(A/N: Another vignette following the events of Restoring Hope. This one takes place, oh, towards the end of October in Hope's first year at Hogwarts.)
(Disclaimer: I freely admit that the characters belong to Jo. On the other hand, if Jo would simply admit that we know better than she does how Harry and Hermione would act, everybody'd be much happier. )
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"Hopeful Moments"
by Paracelsus
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II: Enfant Terrible
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It wasn't often that Luna had to wake her husband and have him be immediately alert. Most mornings, Ron was slow to rouse from slumber; if he looked to be in danger of oversleeping, she'd bring a cup of coffee into the bedroom and waft the aroma under his nose. Or, if she were still in bed with him, she had other methods to bring him gradually back to full awareness - much more pleasurable methods, for both of them.
But this was the middle of the night, which made it an emergency, requiring emergency measures. Luna planted her mouth on his ear and blew the loudest raspberry she could.
"MERLIN! I'm up, I'm up!" Ron screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed and holding a hand over his offended ear.
"I'm sorry to wake you, My King," Luna said as calmly as ever, "but Professor Peppercorn is Flooing from Hogwarts."
Ron scowled, but he managed not to say the first words that came to his lips. Rather, he rolled out of his bed, accepted the bathrobe that Luna offered him, and headed down the stairs of his Hogsmeade cottage.
As promised, Peppercorn's head was floating in the fireplace. "Paulus," Ron greeted him, civilly enough. "What's happened?"
"Can you come to Hogwarts at once, Professor?" said Peppercorn crisply. "I have one of your first-years here - caught red-handed."
"Out after curfew?" Ron pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "No one's dead, then? No one's hurt? Just a case of breaking curfew?" A beat for emphasis, then he added with an edge to his voice, "And for this you wake me in the middle of the night?"
"Professor…" Peppercorn tried to interrupt.
"Paulus, yeah, breaking curfew's worth a detention, but this can't wait 'til morning?"
"It's a good deal more serious than merely being out after curfew," Peppercorn replied, more testily. "As her Head of House, I should think you'd want to deal with the matter as soon as possible - all things considered," he added with heavy significance.
Ron glared at Peppercorn and let the silence lengthen. "Give me a few minutes to dress," he finally said. "I'll meet you in the Defense classroom."
"No," said Peppercorn triumphantly. "Meet us in the Headmistress's office." The head vanished from the fire.
Ron straightened to discover that Luna had followed him down the stairs. "It's Hope," she declared.
"Yeah, I'd reckon so… she's been caught doing something. And Peppy wants to rub my nose in it. He's never really liked the fact that he's the Defense Professor in name only."
"He might have been more reconciled to it if your own Defense classes weren't so popular."
"His own classes might be more popular if he weren't such a pissy little pri…" Ron caught his wife's upraised eyebrow just in time. "Prig," he finished. "I'm getting better," he added, chastened.
"Do try to remember, My King, your mother has a standing offer to teach the Headmistress her Soap-Mouth Spell…"
"Mum was bluffing," Ron said, with more confidence than he felt. "I need to dress."
*
Upon entering McGonagall's office, Ron was dismayed to see that he was the last to arrive: Flitwick, Sprout, and Sinistra, the other three Heads of Houses, were seated around the Headmistress's desk, wearing bathrobes and slippers and disgruntled looks. Evidently, Peppercorn had spared no effort to convince them that Hope's infraction - whatever it was - was so severe as to require their immediate notice.
He's really going all out to try and humiliate Hope, thought Ron, spotting his daughter's downcast figure seated in the middle of the room. And me, too, while he's at it.
He looked around for a chair. The only seat left was an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, next to a sideboard with a large carafe of water and several glasses. Ron considered pouring himself a drink, but decided against it. He took his seat with a nod of greeting to the Headmistress.
"Thank you for coming, Professor Weasley," said McGonagall, before Peppercorn could open his mouth. "I am certain we all regret disturbing your sleep."
"What's this about, then?" Ron asked steadily, fixing his eyes on his daughter. "Hope?"
Peppercorn jumped in. "I was doing nightly rounds with Mr. Filch, and heard voices in one of the second-floor classrooms," he said with ill-disguised relish. "We entered unannounced…"
"How many voices?" Ron broke in, still watching Hope. Only Luna or he would have noticed Hope's tiny flinch at the question.
