Author's Note: I had been offered some wonderful creative criticism after posting the previous chapter of this story. THANK YOU! I have sincerely tried to take your advice to heart.
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Again - italics have been used to depict what a character is thinking.
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"You still don't get it, do you? All you can think about is how superior she must be and how proud of her you are. Are you off the mark!"
Potter, you don't have a comment?
"She is being courted to be an Unspeakable. If she accepts their offer - she would be a fool not too because it is almost unheard of to be courted - neither myself nor you nor Weaslebee will ever see her again. Granger will be sequestered, prepared and connected to deepest of all mysteries - the Source of all magics."
"You're not lying, are you Malfoy." Potter's voice sounded distant.
"Unspeakables don't have names, Potter."
The silence between the two boys was a bona fide ten on the Incred-u-Metre.
Feeling a hot breath on his left shoulder, Draco reached up and absently stroked the dragonish head of the Thestral as Potter took in one of Granger's secrets.
"For what it's worth Potter - you were right." Seeing the Gryffindor look at him with slightly shell-shocked eyes, Draco gave into the urge to pull his thumb and forefinger down and around mouth, tracing the outside edges of his lips.
Licking each finger lasciviously, Draco could not resist baiting Potter on last time.
"She really does have the best things to say."
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
About an hour later…
"Harry, where have you been?" Ron looked up as Harry's shadow fell across his shoulder. All around him, the noise from the dinner crowd was winding down. The meal was all but over.
"The Owlry," Harry's voice was not a happy one, "Before that, the infirmary."
No harm ever came from sending a letter. But then again, Ron thought, who is happy about being in Hospital?
"What for? You look alright to me." Giving his friend a once over as Harry tucked his long legs underneath the table and settled on the bench, there was nothing that he could see about his friend that was out of place. That is, until he put a platter of food in his Captain's hands. Skinned knuckles on a puffy right hand stood out sharply against the dark cuff of Harry's jumper. Cocking a knowing eyebrow, Ron figured he had better cover both possibilities. "Does the other guy look worse or are your ribs taped as well?"
Sliding food onto his plate, it was a full minute before Harry returned Ron's question. Lifting his shirt-tail, Ron saw the pressure bandage that wrapped around his mate's torso. A sardonic lifting of his chin towards the Slytherin table had Ron twisting in his seat. Malfoy had just come through the hidden door. A deeply bruised jaw, lit up in colours of deep blue and red, could be seen across the Hall.
More food was piled on Harry's plate. He obviously isn't upset - he's eating like a horse!
"Malfoy did that?" Ron asked as he handed Harry the flagon of pumpkin juice, referring to Harry's very erect posture.
Taking a deep drink, Harry set down his cup and gave his friend a real grin. "Nope."
"Did you do that," Ron shot a glance at Malfoy, currently being gushed over by Parkinson, "to Malfoy?"
"Yep." The food was disappearing fast off his mate's plate.
A non-descript school owl swooped into the Great Hall. Flying over three of the House tables, it landed inches from Malfoy's goblet. Delivering a longish, narrow parcel from its beak, it squawked once and then took off.
"Are you going to make me play Twenty Questions with you while you feed your face or are you going to tell me what happened?" Looking over at Malfoy, the Slytherin was holding in his hand something red and gold. "Why does Malfoy have a straw, Harry?"
Coming up for air, Harry put down his fork and knife. Confirming that Malfoy received his Special Delivery, Harry graciously nodded in the other boy's direction. Turning his head back to centre, he looked at Ron and smiled wickedly. "Because, my friend, it is never smart to drip blood near a Thestral when said animal has an empty stomach." Refilling his goblet, he looked across the table at his friend. "Did you know Malfoy has a glass jaw?"
"Duh - remember when Hermione socked him in Third Year? The kid toppled like a knocked-over broomstick!" Chuckling at the memory of Malfoy getting his come-uppance from his other best friend, Ron leaned back, crossed his arms across his body and levelled his gaze. "So Retribution Boy, gonna tell me what the blazes went on between the two of you?"
"Did you find Mrs. Norris?"
"Sure. Found her with Nearly Headless Nick. Apparently he is the only one who thinks that she smells like a bloomin' flower." All but rolling his eyes at Harry dragging his feet in telling him what happened, "So - you and Malfoy…?"
