A/N: This chapter in canon ("The Midnight Duel") really pisses me off *raises fist* because Harry spent his entire pre-Hogwarts era ostracized by his peers and then he does the same thing to Hermione, as if he hadn't a clue. Reading the books from Hermione's perspective is quite overwhelming…and heartbreaking.
Chapter Seven
Fall Term 1991
September 8, 1991
Dear Mum and Dad,
I survived my first week at Hogwarts! I'm sorry that I wasn't able to write sooner, but we have been incredibly busy here; we have at least two hours of classes each day, and on Wednesday's we have five hours! But classes here are not like school at home-they're much more intense (for the most part) and two or three of them include quite a lot of work outside of class.
Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic (boring!), Astronomy, and Potions round out our curriculum. Though it has only been one week, I can already tell Transfiguration will be one of my favorites, and that History of Magic will be my least favorite. Potions is a strange case: I like what we do in class, because it is so precise, but the teacher is quite unpleasant. He knows his stuff very well, but his attitude could certainly be better.
But enough about classes! I want to tell you about my new friends! They are Sally-Anne Perks, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter. I met Neville on the train, and he's a bit of a dunderhead, but he's sweet and can be quite funny. Sally's in my dorm and she's very quiet, but when I have talked to her we've gotten along well. She's sad a lot, though, because she misses home. I know how she feels… I miss you guys!
And there's Harry Potter. He is such a mystery to me. He is revered in this world for something he did before he could even remember anything, and yet he is very quiet and thoughtful. Someone like him would be very arrogant in the Muggle world, but here he is just another student. He is quite the student, too! He didn't read as far ahead as I did, but he has been very well prepared for every class. Each morning during breakfast, before the other first years come in, he and I talk about what we've done and what we're going to do in our classes.
If I stay this busy, I'll be home for Christmas in no time! Maybe I'll even find out where my friends live, and if it's near London I might be able to see them over break. Would that work for you two?
I love you and miss you,
Hermione
I mailed out the letter Sunday night from the school owlery, and watched for several minutes as the bird disappeared into the fading twilight. I had finished my work for the week the day before, so Sunday was full of leisure and relaxation. I did want to stay awake much longer that night, because I wanted to be fresh for the new week of classes. When I returned to the Gryffindor common room, most students were busy completing their homework, so I retired to my dorm. Sally was lying on her bed, reading, and Lavender looked like she was writing a letter.
"What did you think of the first week?" I asked, as I started to get ready for bed.
"Too much work…" Lavender sighed, not looking up from her letter.
"I kind of like it," I replied. Lavender was a pureblood, so I guess I shouldn't have expected any excitement about magic from her.
"You would," was all she said. I stared at the back of her head for a moment, and then turned to Sally. She had laid her book across her chest and was looking at me.
"It's getting better," she told me quietly, and I walked over there. I sat on the edge of her bed, and she sat up a bit, allowing me to slide completely onto her bed. We sat cross-legged, facing each other.
"I just mailed a letter to my parents," I said, mindful of what she had told me earlier in the week. "I miss them a lot."
"Yeah," she nodded, and the tiny smile on her lips was a marked improvement. "I mailed one yesterday."
"Hey, you know, if you lived near London we could get together over hols," I said.
Both of her eyebrows crept up her forehead. "I live in West London, near Piccadilly."
"Wow, really?" I exclaimed, marveling at the coincidence. "I live near there, too!"
"Small world, I guess?" she asked, though it was rhetorical. "I don't see why we couldn't meet up."
"That would be so great!" I added, and I knew I was gushing, but just the thought of possibly meeting one of my new friends over the holidays was amazing.
"So Hermione," Sally said, leaning toward me. I leaned forward a little. "What do you think of Harry?"
I cocked my head to the side as a smile quirked my lips. I wondered why she was asking this question now. "He's nice," I replied. "Seems down to earth and all."
"Mm hmm…" she said, though it was more of a noise than actual words. "Is that all you're going to say?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well…you're sweet on him, aren't you?" she asked, coyly. My eyes widened.
"What? No!" I whispered back, fiercely. Quite honestly, the possibility had never even crossed my mind. I had no idea why she thought that.
"I don't believe you, Hermione," she sing-songed, swaying back and forth a bit and grinning madly at me.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Sally, but no way! That's just gross!" The topic of the conversation had shocked me, but having this type of chat with another girl was a new experience for me, and I was enjoying it.
"Gross? Harry's not gross," she returned.
"No, but-but I don't even want to think about that right now." Unbidden, an image of Harry's emerald eyes rose to the surface of my mind.