Peppercorn scowled. "I thought several at first," he admitted, "but it turned out to be only Miss Potter - and a portrait."
There was an uneasy stirring among the portraits of past Headmasters that adorned McGonagall's office. Ron spared a quick glance around to confirm two suspicions. One, the portrait of Dumbledore had responded sluggishly, as usual; Ron wondered again if it would ever come fully to life. And two, the twin frames of Harry's and Hermione's portraits were quite, quite empty.
"Yes," continued Peppercorn, noticing Ron's glance, "she was talking to a portrait of Hermione Granger." He made the pronouncement with a dramatic flair, as though revealing the long-lost Secrets of the Founders.
"Uh huh," Ron replied, deliberately unimpressed. "What, your clue-owl finally arrived? We all know about Hermione. Everyone who's anyone at Hogwarts knows about…"
"Ahem," interrupted McGonagall, giving Peppercorn and Ron stern looks. She waited until she was sure the meeting wouldn't devolve into a belching contest - or worse - before she went on. "Professor Peppercorn, the existence of Miss Granger's portrait is not something we've wanted to advertise, for reasons I'm sure you can appreciate."
The Defense professor's sour look suggested he did not appreciate not having been told, but he wisely said nothing. McGonagall turned her attention to the cause of the disturbance. "Miss Potter? Have you anything to say for yourself?"
Hope kept her gaze down. "I can't talk to her during the day," she said after a moment. "Like you said, Professor, she's trying to keep herself under the radar - it's a Muggle term Mother taught me," she added helpfully, raising her head and seeing looks of confusion.
"And what else has your mother been teaching you?" demanded Peppercorn, pouncing on the last statement like a terrier on a rat. He looked around at the assembled teachers. "This is why I've asked you all to be here. This is far more serious than a mere breach of curfew! This child has been using her privileged position to…"
"Wait. 'Her privileged position'?" McGonagall said icily.
"That's what I said, Headmistress." Peppercorn gave Ron a disgusted sidelong look. "Not only as foster-daughter to her own Head of House, but with her status as the so-called 'Daughter of Heroes'."
"Yeah, well, you can have it," muttered Hope.
"Don't be insolent with me, girl!" barked Peppercorn. "Headmistress, I've told you and told you that she's a disruptive influence in my class, openly disrespecting me - well, now you see it for yourself!"
"Do not," Hope said in a slightly louder voice.
"And now we discover that she's been cheating in her classes, by using this portrait to hand her all the answers on a silver salver! Don't try to deny it, girl, you were caught in the act!"
At that, Hope's eyes flashed in anger. She straightened in her seat and looked Peppercorn in the face. "I do not cheat," she said, not loudly, but forcefully.
"Really, Paulus," said Flitwick, speaking for the first time, "this is a serious accusation. Certainly, I've never found Miss Potter to be anything but polite and attentive in her Charms classes. And really, it would make sense that she'd be a top-flight student, wouldn't you say? Given who her parents were?"
"You've taught children of powerful wizards before now, Professor Flitwick, and they weren't able to perform magic as first-years! Not like her!" He pointed an accusing finger at Hope. "She couldn't possibly be doing as well as she's doing, without significant adult intervention! And she's making a mockery of my Defense class!"
Sinistra cleared her throat thoughtfully. "I must take exception, Professor. Her work in my astronomy class is excellent, I admit, but it's no better than some of my Slytherin first-years." She smiled slightly. "By nature of the classwork, I daresay."
"And I have to say that she's nowhere near the top of her Flying class," put in Ron mournfully. He couldn't suppress his smile as he watched Hope trying not to roll her eyes, and failing.
"She's always ready with the facts about each new plant we've covered," Sprout offered. "Just like her mother, she is." She beamed fondly at Hope.
Peppercorn snorted. "Well, you taught her over the summer." He turned to McGonagall. "And her other classes?"
"Outstanding, especially in Potions," said McGonagall, glancing at a parchment on her desk. "I confess I gave it no thought, Professor: like so many of the staff, I remember her mother's accomplishments very well. Still, if she's using her mother's portrait to gain an unfair advantage… we can certainly not permit that."
Hope licked her lips. "Um, Professor," she asked quietly, "could I have something to drink?"
