Burning Souls by Shentaro

Rating: R
Genres: Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 23/07/2005
Last Updated: 29/07/2005
Status: Paused

seventh year fic, AU.This is a response to a challenge found on portkey. Not much of a summary,
but please see details inside. The story has no HBP spoilers. The rating will be changed to NC17
later on. For lack of inspiration I marked the genre of the story as Drama.




1. One Last Time
----------------

*Disclaimer - I do not own HP & co though there are moments when I wished I had…*

**Boring Authors Note** – please read, for it will give some insight of what this story is
about. If you want to jump straight to reading, just scroll a few rows down.

This story is a response to a challenge issued by Zaxxon on portkey. This is what the challenge
says (copy/paste):

**Challenge Name**: Dark!Hermione (or Slytherin!Hermione)

Required elements:

Hermione is sorted into Slytherin

One or more parent was killed by Death Eaters/Dark Wizards in front of Hermione, Hermione vowing
revenge

Hermione was picked on and bullied in muggle school, desiring power to prevent and stop being
bullied/picked on

Hermione wishes to have the power and revenge (ambition)

Hermione is not related to Draco or such. Still a mugleborn witch, but hides that fact

Hermione can see/feel the magical energy-level/power of a person

Hermione wants the powerful (and famous) Harry Potter as an ally (and in time more)

Harry should be as in canon

This being R/NC17, Dark!Hermione should try to corrupt Harry into becoming her Dark King to rule
by her side.

**Optional elements:**

Hermione can bully others and be highly manipulative

Many can feel that since Hermione and Ron Weasley are complete opposites that they should be
together, but opposite annihilate each other, and we know better

Draco could be Dark!Hermione's punching bag/whipping boy.

Well, that’s the challenge. I do not know if it has been done or not, but if it had, could
someone please send me a link to the story? I would be interested to read it.

The story is told from a first person perspective, Hermione’s POV. The rating of this story is R
but later will have NC17 chapters. There are no HBP spoilers in here.

Warning – if you love Ron, and especially Ginny, then you may not like this… sorry about
that.

One more thing – Hermione in this story is, at this point, a very, very cynical person who
doesn’t held humanity in too much regard.

This chapter wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for HeidiHo. Without her work and encouragement this
may not have been posted. Live well! Cheers!

**Chapter One – One Last Time**

Oh, Merlin! What was McGonagall thinking when she gave me the Head Girl badge? Better yet, what
was in my head when I sent her the owl telling her I accept? Hmm…. I believe it had something to do
with having a huge room all by myself – no pasty roommates, no more endless gibberish about the
boys sexual endowments and whatnot. *Sanctuary* is what I saw written all over the room. And
it blinded me.

And now I have to cope with *this*?! For crying out loud! I look upon the faces of the
prefects as they enter the heads compartment and I shudder inside. Some are proud, wearing their
badges like the tiny bit of metal is God’s gift to them. Others are shy, especially the younger
ones; they enter cautiously taking in their surroundings, trying not to step in the way of the
older prefects. From arrogance to pride, from weariness to acute curiosity, from depression and
sorrow to blissful happiness, they wear their emotions like an open book for everyone to see.
Stupid if you ask me, but then again, nobody does…

I wonder what they see when they gaze upon my face. It’s amusing in a grim sort of way to see
the various ways in which they twist their countenances when their eyes land on me. I have yet to
see someone, apart from two slytherins, who doesn’t make do a double take when he or she spots me.
After the initial shock they all turn to the nearest fellow prefect and, pointing discreetly – in
their opinion, that is – ask in a barely audible whisper the same question: "What is she doing
here?!" Of course, all this is done in the subtlest way possible, as not to alert me.
Pathetic, really. I do not know, perhaps I should be flattered by all the attention I’m getting.
For someone as plain looking as me, who apparently doesn’t give a damn about the opinions and
intentions of those around her, I surely get a lot of attention. I wonder why?