"Ok, if you say so," Sally said, and then leaned back. "Are you going to bed soon?"
I nodded. "Soon as I hit the loo."
"I think I'm going to turn in as well. It's been a tiring week."
"Yeah," I agreed, sliding off her bed and standing up. "G'night, Sally."
"Goodnight, Hermione." She gave me this weird, knowing smile-I just shook my head and laughed-and then I turned away. Fifteen minutes later I was asleep.
Monday, after Herbology, most of us headed back to the Gryffindor tower. Once we arrived there, however, commotion ensued over a notice that had been posted on the bulletin board. It said:
Starting this Thursday, September 12, Gryffindor first years will have flying lessons at 3:30 with Slytherin first years. These lessons will occur on the second Thursday of every month for the rest of the year. Please meet in the center of the Quidditch pitch, and arrive on time. AND WEAR PANTS!
Madam Hooch
Flight Instructor
Some students were nervous (including me), others excited, and one or two were apathetic. But it was Harry's reaction that surprised me the most; it was the most animated I'd seen him all year. As he turned away from the notice, I saw a dour look on his face.
"What is it?" I asked, as Ron joined us.
"Oh, it's just what I always wanted," Harry said, and there was some frustration in his voice. "To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."
"What? Why would you care about what Malfoy thinks?" I wondered.
Harry looked up at me, and his eyes were smoldering. "He's always talking about how amazing a broom flyer he is and I've never even held a broom before."
"So? We all have to learn sometime…"
"And you don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," Ron added. "I've heard what he's said about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."
"First years aren't even allowed to play Quidditch," I said, reminding them both. Ron frowned at me and Harry just shook his head.
"But don't you see?" he pushed. "If he really is better than all of us and if we look stupid, then he's going to spew that stuff about purebloods even more."
"I do my best to ignore it," I said, thinking of the few times I'd heard Malfoy talking about how much superior purebloods were to half-bloods and Muggleborns.
Harry just glowered and said nothing, and he and Ron moved away to talk about flying; Ron had flown before so Harry wanted to know everything, apparently. I stood there staring at the notice for a little while longer, trying to figure out why Harry was so upset about Malfoy's childish goading. I discovered no answer then, and it wasn't until many years later I finally attributed Harry's limited knowledge of the First War, at the time, to his angst.
Hagrid had told Harry about Voldemort's campaign and what it had been based upon-mainly the prejudice purebloods felt for everyone else-so Malfoy's constant taunts reminded him of his parents, and how they had given up their lives to end that same crusade. So to Harry, Malfoy was directly insulting the memory of Lily and James Potter, no matter how innocent and wrong his impressions of the First War might have been.
But that Monday afternoon I had no idea about any of that, and I remained stumped as the week progressed. Harry continued to act sour, though it lessened after that first afternoon. Wednesday night, a few hours before Astronomy, I went to the library to see if I could find a book on Quidditch, or just flying in general.
I hadn't been to the library yet, and I was delighted at the pure size of the place when I entered. Countless shelves held nearly infinite numbers of books, and I realized that all of my most burning questions about the magical world could probably be answered by spending some quality time in here. But for tonight, I asked the librarian, Madam Pince, for some reading material on flying, and she directed me to Quidditch Through the Ages.
Most of the book was devoted to a thorough history of the Wizarding sport of Quidditch, and how it had evolved over the centuries into what it currently was, but there were two chapters near the end on basic flying tips and strategies. These were the pages I read carefully, both before Astronomy and also well into the night afterwards.
I did not particularly like the idea of flying, as heights had always frightened me a bit, but this was a new experience and I figured I should make the most of it. Also, Quidditch was very popular with most witches and wizards, so a working knowledge of the sport would help me to understand and participate in discussions.
I brought Quidditch Through the Ages to breakfast Thursday morning, and as usual only Harry was there when I sat down. He looked up with some curiosity at the book, and perhaps some irony because he was usually the one with reading material at breakfast; today, though, he did not have a book open in front of him.
"What d'ya have there, Hermione?"
"It's called Quidditch Through the Ages, and it's about Quidditch, obviously, but it also has some suggestions for flying," I said, pushing the book across the table toward him.
"You've been reading up on flying for today?" he asked, with a questioning brow.
"I don't know anything about it, and I'm not too fond of heights, so I wanted to read about it at least."
He nodded, turning the pages of the book slowly. "That's a good idea. Wish I'd thought of it."
"Well," I said, taking the book from him and opening to the last two chapters. "Everything I read is from here to the end." I handed it back to him.