"Found him in the stables - with Hermione." Damn, Potter - wrong words to use when Ron is around. Seeing his friend bristle, Harry immediately made amends for giving Ron the wrong impression of what happened. "Not like that, you dolt. They were talking - about different things. Mostly about how no one will be able to get back into the dorms tomorrow…"
"Yeah - Dumbledore made an announcement earlier. All the passwords are going to be reset - including his. Apparently, he has had to resort to having McGonagall - before she lost her voice - and Flitwick say his password over and over before that stone gargoyle of his would move." Ron felt a smile spread over his face as the mental image of the three professors standing in front of Dumbledore's office, holding hands and shouting the name of some sweet, came into focus. "Strange though - he seemed more amused then out of joint about it."
"I heard him threaten Hermione. "
"He's mine," Ron made a move to rise.
"Stop. Wait. Not yet. Let me finish." Seeing the wary look on Ron's face, Harry leaned forward and dropped his voice. "That is when I stepped in and sorted things out."
Ron's sceptical expression replaced the look of eminent fisticuffs the red-head had been shooting across the Hall at Malfoy.
"Well - maybe 'sorting it out' is not the right term. I crossed swords with Hermione in the process, though." He felt his face fall at the mention of her name. He knew he wasn't ready to share with Ron what Malfoy had told him about the choices before the Head Girl. "And, of course, Malfoy had to try to get in the last word."
"Of course - lousy prick," Ron sneered. Putting together what Harry left out, Ron finished the tale. "So that is when you clocked him and knocked him out. But that does not explain-"
"How my ribs got strained?" Harry cut in. "Ah - yes. There was this Thestral who had yet to have his dinner. I hit Malfoy, Malfoy bled. The Thestral got excited, broke free of its tethers. It went for Malfoy; I made a grab for Malfoy, to get him out of the way. The next thing I know - I'm on the floor wearing a bale of hay."
"You know that is more of a summer fashion statement than part of the Fall Line - right?" Ron could not resist teasing Harry a little.
"I know - what can I say? I am a walking, talking fashion disaster." Going back to his story, "From what Malfoy told Madame Pomfrey, the Thestral, in its excitement, kicked open a wing. That was what knocked the bale of hay over."
"Okay, so that all fits. But why give Malfoy a straw?" That is the one piece I cannot figure out, Potter.
Raising his own glass - first to Malfoy and then to Ron - Harry laid out his rationale to his best mate, "Because he cannot use a spoon, my friend."
The coincidence of looking over at the Slytherin table at the precise moment Pansy was mopping the front of Malfoy's robes because the Head Boy dribbled pumpkin juice all over himself was priceless.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Friday, October 24th - Just after dawn…
For the eighth Friday in eight weeks, the white cloaked figure stood in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office.
For the eighth time, the same magical implements were arrayed in front of the stationary guardian.
For the eighth time, the figure spoke the incantation from memory.
For the eighth time, each vocalization was interspersed with sharp palm-to-palm strikes.
For the eighth time, golden energy built and pooled inside the caster's hands.
For the eighth time, golden energy was released, flowing out from the enchanter.
For the eighth time, the wards shuddered, glowed and ultimately accepted the magic created by the cloaked figure.
For the final time, the sensation of a spell well cast settled over the Hooligan.
Looking over a white-clad shoulder, the newly risen sun streaked through the storey-high windows.
Time to go…
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Exhale: three, four. Inhale: seven, eight.
Exhale: three, four. Inhale: seven, eight.
Merlin, this hurts.
Focusing on his footfalls marginally distracted him from the discomfort in his chest. The pressure bandage made it so that he could sleep through the night. It did nothing to prevent pain during his morning run.
Here and there, tendrils of fog drifted off the lake and onto the well-beaten path. Deep breathing hurt. Drawing shorter, shallower breaths was worse. An even, steady pace fell somewhere in between. At the very least, it gave him a space in which to think about things.
The Fall Ball was in a week and he still had not asked Hermione to the dance. After yesterday's performance, he had not seen her to ask her to borrow so much as a quill. But, I have not gone looking for her either.
There was so much to figure out. There were so many half answered questions. Why was Hermione in the stables in the first place? What was that business between her and Snape? Why did Malfoy come to her rescue? Why did she try to deflect Snape from Malfoy? Why did she collapse on Monday, after the Hufflepuff prank? Why did she always have to be so…Hermione?
Coming around the lake for the last time, the sun rising over the tree tops did not offer any answers. The only thing he knew was that he had all the questions.
