesitated, glancing at me before responding, "I have to finish a few things for school, but Ginny and I'll meet you there."

Ron shrugged, seemingly unperturbed, but I caught the fleeting exchange of glances between Hermione and Ginny. There was something unspoken hanging in the air, and it most definitely had everything to do with the deal we've agreed on the day before.

The Burrow's kitchen buzzed with activity as most of us finished breakfast and prepared to leave. I threw my trunk into the magically expanded boot of the Weasley's aging car, wondering how this Quidditch World Cup would unfold with Hermione's consciousness of me. I know, however, that the "experience" waiting for us at there would distract from this awkwardness, if only for a moment.