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that everybody who has ever bothered me for the
past six years has met with an awful, unfortunate accident. I really don’t know why are they
blaming me for all of them. It’s not that they aren’t right – because they are! But they don’t have
any proof! The only thing that connects those… hmm… incidents is that all the people involved had
at one point or another crossed my path. Perhaps they tried to pull a prank on me or maybe they
mocked me about something. Maybe they just spread dreadful rumors about me – the imagination of
some people never ceases to amaze me – or bothered me intentionally. They all paid in one way or
another. By the end of the fifth year, almost nobody would voluntarily come to speak with me. Last
year it was kind of amusing to walk the corridors of Hogwarts and witness all discussions stop
abruptly as I walked past various groups of people. They would all turn their backs on me and as
soon as I had passed they would resume their previous activities.

I want to laugh aloud at the behavior of these *prefects*, but in order to maintain my mask
I abstain – it wouldn’t do any good to ruin in a moment of neglect the image of a cold-hearted
bitch that I had cultivated throughout the years. If they are suppose to be the best of what
Hogwarts has to offer, then I pity the future of the wizarding world. They stay all huddled
together like a flock of distressed crows in the front of the compartment. God forbid one of them
to put a step in my section. They avoid me like plague. *Chaff*, *lees* would be very
good words to describe this hodgepodge before my eyes. Nobody accused me yet of having some
resemblance of respect for my fellow students.

While I ponder at the futility of this masquerade of a soon-to-be-meeting I see one of the
prefects detaching himself from the group and coming straight toward me, puffing out his chest.
What a loser. The boy’s name is Justin. Justin Finch-Fletchley. He’s a seventh-year Hufflepuff.
Wasn’t Gryffindor supposed to be the House of those brave and daring? And weren’t Hufflepuffs
supposed to be licensed cowards? Well, I guess I can now add *plain stupid* to the list of
attributes for old Helga’s house.

Justin and I are old pals. Why, just last year we had a sweet impromptu date in one of the
corridors of Hogwarts. I was taking advantage of a free afternoon and I was enjoying myself by
walking the corridors of Hogwarts. It may seem a weird way to kill time, but every time I would
wander alone through the hallways of the old castle, a feeling of peace and contentment enveloped
me, soothing my fears. I draw strength from my promenades. It’s one of the things that keep me
sane. As fate would have it, I had run into a group of Slytherin fourth years who had cornered some
younger Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and were trying to curse them. While I do not normally engage in
open acts of hostility, when I saw this appalling scene I had to intervene. I know that my house is
not renowned for extraordinary skill in wand use, but please! The way my housemates were casting,
or, better said, trying to cast, their spells made the hair on the back of my head stand up. I had
seen it as a perfect opportunity to educate. So I pulled out my wand and demonstrated the correct
wrist movement required to obtain the perfect result. Just then dear Justin walked up on us. And he
began to spill his guts about regulations and other nonsense. I just stared at him during his
entire tirade. The point is that in the end, after having watched with mild interest how the
Hufflepuff made a fool of himself, I was given a detention and ten house points were taken from
Slytherin. Because my head of house had been indisposed at the time, I had taken detention with
McGonagall – which turned out not to be a bad thing at all. And Justin didn’t walk away empty
handed from our third degree encounter. I don’t believe he has forgiven me yet. It was hilarious
when *all* his clothes simply disappeared when he walked down the middle of the Great Hall a
week later during dinner.

And now he comes to me. Perhaps he sees this as an opportunity to pay me back. He must be
feeling pretty good about himself. I can just imagine the glee he is expecting to feel when he
throws me out of the compartment. For I had never been a prefect and who in their right mind would
think that I am Head Girl? The badge is safely tucked in one of my pockets and there is no sign as
to explain my presence here.