Ignoring the urge to sprint, Harry made himself measure his breathing against his footfalls the rest of the way to the castle. Gaining the empty Quad, he slowed to a light jog as he crossed the student square. Coming to a stop, he braced his right foot against the very same section of balustrade that Ron launched himself over exactly one week ago. Like he didn't know he would get caught, Harry thought ruefully. Stretching his hamstrings, Harry nearly touched his head to his knee. Sobering, his mind turned to what Malfoy revealed yesterday. A feeling of hurt washed over him. Why didn't she tell me?
Switching legs, his ribs reminded him of the bale of hay that fell on him yesterday. Trying to dissect Hermione's reasons, all he could come up with were reasons why she would have told him her secret: we tell each other everything. Pulling both arms over his head, he felt his back, shoulder and chest muscles loosen up as he continued to stretch out. A voice inside his head gently chided, you are just as guilty. You are keeping a thing or two from her as well. Shaking out his hands and legs, a sense of time becoming pressing welled up inside him.
Brushing hands down his t-shirt, stray bits of leaves fell off him. Unhooking a sweat towel from his track pants, Harry rubbed down his bare arms as he walked through the corridors. Coming up on the Breezeway and seeing that the coast was clear, he wiped sweat and droplets of morning dew from his face. Satisfied with the results, he re-attached the towel, looked up and yelped.
Leaning nonchalantly against one of the armoured soldiers with her hands weaved around her upper arms was Hermione.
"You scared the Merlin out of me!" Panting slightly and running a hand through his hair, Harry did not know the right thing to say to her.
"I know. That was the point. To catch you unaware," her voice was low and even and Harry thought he detected a touch of ice.
"Listen, Hermione - before we go-," Harry felt the need to clarify what happened yesterday.
"We are not going anywhere." Her tone was definitive as she cut him off in mid sentence. "You are going stay right there and I am going to come to you."
Not ice. Definitely not ice in her voice, she sounds almost predatory.
Looking down, he saw exactly when she crossed into his personal space. And then she moved into his very personal space.
In his head he heard himself say, Errmmm…Hermione? About yesterday… But that was as far as he got before Hermione Granger reached her arms up, hooked her wrists behind his neck and pulled his head down until her lips were firmly pressed against the firm contours of his own.
Time whirled. Incrementally, The Breezeway, Hogwarts and the Scottish countryside fell away as her lips shifted, pressed, explored and covered his mouth. A low groan came from the back of his throat and matched the hitch in her breathing as her tongue slipped passed his teeth. His arms, reaching around her back, pulled her tighter and closer to him. Tapered fingers speared through his hair and lightly raked the back of his neck only to trace the lines of his throat with the pads of her fingers.
She was orchestrating this kiss and he was glad to let her. Glad to let her roam and explore. Glad to know that she was not holding anything back. Glad to know that every bit of passion he poured into kissing her was accepted and returned.
A faint whooshing sound told him when her robe pooled to the floor. The smell of her hair and perfume rising around him was the measure of how heated their embrace had become. The taste of her, lingering in the back of his mouth, was intoxicating. The sensation of fine cotton wrapped around the back of his hand told him when he pulled her shirttails free of her skirt.
"Are you ready to go there Mr. Potter?" Hermione's voice was a sensually charged, low timbre challenge that echoed between his head and heart.
Her predatory voice was well steeped with the tell-tale signs of being well kissed. It was her words that threw him. The fact that she huskily repeated the words he spoke to her two days ago made him involuntarily lift his head. His eyes widened as his heart slowed to deep, reverberating thuds.
She knows!
With that as a mantra in his head, Harry kissed her. A possessive growl surged from that caged, primal part of his being. He did not just kiss her - he plundered Hermione. Every crease and crevasse of her mouth, he explored. Again. Every contour of her back, he traced. Again. Every silky curl that threaded between his fingers he used to weave an evocative sensation. Again. He inhaled her breath, drawing it deep. The discomfort in his ribs did not matter. The fact that they were embracing in the open did not matter. All that mattered was that she knew it was him who kissed her in that broom cupboard. That it was him who drew out the latent sensuality that she possessed. That she felt free to release her inner-woman in his arms.
Hearing their lips separating, Harry looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. Her eye lashes, dark crescents, brushed her cheeks. Her lips were puffed and deeply hued. The pulse point at the base of her throat throbbed with the tempo of her racing heart. Watching her lift her gaze, her lashes rising, the amber flecks scattered around her irises seemed to be aglow with arousal. Harry fell in love with Hermione all over again.
"THAT is the solution to your problem Harry."