"Mind if I take a look at it?" he asked, looking up from the pages. His glasses flashed in the morning light that saturated the Great Hall, for a second, but it was gone just as quickly as it had happened and I could see his green eyes again.
"Not at all," I said, loading my plate with breakfast and trying to ignore that weird observation.
"Thanks."
"Not a problem, Harry."
When post came that day, a barn owl flew down to Neville, surprising him so that he knocked over his cup of juice. It got all over Lily, Parvati, and Seamus, but an intrepid fifth year cleaned up the mess quickly for us. I would have to remember the spell he had used: Evanesco. After repeatedly apologizing, Neville took the package and discovered that it was from his grandmother.
When he opened it, he looked shocked and excited. He held up a glass ball about half the size of his fist. It appeared to be completely full of a dense white smoke, and Neville stared at it in raptures for a few moments.
"Well, what is it?" Ron asked, impatiently.
"It's a Remembrall! Gran knows I forget things-this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red-oh…" Before our very eyes, the white mist swirled and reddened quickly, stopping when it had reached the color of blood. "…you've forgotten something," he finished, looking morose now.
"I suppose it doesn't help you if you don't even know what you've forgotten?" Seamus asked, looking quite sympathetic. Though I would have never admitted this out loud, I thought it was almost funny that Neville had forgotten what he'd forgotten. I guess the incongruity appealed to me.
Not too long after that, Malfoy and the two brutes always by his side-who I was starting to consider his bodyguards-came by the Gryffindor table, and I saw Malfoy's eyes cut toward the scarlet Remembrall. Before I could warn Neville, Malfoy had grabbed it out of his hands.
"Hey-" I started, but was cut off by Ron and, to my surprise, Harry jumping up and yelling at Malfoy.
"Give that back!" Ron yelled, advancing toward the three Slytherins.
"Why don't you leave us alone, Malfoy," Harry said, and his face was red. His fists were clenched and there was a burgeoning look of fury spreading over his features. The sudden motion must have been noticed at the head table, though, because I saw Professor McGonagall heading in our direction.
As I watched Malfoy back away from Harry slightly, I warned, "Professor McGonagall's coming…" They paid me no heed, however.
"Back off, Potter," Malfoy said.
"Give it back then, you tosser!" Ron exclaimed, and I glanced at McGonagall to see if she'd heard Ron's language. It didn't look like she had, but she was approaching quickly.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What did you call me?"
"You heard me-"
"What is going on here?" McGonagall's voice cut across the proceedings, effectively silencing and capturing the attention of everyone.
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Neville said, very quietly. All eyes swung back and forth between Neville, Malfoy, and McGonagall. She just turned toward Malfoy and raised an eyebrow. He pursed his lips, which made his already-pointed face look very pinched, and dropped the glass ball back into Neville's hands.
"Was just looking," he said, and turned his back on all of us. McGonagall glared after him for a moment, and then shifted her eyes to look at Harry and Ron, who were still staring at the Slytherins' retreating figures.
"I do not want any trouble between this house and Misters Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle," she said. "Am I clear?"
Harry seemed to deflate a little. "Yes ma'am."
During the day's classes, I couldn't shake the strange tone of the confrontation I'd witnessed at breakfast, but I didn't want to ask Harry about it directly. He seemed slightly more withdrawn than usual until the end of Transfiguration, when all anyone could talk about was flying, for which our lessons started in forty short minutes. We all headed down from the Gryffindor tower together, and when we arrived on the Quidditch pitch at 3:30, all ten Slytherin first years were already there.
Nothing was said for two minutes as we all stood uneasily near each other, and then the instructor arrived. Her name was Madam Hooch and she was shorter than most other teachers-except Flitwick, of course-but thin and lithe, and her wild gray hair and yellow eyes completed the feline look.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" she yelled at us. "Everyone stand by a broomstick-come on, hurry up!"
We were using school brooms, and I had heard Ron tell Harry on the way to the pitch that his twin brothers hated the school brooms. They'd told him most or all of them had one defect or another. I looked down at the scratched shaft and disordered twigs with some trepidation. I really did not want to fall off my broom.
"Stick your right hand out over the broom and say `UP!'" Hooch said, and all twenty of us did as she instructed.
"UP!" one voice called across the pitch, and each of us summoned our brooms with varying degrees of success. Harry's fairly leapt into his hand; Malfoy wasn't far behind; the rest of us, with the exception of Neville and a Slytherin girl eventually had the broom in hand. Mine just rolled over at first, but I called again, and it slowly rose.