He stops in front of my seat. All the other prefects stop their activities to enjoy the show. An
eerie silence descends upon the compartment. He reaches to grab my shoulder, no doubt to wake me
from my apparent sleep. Why does everyone assume that a person with their eyes closed is sleeping?
I’ll never know. He reconsiders touching me and instead resorts to shouting to achieve his goal.
Perhaps he’s not as dumb as I thought. Nobody touches me intentionally without my permission and
gets away with it. And considering I have never given my permission, this rule applies to pretty
much everybody. The last person to try something like this found himself with his arm broken in
three places.

"WAKE UP GRANGER!" he barks in front of my face. Oh, he’s going to get it. Doesn’t he
know that this is not the correct way to approach a lady?

I casually open my eyes and fix my stare right in the middle of his forehead. I found out early
in my life that it pisses people off immensely when I do that, especially when they are trying to
speak with me. Justin is no exception.

"Stop that!" Like heck I will. He shakes his head in frustration and continues,
annoyed. "Get up and get out of here! You don’t belong here." His words affect me about
as much as the dust from the bottom of my shoes.

"Congratulations, Granger! You have just earned a month of detention." He spits with
bitterness just as the door opens and the golden trio of Hogwarts walks in – Potter and the two
Weasleys.

Justin turns around to see who has walked in and I lower my eyelids, resuming the surveillance
of the room through the slits.

"What are you doing here Harry?" he asks puzzled. Just like me Potter wasn’t a prefect
the previous years and he doesn’t wear a badge.

"I’m Head Boy" he replies plainly, pulling out the insignia and sticking it to his
chest. Well, that’s a surprise…

"You are?! Then get her out of here! She freaks people out." Justin demands angrily
pointing his finger at me. So, he doesn’t love me after all. I’m hurt. I really am.

He looks at me and shrugs. "I’m afraid I can’t do that, you see, she is the Head
Girl."

By the nine pits of Hell! Horror and consternation! What in the name of the Founders…

"How can this be?"

"What was the Headmistress thinking?"

"I can’t believe this!"

And so the racket begins in force. They just can’t believe their delicate ears. Truthfully
neither could I, at first. But the way they show their indignation in front of me is utterly
disgusting. So I close my eyes for good and concentrate as hard as I can on blocking all the sounds
from the compartment and willing myself to sleep. Witnessing immense displays of imbecility makes
my skin crawl.

I do not care about the meeting. I do not care to hear their opinions. And I really do not want
to say anything to them. I am sure that Potter will tell them all they need to hear – for he
received the same letter with instructions from the Headmistress as I did.

As the prefects are all dragged into a very civilized debate – they should really consider
getting some communication lessons from a bunch of baboons – I drift away. I don’t know how long I
have been asleep. I awake suddenly with a jolt, a muffled cry on my lips. A thin layer of
perspiration as cold as ice covers my body from head to toe. I bolt to my feet, taking in my
surrounding. As my breathing steadies I feel the blood returning to my face. Sweet Morgana, there
are times when having a photographic memory can be a curse rather then a benediction.

Crap! I’m not alone. The Hogwarts’ three are staring at me, bewildered expressions on their
faces. The meeting must be finished, for there is no trace of anyone else in the compartment. And
judging by the faint light that creeps in from outside, dusk is about to settle in.

"Bad dream?" the she-Weasley asks me. If it weren’t for the curving of her lips in a
shifty smile, I would fall for her concerned tone. Why the little bitch… Her comment promptly snaps
me from my brood and my impassive mask quickly takes its proper place on my face. I straighten my
back and walk directly to her. I stop a few feet from her and I lock eyes with her.

I let all the contempt I feel for the likes of her pour from me and into that empty pumpkin of
hers. The stupid brat doesn’t even flinch – she’s returning my stare, innocently batting her
eyelashes. I should have expected it – she is too idiotic to recognize my subtle attack. And going
by the look on her brother’s face, he is as inept as she is at figuring what is going on. The same
thing can’t be said about Potter though, for when I try to force my thoughts into her empty,
under-evolved subconscious, he jumps in front of her.