Bending at the knees, she reached down and scooped her robe. Using two fingers to drape the garment over one of her shoulders, she strode out of the Breezeway, her skirt flouncing with every step.
It was not until she was gone that Harry found a comeback to her parting remark.
"That one, I knew."
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
"Can anyone tell me one of the most elemental laws that exist in this universe?"
The Defence Against the Darkest Arts professor was in full-on lecture mode. Perched on his desk with his feet resting on the floor, ankles crossed, he scanned the room waiting on an answer.
Calling on a Ravenclaw, the whole room chuckled when the answer that was given pertained to Mr. Filch's chronic halitosis.
"There is a difference between a universal given and a universal law." Smiling with good humour, he looked around the class again and asked, "Anyone else?"
Without raising his hand, Blaise piped up. "Everything has a counterpart - nothing stands alone."
"Very good Mr. Zabini - five points to Slytherin." Looking eagerly around the room, the way the professor enjoyed teaching D.A.D.A was evident. "Mr. Zabini's words ring true. Everything has a counterpart: light and dark, off and on, in and out, etcetera."
Sliding off his desk and moving to the chalkboard, he picked up his pointer and tapped the phrase 'Code Breaking' that had been written prior to class beginning. "We have been looking at the topic of Code Breaking all week. And, in code breaking, it is sometimes necessary to look beyond the surface. That is, to look to what was behind the motivation behind the creation of a particular code."
Setting down the pointer, his right hand reached out and swept the room. "Appearances can be deceiving! Often times, there are layers of spells applied to a certain object or artefact which makes it necessary to take into account who cast the spell - or spells, what the reason was behind the need for a spell - or spells - to be cast. As well as what the original casters might have thought the probability of his spells being broken might have been. Very complicated business, breaking codes and spells. It can be very dangerous as well. Sometimes, if the original caster feeling particularly paranoid there can be Repercussion Spells inlaid with the 'protection' spells."
Ron, sitting next to Harry, shared a comment. "My brother Bill told me about those. Nasty business, that is."
"Your brother is absolutely right, Mr. Weasley." The teacher's face became serious. "Repercussion spells are like booby-traps for the code breaker. It is the price paid for mistakes. You apply the wrong counter-curse to what you think is the correct spell and there is no telling WHAT could happen to you." Smiling again, he sounded a bit like Hagrid when he said, "But, we'll get into that later."
The creak of the classroom door opening and shutting had everyone turning in their seats to see who had come into the room.
"All right, everyone. Let us all give a hearty welcome my colleague and our guest for the day."
A chorus of, "Good morning, Prof. McGonagall" resounded.
Striding up the centre aisle, she stopped in front of the teacher, greeting him and then turned to face the collection of seated Seventh Years. "Good morning, class."
From the back of the room, Seamus offered his own salutation. "It is good to hear you, Prof. McGonagall."
Nodding, accepting of the chuckles emitted at her expense, she responded, "It is good to be heard, Mr. Finnegan. I especially think you will have a particular interest in what I say when you meet with me after your lessons." Seeing the D.A.D.A. teacher unsuccessfully hide his smile at Seamus's comment, she added, "Just wait - let's see how smug you are when you get pranked." Shaking a finger in his direction, a twinkle in her eye belied her warning tone. "It could happen, you know."
"Sage advice, Professor - very sage advice," he smiled back at her.
The professor slipped back into lecture-mode. "Now, we have been talking about code breaking. Sometimes, in order to break a spell - or a code - it is necessary to have someone of the opposite gender, but equal in magical aptitude, to assist in breaching the protective layers that have been applied to an object or artefact. Professor McGonagall has kindly enough agreed to assist us in seeing first hand the application of such an endeavour. For you see, even the most common of spells metamorphoses when the magics from a witch and a wizard - opposite but equal - are used simultaneously."
Stepping away from Prof. McGonagall, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at his desk. With a command, the desk slid back until it was closer to the chalkboard. Turning back to the class with a clap of his hands he said, "Now that we are all here, we are going to enjoy a practical demonstration."
Stepping around his desk, he picked up a piece of chalk and clearly printed two words on the erasable black surface. "This is the most basic spell in code breaking. Now, I want everyone to repeat after me: Abrasum Cantonis."
The same chorus that greeted Prof. McGonagall stumbled over the Latin syllables.
"Again - say it again everyone. Abrasum Cantonis."
In unison, the class spoke clearly in one voice, "Abrasum Cantonis."