I knew Harry and Malfoy were excited about flying, and that quite frankly I was petrified, so I wondered if personal desire had anything to do with calling the broom to one's hand. A small part of me wanted to try, so maybe the broom somehow knew that.
Madam Hooch next told us how to properly mount the brooms, and I am not ashamed to admit that it was…challenging…at first, having a hard wooden shaft between my legs. I had to adjust my position several times before I was comfortable enough to sit still, and I wondered if I'd ever get used to that feeling.
"No, Mr. Malfoy, you grip the handle like this," Hooch said, and I looked over there. Malfoy was looking at her with a snarl on his face.
"But my father"-he pronounced it like `faaaahther'-"said this is how I'm supposed hold it," he argued with her.
"Well your father taught you the wrong grip," Hooch said, and made sure he was holding it the proper way.
I heard Ron chuckle. "Guess he's been doing it wrong all these years."
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Hooch said. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle-three-two-"
Neville seemed to have forgotten another thing, however: how to count. Before the whistle had even touched Hooch's lips, he'd pushed off the ground, very hard by the looks of it. I looked up, surprised, and saw the mounting horror on his face.
"Come back, boy! Lean forward! Lean-" Hooch shouted at him, but it was to no avail. He was rising quickly, and must have been fifteen or twenty feet in the air when he suddenly slipped sideways off the broom.
"Oh-" someone shouted, but was interrupted by the gut-wrenching crack of Neville hitting the ground, hands first. I was just glad it hadn't been head first. He would have broken his neck for sure. Hooch rushed over to him.
"Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come on, boy-it's all right, up you get." Moaning, Neville rose to his feet, holding his wrist. I looked at it and saw that it was bent at an odd angle, and averted my eyes quickly.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing," Hooch addressed us. "You leave those brooms on the ground or you'll be out of Hogwarts and on the train home faster than you can say `Quidditch'. Come on, dear," she finished, leading Neville away, who hobbled after her. She put his arm around his shoulders and talked to him as they headed for the castle.
Shortly thereafter, Malfoy burst into raucous peals of laughter. Several other Slytherin, including his two great buffoons, joined in. "Did you see his face?" he said, through his laughter. "What a lump!"
"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati said, though it was half-hearted.
"Sticking up for Longbottom?" a Slytherin girl asked. I thought her name might have been Pansy, or possibly Posey. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry-babies."
"Come off it-" Lily started to say, but Malfoy interrupted her.
"Look!" he cried, and lunged forward. He bent and picked up something from the ground. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom got this morning!" And he held up the Remembrall, which sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.
"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry put forth, and silence suddenly fell over all of us. Harry walked two steps toward Malfoy, and stopped, holding his hand out. His voice still rang in my ears, as if the words had been shouted next to my face: Give that here, Malfoy.
Something-was it fear?-flashed across Malfoy's face, but then he just grinned at Harry. It was maniacal. "I think I'll just leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find-perhaps up a tree?"
"No," Harry yelled, and I shivered at the pure command in his voice. Others seemed to have heard or felt it too; Malfoy, however, ignored him and leapt onto his broom. He pushed off and rocketed into the air. He leaned forward about twenty-five feet up, and comfortably hovered above us. Apparently he hadn't been lying about being able to fly well.
"Come and get it, Potter!" Malfoy taunted, and I saw Harry go for his broom.
"No!" I finally intervened, and Harry stopped for just a moment to look at me. "I don't care if Malfoy's expelled, but Hooch said if you touched your broom you'd be out of here."
"Shove off, Hermione-" Ron started to say, but I overrode him.
"Harry, don't." He continued to stare at me.
"Shut up, Hermione!" Ron yelled, venomously, breaking the spell. Harry grabbed his broom and leapt on it, rising into the air just as quickly as Malfoy had. There were some shouts and gasps at Harry's apparent skill, even though he said he'd never ridden a broom before; with a mounting sense of fatalism, I watched the events unfold. Harry turned his broom to face Malfoy.
"Give it here," he called. "Or I'll knock you off that broom." I could tell he was deadly serious, too. Something about Malfoy really seemed to get under Harry's skin, and the more of this side of Harry I was seeing, the less intelligent it seemed to make him truly angry.
"Oh, yeah?" was Malfoy's response. Rather than wait any longer, Harry shot toward Malfoy like a bullet from a gun. Malfoy moved to the side just in time, and Harry quickly brought his broom around, hovering once again.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry said. So those were their names; I looked toward them and saw they were staring up at the confrontation like the rest of us, though the looks on their faces were decidedly stupider than anyone else's.