"There’s no need to do that." His voice is just like a steel sword wrapped in a
velvety sheet. It is something that I can understand and relate to. He considers her to be his
friend and is bound by loyalty to protect her. Bloody Gryffindors! You take on one and the whole
damn pack jumps on you. This is only the second time since the beginning of my Hogwarts days that
he has addressed me – if I had a journal I would dedicate an entire entry to this moment, but alas,
I do not. I look at him and see something behind those green eyes of his that calls to me,
demanding to be freed from its confines. I do not know what it is, for I have never seen anything
like it before. It intrigues me. And I want to learn more about it.

The red-haired brother rising to his feet brings my inspection to an end. A curse on him and his
entire family. Merlin knows what he said, for I was too busy fighting a staring match with
The-Boy-Who-Lived. What a stupid nickname anyway – do those who use it imply that Potter is dead
now? I may be intelligent, but I’ll never understand some of the things people come up with.

I must be patient. There will be other times when I will have the opportunity to find out the
answer to this puzzling mystery. So I turn my back on the Gryffindors and walk back to my seat
without a word.

I don’t manage to take two steps when I hear her voice.

"I’m not afraid of you!" – a delayed response. And a challenge none the less!

As Potter tries to calm her down – she must have felt her pride was wounded – I reach my seat.
And here she comes in a huff, slipping through his arms. Some people just don’t know when to quit,
do they? She must be feeling very confident in her abilities. She was and still is a member of that
secret Dumbledore’s Army group that everyone knew existed for two years now. I bet she believes she
can kick my arse half across the train without breaking a sweat. I don’t blame her. There’s nothing
to say about somebody who has bran instead of brain.

As she impels her hands in her hips, I see Potter sigh in defeat. Clearly he doesn’t hold her
abilities in high regard. And here I was thinking that this journey was going to be a boring
one…silly me. What she is blabbering on about I do not know, for I am more interested in the
Hogsmeade station that is fast approaching. As long as her hands do not reach for her wand she is
utterly harmless. And judging by what I see when I look at her, she may as well have a genuine mage
staff in her hands for it wouldn’t make too much of a difference. What was that? Is she challenging
me to a wizarding duel? She must be out of her mind. What is her problem anyway? She’s not worthy
enough to fill my time worrying about her. But then again, this might be fun…

I am spared any more of her tirade by the powerful whistle of the locomotive, signaling arrival
in the wizarding village.

I casually make my way out of the train without sparing a glance at those around me. I hear
Hagrid sending his trademark call in the air, summoning the first years to him. Nothing has changed
so far. I’m heading straight to the carriages. I stop and I look, fascinated by the harbingers of
death. Thestrals – beautiful creatures they are. We have been old friends – they and I – since the
start of my second year. I recognize some of them and I’m glad when Old Trisky flutters his wings
in appreciation of my petting. I can’t wait to take him flying and, guessing by his eagerness, he
is as impatient for this as I am. Soon, my friend, soon.

I notice quite a lot of people are watching me strangely. What do they know? It’s not every day
you see somebody patting an invisible horsy. Ignoring their looks, as always, I climb into an empty
carriage. I can bet my huge, non-existing fortune that no one else is going to travel with me
willingly. My thoughts are proven correct when the coach starts to move, talking me to
Hogwarts.

This is my last year here as a student. My feelings about this are more then a little confused,
and as I approach the gates a shiver passes through me when I think what my life is going to be
beyond the next summer. Oh well, what is going to come is going to come, and I’ll deal with it when
the time is right. Right now I have a feast to attend to.