"Well done!" The D.A.D.A professor clapped his hands together one more time. Picking up a paperweight off his desk, he held it high in his hand before setting back down on a side table. "Now, I want you to watch Prof. McGonagall and myself very carefully. Remember, the true key to successfully performing this spell is not in the wand movements or the words. It is the fact that the effectiveness of both components is magnified due to the convergence of our magics."
Holding hands and speaking the incantation together, a jet of blue light sparked from each of their wands only to engulf the paperweight in a shimmering silver cascade of colour. The paperweight shimmied. It's form wobbled and, like an outer coating falling away, a living bird shook out its feathers and lifted itself to an outer edge of the room.
"Now, I want everyone to pair up. Don't be shy. This won't kill you, you know." His eyes were full of good humour as he watched the room full of Seventh Years awkwardly hold hands and wait for his next set of instructions. One pair in particular made him almost want to call everyone's attention to how well their magics matched. The sensation of magics mingling; he could feel it begin as soon as they intertwined fingers.
Seeing another pair having difficulty working out the logistics of hand holding, the professor offered, "Mr. McMillan! If you stand to her left, then you will find that that will work much better for the both of you." Moving on, giving pointers to another modesty-sensitive pair, he paused and tossed over his shoulder one more decree to the Hufflepuff. "Oh, and McMillan - you will need to strip off your gloves in order to do this properly, Mr. McMillan."
Crossing over to the base of the stairs that led to his office, the professor stopped in front of a halyard. Releasing the knot, the dragon skeleton that hung high above the desks was lowered. Tying off the line when the skeleton hovered five feet off the ground, he again gained Prof. McGonagall's side. "Form a circle around Guilford. Hurry now." Seeing the same squeamishness as before, he teased, "You are not hand-fasting, people. You are learning."
"Now, everyone take up your wands. Hold tight to your partner." Pulling his own wand out, he touched each of students with his eyes. "I want you to point your wand at Guilford and let him have it!"
"The count of three, everyone…" Clasping McGonagall's hand firmly, he called out, "On my mark: one, two, three!"
Twenty-two wands and twenty-two voices swished, flicked and shouted at Guilford. Inside the ribcage of the skeleton, the individual jets of light conglomerated and formed a ball of pulsating energy. Just like the paperweight, the skeleton wobbled.
BAM!!!
A bright golden flash erupted from Guilford's bones. Everyone staggered - cries of surprise were heard; no one could see clearly.
Immediately releasing McGonagall, the D.A.D.A professor cried out, "Sound off everyone!"
A sporadic murmur of the word 'here' and the phrase 'all right' was drowned out by Pansy Parkinson screaming.
Rushing to her side, McGonagall tipped the girl's chin and looked her in the eyes. "What's wrong, child? Where are you hurt?"
"MY ROBE! LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO MY ROBE!"
Rubbing the spots from his eyes, it was a second or two before the teacher could see clearly.
Draco Malfoy's voice reverberated around the room. "Calm down, Panse. What are you…?"
By the sounds of it, Draco, Millicent and Blaise all saw what he saw - along with the rest of the class.
"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" Swinging his head in the direction of the out cry, the teacher saw Zabini spreading his robe wide.
Looking to his right, the professor could see that Parkinson had graduated from shocked disbelief to outrage. The pug nosed girl was shaking her finger at another student.
"You! You did this! You are the Hooligan!"
The Slytherin girl singled out Granger.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
The Great Hall was teeming with students, faculty and support staff. Lunch items were sitting on the tables but no one was eating.
Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were bantering back and forth, each telling the other that the prank orchestrated against them was the better prank.
Gryffindor House was assembled. All the Seventh Years were seated on the side of the table that faced the central aisle. All the other years were crammed onto the opposite side. One of their own had been accused and they were all there to show their support.
The Slytherin table was empty.
The Teacher's Table saw each professor in their seat, with the exception of Prof. McGonagall. Headmaster Dumbledore was in his chair, looking out over the entire Hall. The scrape of his chair being pushed back was enough to make everyone stop talking. Nodding to Mr. Filch, the caretaker pulled open one of the massive doors. All the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws turned to stare at the two silhouetted figures standing in the doorway.
Prof. McGonagall and Hermione paused in the doorway. Looking at the younger girl, Minerva saw nothing but confidence her eyes.
Speaking softly, she asked, "Are you ready?"
Hermione quietly replied, "Yes."
Seeing the girl straighten her back, Minerva heard her murmur, "It is the spotlight I can live without."
