A Life Less Ordinary (Harry Potter)
A Life Less Ordinary
Kyra Cullinan
Harry Potter, Hermione, G, Halloween fic.
When Hermione was a first year, Professor McGonagall had swept into Transfigurations, levelled her gaze at them and given a talk on Halloween.
"As I'm sure you're aware," she said, "All Hallows Eve is a time of increased magical activity throughout Great Britain and the world. I trust that you will show this day the respect it deserves by adhering strictly to the rules, particularly," she eyed them all sternly, "that of curfew."
Hermione had sat up straighter, with the posture of someone who *always* adheres to curfew, but somehow she ended up hurrying back from the Herbology shed that night, books clutched to her chest, not wanting to look behind her at the looming edge of the Forest. She'd been having a cry by one of the potting cupboards about nasty Ron Weasley and his nasty comments and how it wasn't fair that everyone hated her just for being good at things, and it had gotten late, and now the lights were winking on in the castle above her.
Last year her parents had held a fancy dress party, where Hermione fell asleep in an armchair listening to her parents' friends laugh and offer each other more drinks. Last year her uncle had said she must be, what, ten years old now? And she'd glared and said no, she was *eleven*, thank you, and he'd laughed and told her to watch out for Halloween monsters and she'd rolled her eyes.
And now she's twelve, and a witch, and monsters are real, and her spine is tingling as she rushes across the Hogwarts grounds, and it's dusk on Halloween.
The troll, later, almost made sense, after this, because at least it was something real to be scared of. And they'd fought it and they'd won and then she'd had friends, real forever friends. Like Halloween magic.
**
Now that she's older, Hermione of course knows a great deal more about Halloween. Hogwarts: A History has several illuminating passages on the topic: on vampires, comma, inactivity of; the potions you can only brew on Halloween midnight in odd years; the Halloween in 1837 when every student and teacher in Hogwarts had the same dream about a staircase, for reasons still unexplained.
But outside of books, she recognizes the feeling now. The buzz of power, same as the first time Mr. Ollivander put a wand in her hand. The castle hums with it all day and she bites her quill and smiles to herself during History of Magic, because everything here always seems so *ordinary* now, it's nice to remember it's not.
She knows she's not the only one to feel it. She finds Ginny in the Gryffindor common room in late afternoon, and they climb all the way up the Astronomy Tower. Outside the air is chilly and she takes big, crisp lungfulls. All the covered telescopes look like lonely, hunched old women in the waning light and all the empty space of the roof.
Someone is sitting on the edge of the parapets and when they get closer he turns around. It's Ron, who grins when he sees them. Hermione waves and Ginny cuffs him affectionately in the back of the head.
"Ready for the feast?" he says, as Hermione slides to sit beside him and Ginny plops down on her other side.
"Doesn't it hurt your head," says Ginny, "having 100% of your thought processes devoted to food?"
Hermione crosses her ankles and listens to them talk. The ground is far far below them, and normally she hates this feeling, so high up and no control. It's why she doesn't like flying, and could happily spend the rest of her life without touching another broomstick. But now it's dusk and the shiver of fear it sends up her spine matches her mood. Something almost delicious in its awfulness. She can feel her cheeks getting red from the cold -- she'd be chilly if it weren't for the heat of Ron and Ginny on either side of her, seeping through where their thighs and arms touch hers. In the distance the Forbidden Forest is a dark smear spreading away. Hermione swings her legs and watches first years hurry quickly across the lawn, while below them all through the castle, lights wink on.
Kyra Cullinan
Harry Potter, Hermione, G, Halloween fic.
When Hermione was a first year, Professor McGonagall had swept into Transfigurations, levelled her gaze at them and given a talk on Halloween.
"As I'm sure you're aware," she said, "All Hallows Eve is a time of increased magical activity throughout Great Britain and the world. I trust that you will show this day the respect it deserves by adhering strictly to the rules, particularly," she eyed them all sternly, "that of curfew."
Hermione had sat up straighter, with the posture of someone who *always* adheres to curfew, but somehow she ended up hurrying back from the Herbology shed that night, books clutched to her chest, not wanting to look behind her at the looming edge of the Forest. She'd been having a cry by one of the potting cupboards about nasty Ron Weasley and his nasty comments and how it wasn't fair that everyone hated her just for being good at things, and it had gotten late, and now the lights were winking on in the castle above her.
Last year her parents had held a fancy dress party, where Hermione fell asleep in an armchair listening to her parents' friends laugh and offer each other more drinks. Last year her uncle had said she must be, what, ten years old now? And she'd glared and said no, she was *eleven*, thank you, and he'd laughed and told her to watch out for Halloween monsters and she'd rolled her eyes.
And now she's twelve, and a witch, and monsters are real, and her spine is tingling as she rushes across the Hogwarts grounds, and it's dusk on Halloween.
The troll, later, almost made sense, after this, because at least it was something real to be scared of. And they'd fought it and they'd won and then she'd had friends, real forever friends. Like Halloween magic.
**
Now that she's older, Hermione of course knows a great deal more about Halloween. Hogwarts: A History has several illuminating passages on the topic: on vampires, comma, inactivity of; the potions you can only brew on Halloween midnight in odd years; the Halloween in 1837 when every student and teacher in Hogwarts had the same dream about a staircase, for reasons still unexplained.
But outside of books, she recognizes the feeling now. The buzz of power, same as the first time Mr. Ollivander put a wand in her hand. The castle hums with it all day and she bites her quill and smiles to herself during History of Magic, because everything here always seems so *ordinary* now, it's nice to remember it's not.
She knows she's not the only one to feel it. She finds Ginny in the Gryffindor common room in late afternoon, and they climb all the way up the Astronomy Tower. Outside the air is chilly and she takes big, crisp lungfulls. All the covered telescopes look like lonely, hunched old women in the waning light and all the empty space of the roof.
Someone is sitting on the edge of the parapets and when they get closer he turns around. It's Ron, who grins when he sees them. Hermione waves and Ginny cuffs him affectionately in the back of the head.
"Ready for the feast?" he says, as Hermione slides to sit beside him and Ginny plops down on her other side.
"Doesn't it hurt your head," says Ginny, "having 100% of your thought processes devoted to food?"
Hermione crosses her ankles and listens to them talk. The ground is far far below them, and normally she hates this feeling, so high up and no control. It's why she doesn't like flying, and could happily spend the rest of her life without touching another broomstick. But now it's dusk and the shiver of fear it sends up her spine matches her mood. Something almost delicious in its awfulness. She can feel her cheeks getting red from the cold -- she'd be chilly if it weren't for the heat of Ron and Ginny on either side of her, seeping through where their thighs and arms touch hers. In the distance the Forbidden Forest is a dark smear spreading away. Hermione swings her legs and watches first years hurry quickly across the lawn, while below them all through the castle, lights wink on.