The sorting is as boring as ever. I swear – that tattered hat is getting more senile with every
season. McGonagall, as the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, holds a small memorial to her illustrious
predecessor and we keep a moment of silence for the latest victims that had been felled in the war
against Voldemort. She introduces the new Defense against the Dark Arts Teacher. This year it is a
she – an auror that goes by the name of Tonks. I wonder how long she will last. Judging by the fact
that she has spilled her drink and landed her elbow in her neighbor’s plate in less then half a
minute, I can guess that it won’t be long before she’s out of here. And there’s one more new face –
she appears to be a slightly younger copy of McGonagall. Yep, that she is; her sister, the new
transfiguration professor. And now we hear the usual warnings. As if the name wouldn’t be quite
telling in its own right, we have to be reminded that the Forbidden Forest is indeed forbidden.
Like that has stopped me before. Who would have thought. Forbidden items, check; no magic in the
hallways, check; a call to house unity, check; yada, yada, yada, check.

And then food – as good as ever – appears by magic and the entire population of the school jumps
to eat.

Once the feast is finished and the basic need for food is satiated McGonagall makes a sign for
Potter and me to come to her. She greets us with a curt nod and walks us to our new dorm. It is
near the professors’ quarters and the entrance is behind the painting of a fat, ugly troll with two
heads. In a patchy voice the troll manages to ask us for the new password and I open my mouth to
speak for the first time today.

"Voldemort" I articulate clearly in the empty corridor. Potter nods, looking surprised
at me. McGonagall, though she shivers slightly at the name, doesn’t object. After telling us to
meet her tomorrow, after breakfast, to discuss the coming year, she bids us good bye and leaves us
to our own devices.

We enter through the portrait hole and we are finally alone in our new common room. We just
stare at each other. This is sure going to be a fun year. Oh boy…

AN – please, review?



2. Lovely, Just Lovely!
-----------------------

*Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter & co. Sad, I know.*

*AN – this chapter was brought to you courtesy of HeidiHo*

**Chapter Two – Lovely, Just Lovely!**

Lovely – my room is decorated in green and silver: the colours of my heart. For Merlin’s sake,
just because I’m a Slytherin it doesn’t mean that all I want to see for a whole damn year is green
and silver. Things are going to change around here. Not right now, but soon. Now I want to test the
bed to see if it’s as comfortable as it looks. I may have slept on the train, but having one of
those nightmares sure didn’t help in the rest department. I shed my clothes and I throw them in the
middle of the room. I prefer to sleep naked – I can’t stand pajamas, for they feel like a prison
around my body and I hate that.

I put my wand under my pillow, I tuck myself in and I close my eyes. *Good night Hermione,*
I bid myself before sleep whisks me away.

During the night I bolt to my feet right in the middle of the bed yelling my head off. I
frenetically twist and turn trying to pull myself out of the linen that had the audacity to tangle
between my feet. I trip and a small distant part of my brain acknowledges the fall. I don’t feel
any pain. Finally I manage to rip away the sheets. I’m naked in the middle of my room and I scream
as loud as I can.

I don’t cry. I used to do that, a long time ago, in another life. By now I had even forgotten
how it feels. Instead I scream. I scream at the top of my lungs until I feel my neck tearing itself
apart and my vocal cords become sour. I kid myself that I had lost the ability to shed tears away.
Sometimes I remember my mother holding me at her bosom while I soaked her nightshirt. She would
whisper soothing words in my ear, words that would take away the pain. I don’t have a mother
anymore. She’s gone, and took my tears away with her.

Somebody is at my door. Stupid me, I had forgotten to put a silencing charm on the room. No one
has the right to see me like this. No one!

The spell doesn’t have a name, nor does it have an incantation. It is a spell born in the
recesses of my soul, fuelled by my most inner desires of vengeance; it draws strength from my
hatred and loathing, from my anger and from my desire to crush under my heel all those who have
ever harmed me.