Giving her charge a small smile, she made sure that she and Miss Granger walked shoulder to shoulder down the centre aisle. Stopping once they reached the edge of the raised dais, they both turned and looked confidently at the throng. Reaching for the younger girl's elbow, she kept Hermione facing front when the creak of the other massive door opening had all the other professors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws craning their necks to see who was going to enter the Hall.
Organised into double rows, Slytherin House marched down the centre of the Great Hall. Billowing around their school uniforms and snapping in the wake of their ardent strides, each and every member of that House had on the ugliest school robes imaginable. At the head of the columns, Minerva acknowledged the Parkinson girl and Zabini.
Oh my Merlin!
Instead of being black the robes were silver. Set against this backdrop, a hundred pairs of green and black snakes had been embroidered. The snakes were stitched in such a way that each pair formed the shape of a heart. To add insult to injury, the tongues had been stitched so that the snakes were making kissy-faces!
From her place in front, Minerva could hear Weasley tell Potter that his dress robes from the Yule Ball were a step up from what the Slytherins were wearing. The lad is speaking the truth.
"Headmaster - we've been pranked!" It was the Zabini boy that Minerva saw step forward. Parkinson remained glued to his side.
Of all the vessels depicting the Standings of the Hooligans, only one had a significant lead over the others. The sound of more points accumulating put the leader, now the perpetrator behind Slytherin House being the 'proud' owners of new robes, even further ahead.
"How would you rate what has been done to you and your House, Prefect Zabini?" The expression Minerva saw on Albus's face changed as he switched from Zabini, to Parkinson and back to Zabini.
"Sir - we were in class, in the middle of a lesson, with not one, but two Hogwarts professors in attendance. Somehow, the Hooligan planted a Repercussion Spell on the lesson materials." A rich Italian accent gave up what happened to his House. "When combined with the magics from everyone in class, every single member of my house, no matter where they were in the castle or what year they were in," pausing to pluck at the snake embossed robe he now wore, "had their robes transformed into this. And, we had to endure the entire morning in these robes due to the inaccessibility of the dormitories and the edict that school robes must be worn at all times while school is in session. The Hooligan did not just prank our robes, Sir - our vanity was what the Hooligan struck."
At least the Zabini boy is a good enough sport to laugh at himself and with his fellow housemates, Minerva silently congratulated the boy.
As more points fell into the Hooligan's receptacle, a round of wolfish cat-calls and the sound of exaggerated kissing broke out in the Hall.
Cocking a wry eyebrow of her own at her colleague, she was pleased to see the mirth she felt mirrored in the Headmaster's eyes.
"Sir, everyone in my House is itching for the opportunity to have the Hooligan host a seminar on Repercussion Spells in the dungeons." Zabini's last statement put another layer of points in the Hooligan's coffers.
Satisfied with the formalities she knew he enjoyed, Minerva made eye contact with Albus before placing a reassuring hand on Miss Granger's shoulder.
The Parkinson girl stepped forward.
"Headmaster, I would like to formally charge Hermione Granger with an accusation of Hooliganism."
Looking to her right, Minerva could see Albus stroking his beard. Bracing his fingertips on the table, it was a moment before he acknowledged Parkinson's demand. "You realize that the Head Boy does not share your view? In fact, he has petitioned me personally to dismiss your allegation against Miss Granger."
Standing up straighter, Parkinson lifted her nose higher into the air. "I do, Sir."
"And you also know that Miss Granger is not only our Head Girl, but one of our most scholastically decorated students?"
"But she did it! I saw her!" Minerva cringed at the whine that dominated the girl's voice.
"Prefects? What do you say? You know what hangs in the balance. If Miss Parkinson cannot make her case, your entire House forfeits any and all future claims against the Hooligan's points."
"Sir. The House stands behind Miss Parkinson." The Zabini boy said the words, but it was resignation - not conviction in the Gryffindor's guilt - that measured his words.
Speaking more to the rest of the student body than to just Miss Parkinson, "We have a formal accusation before us." Standing once again, he looked down at where the Head Girl and Deputy Headmistress stood. "Allegations have been made against Miss Granger."
A chorus of indignant: 'that's rubbish', 'unfair' and 'bloody bollocks' rang out across the Hall.
Raising his hands to command silence and respect, "Regardless of our personal feelings, Miss Parkinson is entitled to present her case." Looking down over his half-rimmed spectacles, he spoke again. "Miss Granger, are you guilty of casting a Repercussion Spell on the bones of dearly departed Guilford?"