McGonagall nodded absently and waved her hand at the sideboard. "As for making a mockery of your Defense class," she continued, "I fail to understand. If she's passing notes, or contradicting you in class, surely taking House points…"
"No," Peppercorn forced out, as though the word caused him pain, "she does not pass notes. She doesn't make rude remarks. She doesn't do anything for which I could take points."
Making you better than Snape, Ron admitted to himself. Aloud, he said, "Well, then, what?"
Peppercorn pressed his lips together. He made no reply, only staring resentfully at Ron.
A glimmer of an idea began to form in Ron's mind. "Is she actually learning anything from your class, Paulus? I mean, anything new?"
From the way Peppercorn's nostrils flared, Ron knew he'd hit whang in the gold.
"I do learn stuff, Professor," Hope put in (mindful that, in this context, Ron was "Professor" and not "Dad"). "Every week, there's something I didn't know before." She sipped her pumpkin juice.
"Every week?!" Peppercorn screeched. "This child has the… the effrontery to sit in my class and pass judgment on me! I can't say anything in lecture without being challenged!"
"I don't challenge you, sir, I don't say a word."
"As soon as I'm done speaking, the entire class turns and looks to you!" Peppercorn glared resentfully at Hope. "For confirmation, damn it!"
Hope gave a very slight shrug. "Actually, sir, I kind of wish they wouldn't."
"Well, they do. And I have to insist that something be done about it." Peppercorn drew himself up in an attempt at dignity. "It undermines my authority as the Professor for Defense."
"And we can't have that, now can we?" Ron said before he could stop himself. He hoped the remark would pass over everyone's head unnoticed.
No such luck. Peppercorn whirled and tore into Ron. "If she's learned disrespect for her teachers, Professor Weasley, it can only be from you! You've been jealous of my position since the day I arrived! Must I remind you again that I am the Professor of Defense at this school? Regardless of what extracurricular activities you may be charged with…" The tension between the titular Defense teacher and the actual Defense teacher, muted until now, poured forth as he continued to tear into Ron.
Unnoticed, Flitwick abruptly leaned forward in his chair, struck by a realization. His bright eyes fastened onto Hope's glass of pumpkin juice. They flashed to the sideboard, and back to her. "Miss Potter," he said in a low voice, "could you get me something to drink as well?"
Hope gave Flitwick a demure smile, as though to say I was wondering if anyone would notice. Aloud she said, "One of these?" as she lifted her glass slightly.
Flitwick's eyes twinkled. "I'm partial to pomegranate juice, actually."
She nodded thoughtfully, accepting the challenge. Hope twiddled her wand slightly and muttered under her breath. Within seconds, a glass of dark red juice floated through the air into Flitwick's waiting hand. He took a judicious sip. "Not bad, not bad at all. A trifle too tart, perhaps."
"If you're done refreshing yourself, Professor…" began Peppercorn impatiently.
"Sweet Merlin, Paulus," Flitwick interrupted, unexpectedly acid, "are you blind as well as stupid?"
Peppercorn was taken aback. "What…?"
Without another word, Flitwick pointed to the sideboard. Puzzled, all the other adults turned to study it, the glasses, the partially-emptied carafe…
Light dawned first on McGonagall. "Of course. That carafe has no self-serve charms on it."
Ron began to grin. "And it's water… Hope, dear, could I trouble you for some tea?"
"It won't be hot," Hope warned. "We don't want the glass to break."
"That'll do." In fascination, the room watched as the carafe lifted itself from the sideboard and poured water into one of the remaining glasses. Once full, the glass picked itself off the sideboard and floated towards Ron… and as it approached him, the clear water began to turn brown.
Ron plucked the glass from mid-air and sipped from it. "Ugh. It's not sweetened."
"Everyone's a critic," Hope deadpanned.
"May we please now return to the matter at hand!" Peppercorn almost screamed.
"This is the matter at hand," retorted Ron. He raised his glass. "She made the carafe pour, then she levitated the glasses - without spilling a drop. That's O.W.L.-level Charms work, isn't it, Filius? And she Transfigured the water into pumpkin juice and pomegranate juice and tea. Unsweetened tea, but still. Headmistress, what level of Transfiguration would that demonstrate?"