"Catch it if you can, then!" Malfoy called, and threw the Remembrall into a high arc, away from them both. He then shot back down to the ground.
Harry watched the ball for a moment, and then rocketed forth. I knew there was no way he could get to the ball in time-it had too much of a head start, and it was falling away from him faster than he was moving-but as we all watched with mesmerized eyes, he dove toward the ground, hoping to cut it off before it hit the grass and shattered.
And, amazingly, he was catching the ball. He was gaining speed at an alarming rate, though, and if he somehow managed to catch the ball he would surely crash into the ground, most likely breaking every bone in his body. Oh, I could hardly bare to watch! From behind my hands, I saw him stretch out his arm during the last five feet, swipe the ball from the air, and pull up violently on the broom. His downward progress screeched to a halt, and he rolled off the broom to land softly on his back in the grass. Everyone exhaled the collective breath they'd been holding, and mine might have been the loudest.
"HARRY POTTER!" a voice suddenly shouted, startling us all. I knew before I even looked that it was Professor McGonagall, and she sounded shocked and appalled. I turned toward her slowly, dreadfully, and saw her storming toward us with a very, very red face.
"NEVER-in all my time at Hogwarts-" she yelled, and could barely form words. She was nearly apoplectic. "How dare you-might have broken your neck-"
"It wasn't his fault, Professor-"
"Be quiet, Miss Patil-"
"But Malfoy-"
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley."
"Malfoy started it," I said, surprising myself. She obviously hadn't wanted students' input at this point, and she rounded on me.
"Miss Granger, when I want the opinion of my students, I will ask for it. Is that clear?"
"Yes ma'am," I responded, nodding meekly.
"Potter, follow me, now," she commanded, and Harry fell in step behind her without another word to anyone, or even a look back. I was sure it was the last time I would ever see him, and my heart sank. There went one of my few friends.
"Look at Potter go," Malfoy sneered. "Good riddance, I say."
The words that flew at Malfoy from other Gryffindors after that were loud and mean, and although I did not condone the cursing, were justified in my mind. He had probably just caused an innocent student's expulsion. He and the other Slytherin first years quailed slightly under the verbal assault, and soon thereafter Hooch returned. She looked quite angry, and I assumed that McGonagall had explained to her what had happened. She said nothing except to cancel the rest of the lesson.
It was with heavy hearts we journeyed back to the castle, many long paces behind the Slytherins. We were already down a man, and it was only the second week of class.
---
"And then she goes, `Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood-I've found you a Seeker,'" Harry told us at dinner that night, with a massive smile on his face. That smile would become quite the rarity.
"You're joking," Ron said, dropping his fork back onto his plate.
When Harry had shown up for dinner, we were all surprised and happy to see him, because we had all genuinely thought he was going home. But he had appeared happy, and as he told us the story of what had happened after he'd left the pitch, that happiness only grew. It was remarkable how something with such potential for catastrophe had ended so well.
"Not at all," Harry replied. "McGonagall even wants to get me a Nimbus Two Thousand, but she has to clear it with Dumbledore first."
"But Seeker?" Ron asked, still hung up on that fact. "But first years never-you must be the youngest house player in about-"
"A century, yeah. Wood told me," he said, grinning once again. "And my dad played for our house team, too. That's what McGonagall said; `He was an excellent Quidditch player himself,'" Harry quoted.
"Congratulations, Harry," I said, because Ron was just gaping at him. Other first years around us also congratulated him. "Glad you didn't get into trouble."
He nodded. "I start training next week. Only don't tell anyone," he said, looking around at us all. "Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Ron was still unable to speak, but his twin brothers rushed over just then. They both leaned down, on either side of Harry.
"Well done," one said. "Wood told us. We're on the team too-Beaters."
"We're going to win the Quidditch cup for sure, this year," the other said. "We haven't won since Charlie left," he continued, and I remembered that Charlie was their older brother who worked with dragons in Romania. "But this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost raving when he told us."
"Anyway," the first said, "we've got to go; Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
As they left, I heard the second say, "Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week."
Dinner was a revolving door that night, because not one minute after the twins had left, Malfoy and his two cronies showed up.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" he wondered, ugly pleasure filling his voice at the thought of Harry's expulsion.
Harry turned slowly around on the bench to face them. "You're much braver now that you're back on the ground with your two little friends," he said, in the same quiet voice he normally spoke with. Crabbe and Goyle-I remembered their names finally-were too stupid to realize they'd just been insulted.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Malfoy retorted, looking supremely confident. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel." My heart stopped. I'd read about wizard's duels in Hogwarts, A History and they were all very unpleasant, dangerous affairs. That didn't even include the fact that first years engaging in one was another sure way of getting expelled.