Hermione's voice did her Head of House proud. "No, Sir. I did not."
"Miss Parkinson seems to be of the opposite opinion, Miss Granger."
"With all due respect, Headmaster - the fact that Miss Parkinson is in possession of a rationalized opinion is astounding. Apparently balancing books on one's head to practice one's posture can lead to academic achievement."
Minerva made sure she bit her cheek to prevent her from snickering out loud over Hermione revealing how the Parkinson girl 'studied'.
From the Slytherin side of the room, an aristocratic drawl shot out across the proceedings.
"Miss Parkinson, as Head Boy and a fellow Slytherin, I believe it is in our best interest if you drop this."
Her grip still reassuring on Hermione's shoulder, there was no way Minerva missed the way her Head Girl relaxed at the sound of the other boy's voice. I do believe we have something to talk about later, Miss Granger.
"Then tell us, Granger." Parkinson's face scrunched to match her snide tone, "Where were you when the Hufflepuffs-"
"Admitted to being pranked?" Hermione finished the Parkinson's sentence.
"She was standing next to me, Headmaster. I will vouch for Miss Granger's whereabouts." Minerva heard her voice ring throughout the Hall.
"All right. So, where were you when Prof. Snape had his office ransacked by a bunch of woolly beasts?"
"Miss Granger was leading a discussion that morning. She was in my sights the entire period." Madame Sinistra stood up and spoke for Hermione.
My, my Miss Parkinson - you are not as confident as you were before you brewed this kettle of fish, Minerva chided the Slytherin girl silently.
"You're running out of time Pansy. Stop now, before it's too late." Minerva turned to where the Head Boy leaned casually against the wall behind the Slytherin table. If I'm not mistaken, he sounds like he wants Parkinson to continue.
Minerva saw a lick of panic cross the pug face of the other girl. That is until it was chased off with a nasty, sneaky, 'I've-got-you-now' expression.
"Where were you when the Ravenclaws had their dorm filled with soap suds? I don't remember seeing you until AFTER we all back in the Hall."
Minerva saw students looking at each other and, increasingly, at Miss Granger. Teachers paused, trying to see what would happen next. Miss Granger, she could see, was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.
A very long minute passed. Silence stretched around the Hall - twice.
A clear male voice sounded from the Gryffindor Table.
"Hermione Granger was with me."
Potter!
Harry Potter's voice sliced through the tension. Immediately, Minerva heard the stunned, barely audible sounds of students and teachers wondering if what they heard was actually what they heard. Whispers were exchanged for louder tones as realization hit. Minerva could see that Hermione, standing in the front of the Hall, visibly pale, was all the proof anyone needed.
"Of course you would say that - you are her friend. Why should we believe you?" Parkinson shouted above everyone's voices. "What were you doing, then? That is - if you and she were really together?" The girl's tone dripped with insinuation, as well as the unspoken dare to confess to snogging in a broom cupboard.
"Taking inventory of Mr. Filch's cleaning supplies, of course." Glib nonchalance best described Harry's response. "I was going to suggest that he order a fresh round of student-proof locks"
Potter called Parkinson's bluff! Minerva could feel the shocked look on her face spread to her grip on Hermione's shoulder.
"I don't care what any of you say!" Standing firm despite knowing she lost the high ground Parkinson made her demand. "She hates us Slytherins, despises Prof. Snape, looks down on the Hufflepuffs and the Sorting Hat originally put her in Ravenclaw." All but stomping her foot like a five year old, she whinged, "And - I SAW HER! Test her wand, Headmaster!"
"This will, to the best of your knowledge, prove Miss Granger's guilt?" It was not hard to miss that Dumbledore's words were very specific. Casting a very serious expression on Zabini, "Do you agree with this, Prefect?"
"Yes, I do."
Startled out of some errant thoughts, Minerva was caught slightly off guard when Albus called her name. "Has Miss Granger's wand been used since the incident?"
"No, Headmaster Dumbledore, it has not." Brandishing Hermione's wand, Minerva lifted it high so everyone could see it.
"Very well then," he said. Pulling out his own wand, Dumbledore cast his spell, "Prior Incantato!"
A jet of magic flew from Dumbledore's wand, connected to, and illuminated the tip of Hermione's wand
The Great Hall was silent for the second time in space of five minutes. The only sound that broke the quiet was the firmly intoned, sharply enunciated: "Abrasum Cantonis."