As I point my wand at the opening door I let all this energy fly through me directly at the
intruder. This is the first time I use it against a living being, and I don’t really know what to
expect. The spell rushes towards its target. It’s Potter standing in my doorframe, with his wand
drawn. He conjures a shield just in time. I don’t know if it did any good, for my hex passes right
through it and connects with his wand arm with no apparent effect whatsoever. I have a pretty sour
taste in my mouth after witnessing my greatest creation fail miserably.

"GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" I yell in rage. He just stands there eyeing me like he has just
been hit by lighting where the sun doesn’t shine, a horrified expression on his face. I understand
that with my body scarred beyond belief I won’t win any beauty competitions, but, for some reason,
seeing the reaction of the first male to see me like this hurts beyond belief.

Before I can yell some more at him, Potter staggers on his feet and falls down. Bullocks! I rush
to his side – he is not passed out, only very, very dizzy. I conjure a bucket of ice cold water and
I give him an impromptu bath. That sure does the trick, for he promptly opens his eyes. I stare at
him as his body jerks in surprise when he takes a better look at me. Now, in the far better
illuminated common room all pretenses are off. For several long moments neither one of us says
anything. We just look at each other – me at his face and he at my body, trying to memorize each
and every scar. And as there are more then a few it takes some time.

When he finally raises his inquiring eyes to my face, I decide to put an end to this. "Did
you enjoyed yourself, Potter?" He doesn’t answer me, but something changes in the way he looks
at me. For Merlin sakes, I don’t want his pity! How dares he?

SMACK. My left hand sure did leave a mark on his face. If he was affected by my slap I really
can’t tell, for he didn’t even wince.

"If word about this gets around school, you won’t live long enough to regret it, Potter! Do
you understand?" I threaten him in my coldest voice. Pointing my wand at him, and not waiting
for a response, I turn around and storm to my room. I slam the door shut and cast the most potent
silencing charm I know. How am I going to get to sleep now? I drag myself under the covers wishing
more than ever not to have any feelings at all, wishing that my mask wasn’t just an illusion,
wishing that I had never been born at all. I take a pillow and crush it to my chest and I hope that
the nightmares will leave me alone just this once…

It’s finally morning and I’m walking straight to McGonagall office. I skipped breakfast for I
really did not want to face all of Hogwarts so early. Like a litany, I recite passages from
*Hogwarts, A History* so maybe, just maybe I can stop myself from thinking about last night.
To my extreme relief it works, and before I know it I’m at my destination.

As always, the majestic statue of a gargoyle stands guarding the entrance. Now this is a
*very* peculiar statue. There were more than a few the times when I walked by it and I almost
caught it moving by itself. Sometimes I think that it does that on purpose just to irk me. I look
at it and I can swear that it is mocking me from behind its stony gaze. The idea of transfigurating
one of my quills into a sledgehammer and smacking the statue on the head to find out once and for
all if it’s truly alive or not is as tempting as ever. Or maybe I should try conjuring a huge anvil
and letting it fall on it. I’m sure that McGonagall will not expel me if I ever follow up on my
plans, for she is as frustrated about this nagging mystery as I am, perhaps even more so. Last
year, during one of our many nightly talks she confessed to me that since she was a student here
she has been asking herself this very question. And not even after all this time has she found an
answer that would satisfy her. This is just one of those little secrets that make Hogwarts what she
is today – one of the most mysterious places in the wizarding world. It may be strange to refer to
this old castle as a *she*, but sometimes as I walk her corridors alone, I can feel her
presence envelop me in a protective embrace. And if it’s really quiet, I can almost hear her voice
as she tries to speak with me, but I can never understand the words…

I kneel in front of the gargoyle to better observe the many intricate details that make this
sculpture look so lively. As I trace its delicate curves with my eyes, I marvel at the
craftsmanship of the Master Carver that gave life to this block of granite.

I hear some footsteps. Just as my head is turning away from the statue to see who’s coming, the
gargoyle winks at me! Suddenly I have this great urge to growl in frustration. *You know, don’t
you, this means war!* It’s only a matter of time before I’ll find a way to reveal its true
nature, and now I’m more determined then ever before. The gargoyle doesn’t stand a chance. As
battle plans are beginning to be cooked up inside my head, I spin around, for the footsteps are
drawing near.