"Wands only-no contact," Malfoy continued. "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before?"
"Of course he has," Ron piped up, and I willed him to shut his mouth, just for once. Of course he didn't. "I'm his second, who's yours?"
"Crabbe. Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked." Malfoy waited for Harry to nod, and then he walked away. Crabbe and Goyle followed him like dogs.
"What is a wizard's duel?" Harry asked, turning to Ron. "What do you mean, you're my second?" I could have jumped in and explained everything at that moment, but visions of what I'd read about wizards of the past eviscerating each other over the pettiest of things made my stomach clench, so I said nothing.
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," Ron said, without inflection in his voice, and I closed my eyes against the wave of revulsion I could feel burning inside me. Everything seemed to be going wrong today. "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most and you Malfoy will be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you know enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway. Must have forgotten this is Gryffindor."
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?" Harry asked. I thought there might have been some worry in his voice, but it was a very practical question.
"Toss it away and punch him in the face," Ron said.
I couldn't take it anymore. I had to say something. "Harry, you can't."
They both looked across the table at me; Ron seemed annoyed and Harry looked surprised to see me here. He only met my eyes for a second, and then glanced away.
"Can't we eat in peace in this place?" Ron asked, still staring at me.
I ignored Ron, because I clearly wouldn't get anywhere with him. "You could have already been expelled once today, and if you go wandering around the school after hours, and you're caught, you could be again-"
"We can take care of ourselves," Ron cut across me.
I lost my temper. I just wanted to save them, or more specifically Harry, from the potential danger of a wizard's duel. But I couldn't say that; eleven year old boys would not respond well to someone trying to spare them from `danger'.
"Think of the points you'd lose for Gryffindor! It's really very selfish of you!"
"And it's really none of your business," Ron retorted, standing and pulling Harry up with him.
"But-"
"Good-bye," he added, and they walked away. Harry followed him much like Crabbe and Goyle had followed Malfoy, not five minutes earlier.
But I wasn't about to give up, so much later that night I stayed in the common room after everyone had gone up to bed. At 11:15, I turned off the lamp next to me and just stared into the fire. Everything had actually been going rather well until today, and I wondered how or why there always seemed to be a confluence of events when life went both really well and very poorly.
I had on a pair of sleeping shorts, a simple white t-shirt, and my bathrobe on over them. It was a faded pink, but it was comfortable and I loved it. I settled deeper into the chair, absorbing the warmth from the lowly burning fire, and waited.
Around 11:30, noise on the steps to the boys' dormitories alerted me of students, and I watched in the darkness as Harry and Ron crept into the common room. They were both wearing bathrobes, too, and they had their wands gripped in their hands. I waited until they were at the portrait hole, hoping to startle them, and then said:
"I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry." I reached out and flicked the lamp back on, illuminating the room from the fireplace to the portrait. They looked genuinely surprised to see me.
"You!" Ron almost shouted. His face was quickly turning red. "Go back to bed!"
"I almost told your brother," I lied to him, hoping the fear of punishment would dissuade them. "Percy-he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this." Truthfully, it had not occurred to me until just that moment to go to a Prefect.
"What? You wouldn't…" he said, and then just stared at me for a second. Then he turned to Harry. "Come on," he said, throwing me another unhappy look over his shoulder. Harry followed him out of the common room without a word.
I sighed and pushed myself out of the chair. Wrapping my robe more tightly around me, I followed them into the corridor just outside of the Gryffindor tower.
"Do you really want Slytherin to win the house cup?" I asked trying another angle. Ron looked back, frustrated I was still following them. "Because they will if you get caught and lose all those house points."
"Go away," Ron said, and turned away. Harry kept walking.
"Harry, come on, Professor McGonagall gave you a gift today, are you going to disappoint her?"
He stopped, looking up at the high ceiling of the corridor for a moment. "This is something I have to do, Hermione," he said, very quietly. Ron was looking back and forth between him and me.
I huffed and stamped my foot, frustrated that I wasn't getting through to either of them. From Harry's tone of voice, though, it was clear that I would not sway him. "All right, but I warned you two-" I started, but stopped talking when I turned to see a blank portrait. The Fat Lady had disappeared!
"W-where did she go?" I wondered.
"Who?" Ron asked.
"The Fat Lady! She's gone!"
"That's too bad," Ron said, but there was no pity in his voice.
"Now what?"