McGonagall seemed lost in thought. In truth, it was more than the ability to levitate and Transfigure - at such an advanced level! - that impressed the Headmistress. It was the understated ease with which they were done: no extravagant wand waving, no shouted commands, which even most adult witches and wizards would have used. None of them had even noticed anything until Flitwich had pointed it out. It hadn't been non-vocal or wandless magic… but the movements and incantations had been so unobtrusive that it might as well have been.
It forced McGonagall to recall a day, three months earlier, at Gringotts Bank… when Hope Potter had fought goblins and Death Eaters and come through unscathed. "I'd thought it merely a crisis response…" she murmured to herself. Her mind returned to the present moment; her eyes focused on the first-year in front of her.
Harry Potter's eyes looked back at her.
"Fool me twice, shame on me," McGonagall said.
"Headmistress…" began Peppercorn desperately.
"Man, think! We've just seen an example of Miss Potter's capabilities," snapped Sinistra. "She could not have cheated just now. I for one don't see why she'd need to cheat. Whatever conversations she's been having with her mother's portrait, they certainly weren't cribbing test answers together."
McGonagall held up a quelling hand as Peppercorn tried to expostulate. "And you yourself have admitted that she does nothing in your class worth demerits or detention. You would surely not punish her for the behavior of your other students, would you?"
"But… but…"
"That leaves only the matter of breaking curfew," McGonagall concluded, "and though I'm sympathetic, it is an infraction of the rules, and I'm afraid punishment is in order. Miss Potter's Head of House will be responsible for assigning it, of course." Her level gaze fell on Ron. "I trust I will not need to personally review the level of that punishment?"
"Uh, no, Professor, don't worry. It'll be… appropriate." Ron smirked at his daughter. "Imaginative, even."
"Well, then, Professors, I'm sure you'll all wish to retire to your chambers without delay," said McGonagall, fixing Peppercorn with a cold eye. "Thank you so much for your prompt attendance. Professor Peppercorn, would you please remain?"
With many a black look at the fuming Defense professor, the teachers made their way out of the Headmistress's office. Ron, the last to leave, gave a final glance at the empty portraits. Or rather, the no-longer-quite-empty portraits. Harry and Hermione were peeping around the edge of the frames… Hermione offering Ron what could only be a look of apology.
Ron jabbed a finger at her. Talk, he mouthed. Later. She nodded guiltily.
Once outside McGonagall's office, Ron took Hope's upper arm and set a brisk pace back to Gryffindor Tower. Hope almost had to trot to keep up with her long-legged parent. "I s'pose I ought to tell you: I'm going to be talking to Harry and Hermione before I assign you your detention," he said conversationally.
"Um," said Hope. She was wearing her sphinx face again.
"So if there's anything else you need to confess, now's the time to do it," pressed Ron.
After a pause, Hope said cautiously, "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh yes you do." Ron waited a moment to see if Hope would crack. When no response seemed forthcoming, he tried another tack. "If I were to do a snap inspection of the Gryffindor girls' dorms right now, would I find Isabeau and Michelle in bed asleep?"
Hope sighed in defeat. "I sure hope so."
"Ahhhh." With her admission, Ron decided to relent slightly. He slowed his pace to a comfortable speed. "You're just lucky Poopyhorn didn't recognize their voices. Should I assume you sacrificed yourself so that they could make good their escape?"
Hope nodded silently.
"Very Gryffindor of you." He smiled at her; she smiled back tentatively.
"Just out of curiosity," he went on, still smiling, "how long have they known about Harry and Hermione?"
"Um, do I have to answer a question if the answer implies several broken curfews before this one?"
"You have to answer every question I ask you, young lady," said Ron, immediately stern. "As your professor, as your Head of House, and as your father."
Hope didn't reply, but her expression went blank again. There was a subtle difference, though: where it had been merely unresponsive, now it was mulish.
It's the same sort of answer you might have given, when you were her age, Ron chided himself. His sigh was eerily reminiscent of Hope's. "Fair cop. I withdraw the question." A raised eyebrow. "This time."
"Yes, sir."
He decided he would grill Harry and Hermione the next morning, while thinking of appropriate (and imaginative, he reminded himself) punishments. His next thought almost made him stop in his tracks: That's assuming they'll tell me anything. If Hope made them promise not to… No. I'm still her father. They know that. They won't keep secrets from me, not secrets about Hope.
Yet Ron found himself wondering, as they approached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, whether he could enlist the Fat Lady's help as a spy.