Potter is coming. Only he is not alone. Attached at his hip, like an overgrown parasite, the
she-Weasley is whispering Merlin knows what to him. She looks extremely happy about something.
Maybe she has found a knut on the floor and now she is having dreams of grandeur… Or maybe not, for
Potter looks pensive; and is that concern I see in his eyes when he looks from me to her? This is
the first time since our incident that we have seen each other and I’m curious to see how strange
this will be.

As they reach me, Potter – the ever-polite one – nods in greeting. Of course I do not return it,
but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. She, on the other hand, tries her best to ignore me just
as I seem to do with her. Needless to say, she’s failing miserably. I truly hope, for the sake of
the audience, that she has not chosen a career in show business, for she is a lousy actress.

Finishing whatever she had to say to him, she hoists herself up and gives him a loud peck on the
lips, a huge smile plastered on her face. Ahh… isn’t this just lovely? It makes me want to puke.
Aren’t there rules about this sort of thing? Wait a minute… I’m Head Girl, and I can’t let
transgressions like this to go unnoticed. This is how all delinquents start – first they break the
little rules, and then, seeing that they don’t get punished, who’s to stop them from going further
down the road to felony? Well, not on my watch…

"Ten points each from Gryffindor for open displays of affection." This sure got her
attention.

"You can’t do that!" she snaps at me, a killer look in her eyes. Potter just sighs,
further ruffling his already messy hair. He looks kind of cute when he does that. Hey… where did
*that* come from? I give myself a mental slap and turn my attention to her.

"You are a prefect and you don’t know the school rules… Tut, tut… Clearly you are in no
position to do your job correctly. Maybe a detention will give you the motivation you need."
It amuses me terribly to see her eyes widen in disbelief. "Report to Filch tonight at 8. I’m
sure he’ll be delighted to let you scrub some toilets clean." The effect my words have on her
is quite interesting. Her face gets so red that you can’t tell where her skin ends and where her
hair begins.

While Potter is trying to calm her down – what he sees in her is beyond me – I hear more
footsteps coming down the hallway. The entire prefect population is heading this way, and
McGonagall is with them. Are they trying to do what I think they are? Is this why the she-Weasley
was grinning like an idiot not too long ago? As if reading my thoughts, the one in question has the
grace to shed some light on the situation.

"Enjoy it while it lasts Granger. We’ll see who’s laughing in the end," she spits at
me through gritted teeth. Circe, give me strength! Why do I have to meet with dimwits and
nincompoops like this every, single, day?! Before my thoughts can go further down the road of
self-pity, the Headmistress reaches us. The gargoyle jumps to the side at her approach, revealing
the spiral stairway. I guess that when you are Headmistress you don’t really need to say the
password. Most of the prefects are sending me dark looks before they make their way upwards and
into the office. Soon there isn’t anyone left in the corridor but Potter, McGonagall and me.

"Can’t we lock them up there while we talk someplace else?" I ask the old lady. Her
lips are pursed in two very thin lines, and her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. Now everyone
thinks that she does that when she is beyond upset. Even Potter. But I know better. In reality
she’s trying hard not to smile. She is wearing a mask, just like I am. Perhaps that is why we
understand each other so well. I wonder how many in the school have heard her contagious laughter.
I bet I’m one of the select few…

Another day, another prefect meeting… I truly hope that this is not going to be a daily
occurrence…

*A/N. Many, many thanks to all those who have read and reviewed. Cheers to you all! I’m sorry
for the shortness of this chapter – I’ll make it up to you with the third, I promise. Btw, to all
those who are wondering about Harry Potter and the Secret Within – it’s not abandoned; if all goes
well, it will be updated shortly.*