"That's your problem," Ron told me, turning away. "We've got to go; we're going to be late." And they both walked off down the corridor, away from me. It took me three seconds to reach a decision, and then I turned on the spot and ran after them. My robe trailed out behind me as I flew down the hall.
"I'm coming with you," I said, after catching them.
Ron sighed. "You are not."
"Do you seriously think I'm going to stand out there and wait to get caught? At least I can help you two if I'm with you."
"You've got some nerve-"
"Quiet, both of you," Harry commanded, and we stopped and, indeed, we shut up. "I heard something," he said.
"Mrs. Norris, you think?" Ron asked, crouching low and looking into the darkness.
To our surprise, it was Neville. He was lying on the floor, sprawled out and fast asleep.
"What on earth…?" I wondered, as Ron went up to him and nudged him with his foot. He grunted as he woke and then his eyes widened upon seeing us.
"Oh, thank Merlin you found me! I've been out here for hours-I couldn't remember the new password."
"Oh Neville," I sighed, bending over and helping him to his feet. We hadn't seen him since his accident earlier that day during flying lessons. "The password's pig snout but it won't help you now. The Fat Lady's gone off to some other portrait."
"How's your arm?" Harry asked.
"Fine," Neville said, showing us his arm and rotating his wrist around. "Madam Pomfrey fixed it in thirty seconds."
"That's nice, Neville, but we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you-" Ron started.
"Don't leave me!" Neville exclaimed. "The Bloody Baron's already been past here twice, and I don't want to see him again!"
"Well, fine-but if either of you get us caught," Ron said, looking at Neville and then at me, "I'll never rest until I-"
"Until you what?" I challenged him, sick and tired of his condescending tone.
"Never mind," Harry cut in, and motioned us all onward. The journey through the school to the trophy room was a quick and silent one. We encountered no one; in truth, it seemed oddly quiet, but I said nothing.
Once inside the trophy room-all of them sparkled in the bright moonlight coming in through the high windows-we gripped our wands and waited for something to happen. With every passing minute, I dearly wanted to be back in my bed, out of trouble, but I had gotten myself into this mess by leaving the common room in the first place, so I did not complain.
"He's late," Ron whispered, our first words in ten minutes. "Think he's chickened out?"
But before anyone could respond, we heard another voice say, "Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
My heart stopped. It was Filch! We were all going to be caught out of bed-visions of expulsion flitted across my mind and I nearly panicked.
"This way!" Harry whispered, urgently, and I was glad he at least had kept his cool. We managed to leave the trophy room through the other door just before Filch came rushing in.
"They're in here somewhere…probably hiding," we heard him say.
"Over here," Harry mouthed, and we crept along the corridor, staying as close to the suits of armor lining the hall as we could. We could hear Filch coming toward our exit from the trophy room, and Neville quite suddenly broke into a run. He didn't get very far, though, tripping over his own feet and crashing-with a cacophonous noise that would have raised attention even during the day-into several suits of armor.
"RUN!" Harry yelled, and we ran like the wind was at our heels. This time, my robes and my hair trailed out behind me, and I must have been a sight, but I was completely focused on keeping up with the others and ignoring the burning cramp in my diaphragm. Adrenaline was high and nerves were tight, but I just stared at Harry's back and followed him.
Eventually, some minutes later, we slowed to a stop and the only sound filling that barren hallway was our panting breaths. I looked around, my hands behind my head, and noticed that we were near our Charms classroom.
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," Ron said, stating the obvious. "As quickly as possible." In that moment, when Harry and Neville were nodding to Ron's sage advice, I realized something.
"Malfoy tricked you," I said, and Harry looked soberly at me. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you two-Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room. Malfoy must have told him."
"How d'ya know that?" Ron demanded.
But Harry saw the logic, too. "She's right, Ron. Let's go."
Then the worst that could have happened flew out of a classroom right in front of us: Peeves. He saw us and immediately started to laugh loudly.
"Shut up, Peeves! You'll get us caught!" Ron pleaded, but the Poltergeist kept laughing.
"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
What was the purpose of this stupid thing in a school? I had no idea why the staff allowed such an obnoxious presence at Hogwarts-yes, I admit my perspective was skewed at that moment, but honestly?-and I wanted it gone.
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves," Harry said. He just looked at Harry.
"Oh, just get out of the way!" Ron snarled, swiping at the poltergeist. I groaned; Ron really needed to think more about what he was doing.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves screamed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"
So we ran again, but instead of turning around and running toward the heart of the school where stairways and corridors intersected at every turn, we stupidly continued straight down the same corridor. At the end, we crashed into a door, and discovered it was locked. Neville slumped against the wall, and Ron leaned back against the door, a hopeless look on his face.