"Miss Granger has been vindicated by her own voice!" Waiting a moment for the ensuing applause to settle down, she heard Dumbledore ask, "Professor McGonagall, would you please be as kind as to return Miss Granger her wand? The allegation has been proven to be false." Sweeping the Hall with his eyes and raising his hands, he announced, "Miss Granger is not the Hooligan!"
Looking over her shoulder, she did not try to stop her House from leaping up and creating a ruckus when Miss Granger rejoined her fellow Gryffindors. She did see a very heated exchange of looks between her Head Girl and her Quidditch Captain. Quirking an eyebrow she thought, that should prove to be interesting.
With that done, Blaise Zabini cleared his throat to capture his Headmaster's attentions on more time. "Excuse me, Sir, but what about our robes?"
Eyes twinkling, the smile on Albus's face was genuine and in no way patronizing. "What was your lesson for today?"
"Gender mingled magics, Sir," Zabini stated, "As well as Repercussion Spells."
Speaking more to himself than to the Slytherin Prefect, "Yes, yes, I see." Changing tones, he called, "Dobby? Dobby, are you here?"
Out of nowhere, the House elf materialized. And just as quickly, Pansy Parkinson shrieked in disgust.
"Dobby is here, Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Dobby - do you see that group of students over there?" Waving his hand, Dumbledore indicated to where Slytherins were standing.
"Dobby sees the boys and girls, Sir."
"Dobby - could I ask you to do something for me and, by extension, something for them?"
Dobby's eyes began to water and his big bat-like ears trembled. "Dobby has been asked to do something for the great Albus Dumbledore? This is such and honour! Dobby is so eager to do whatever he can do for Hogwarts School-"
"Yes, and thank you for your loyalty, Dobby," Dumbledore cut the house-elf off in mid-sentence. "Would you summon Winky for us, Dobby? I believe we are going to need her assistance."
"Dobby will do so right away!"
Almost immediately Winky materialized in the Great Hall.
"Dobby, Winky, do you think you can assist these students with their robes?"
"Yes, Sir." Drawing close to one of Winky's ears, Minerva could see the House Elf's mouth moving but could not hear what he was saying.
Both elves clasped hands, and spoke in one voice, "Finite Incantatem." Each elf snapped their fingers.
Exclamations erupted from the Slytherin camp. Zabini and Parkinson spoke at the same time: the nasally whine of Pansy clashed horribly with the smooth tones of Blaise. "Our robes are worse!"
Instead of one hundred pairs of snakes entwined into hearts and kissing, there were now two hundred pairs of snakes entwined into hearts and kissing.
Looking at the Slytherins and trembling, Dobby and Winky dematerialized.
"For those of you who are studying for your N.E.W.T.S, what has just occurred is a prime example of a precisely laid Repercussion Charm." Minerva heard the teacher in Albus speak out. Swinging his arm to the Hooligan's points, a thin layer accumulated. "That is for you, Hooligan. Well done."
"But Sir - our robes!" Zabini exclaimed. Obviously the lad is not as impressed as Albus, Minerva thought.
"What about your robes, Mr. Zabini?" Dumbledore inquired.
"Headmaster - may we - I - please have our new password so that we can go and change?" Zabini was plaintive.
"I am afraid that at this point, that is quite impossible Mr. Zabini."
Minerva found herself smiling. Looking down at Miss Granger, Minerva gave the girl a knowing wink.
"You see, Slytherins. The time it took to dispel Miss Parkinson's allegations was all the time that was allotted to change the passwords and relay to the Prefects and Head Girl and Boy." Dumbledore spoke to afflicted House. "Now, we will not have another opportunity until after lessons conclude for the day.'
Watching Zabini and the rest of the Slytherins storm off to their table, it was easy to see that the whole troupe of them was trying to wrap their pride around their damaged vanity. Prof. McGonagall saw Pansy Parkinson still standing in the same spot when all this business began. Although now, instead of pronouncing someone else's guilt, she was opening and closing her mouth to the measure of what went wrong with her plan and how the tables were so completely turned against her.
Leaning a bit forward so that Miss Parkinson could hear her clearly, Minerva struck one for her Head Girl.
Tipping her head meaningfully, Minerva had to give the pug-girl a piece of advice.
"Close your mouth child. Keep making a face like that and you will end up in a fisherman's net!"
With that taken care of, she took her own place at the Teacher's Table and enjoyed the view of some truly heinous school robes.
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