"This is it!" he cried, channeling his inner drama queen. "We're done for! This is the end!" I could hear Filch's heavy footsteps coming closer and closer, and Peeves was still shouting loudly.
I did the only thing I could think of: I pointed my wand at the door.
"Alohomora!" I shouted, but mine wasn't the only voice; Harry had uttered the spell at exactly the same instant. Nothing happened. I looked at Harry.
"Again!" he exclaimed, and we repeated the spell, this time putting all of our desperation into it. The lock clicked and the door swung open. We tumbled inside and closed the door, hearing the lock click again. We pressed our ears up against the door and listened.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch asked.
"Say please."
"WHERE DID THEY GO?" Filch shouted.
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," Peeves answered, and my previous negative thoughts about the poltergeist were all but forgotten. Delay him, Peeves! Send him somewhere else!
"All right-please?"
"Nothing! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nuffink if you didn't say please! Ha ha haaa!" Peeves shouted, and we heard his laughter fading away. He had left without telling Filch where we were!
"Filch thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "We should be okay-what is it, Neville?" Harry asked, and I realized that Neville had been whimpering strangely the entire time we were listening through the door.
"L-l-look…" Neville said, blubbering almost hysterically, and pointing behind us. We turned at once, and there was something literally out of the mythical past staring down at us. And before my brain processed the beast in front of me, I realized that we were not in a room, but had actually entered another corridor. And the Charms classroom was on the third floor-so this must be the forbidden third floor corridor.
I understood Dumbledore's reference to a most painful death, even as I reached behind me to pry the door open. There in front of us, staring down at us with six lolling eyes, three tongues that slobbered drool at our feet, and three sets of teeth that would make quick work of our flesh and bone, was a Cerberus. That's right, a Cerberus, the fabled three-headed dog that guards the gate to Hades. This one was certainly guarding something, if the trap door it stood on was any indication.
Then it started to growl, and I thought I had been dropped into the world's largest subwoofer. I finally had the door open, because I would rather have been expelled than eaten by that thing, and we all fell backward through the opening. I slammed the door shut, cutting off the growls of the beast (some part of me wondered how they had soundproofed it, but that train of thought fell away quickly).
"Just-run-now," I ground out, seeing that Filch had gone off somewhere, and we sprinted with everything we had left back to the Gryffindor common room.
"Where on earth have you all been?" the Fat Lady asked when we skidded to a halt in front of her.
Not bothering to answer, Harry said, "Pig snout, pig snout," and the portrait swung open. Once inside the common room, we threw ourselves into arm chairs, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from our faces. No one spoke for several minutes; Neville looked like he'd had a stroke.
"What d'ya suppose that thing's doing in a school?" Ron wondered.
I tended to agree with his unhappiness over a Cerberus, of all things, in a school for children, but there was something they had obviously missed.
"Didn't you see what it was standing on?" I asked.
"The floor?" Harry suggested. He looked quite spent. "I wasn't really looking at its feet. I was too busy with its heads…"
"No, Harry, not the floor. There was a trapdoor underneath it. Could be guarding something," I said, and he whipped his head toward me. I couldn't understand his reaction for several seconds, but then I remembered our little conversation in Hagrid's hut.
"I'm going to bed," Neville said, in a very flat voice, and he dragged himself away from us. I kind of felt sorry for him. He just hadn't been able to get into the common room, and he'd seen a Cerberus as a result.
"So am I," Ron said. He looked at me. "Hope you're happy, Hermione-we didn't lose any of your precious house points."
"Me? Me?" I almost yelled. I was up out of my chair like a shot, heading for Ron. My patience and my temper had finally snapped. "We could have all been caught out there and expelled. Or we could have been killed! You want that on your conscience?"
"You'd think we dragged you along," he said, after a moment, and then turned away. I watched him, seething, as he disappeared up the boys' stairs.
"Hermione," Harry said, and I slowly turned back to him, my anger at Ron bleeding off quickly.
"What?"
"It was guarding something?"
"Looked like it," I said. I was tired and aching all over; I was trying not to be short with him, but it was hard.
"Think it could be the item from Gringotts that Hagrid moved here?"
I shrugged. "Maybe Harry, but what's that got to do with anything?"
"Well, it's just, he said Hogwarts is the safest place-oh, never mind," he said, and slumped down into his chair a bit. One part of me wanted to continue this conversation with him, especially considering how worn out and sad he looked just then, but a more persuasive part wanted sleep.
"Good night, Harry," I said, turning toward the girls' dormitories. He did not respond.
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