That's What You Get For It (PG, 1079 words)
Title: That's What You Get For It
Rating: PG
Words: 1079
Summary: What happened to Hermione after she got off the Hogwarts Express with Rita Skeeter in a jar in her bookbag?
Notes: This was my very first one-shot, so I beg your forgiveness.
That's What You Get For It
As Harry disappeared with his aunt and uncle towards the parking lot, Hermione turned to her parents with a sunny smile. It was good to be back!
"Well, Presh," said her father as they pulled onto the motorway. "Want to tell us about your year--what wasn't in your letters, that is?"
His tone of voice, and the significant glance he exchanged with her mother, made it clear that he had heard somewhere about the strange happenings.
So Hermione told them about the Triwizard Tournament, and Voldemort's return. Her parents were suitably shocked and upset at Diggory's death. Her mother said "Bless his little heart" so many times about Harry that Hermione figured Harry had been blessed enough times to be a saint by now.
She didn't tell them about kidnapping Rita Skeeter. Her hand crept into her bookbag where the little glass jar sat safely nestled between The Dark Forces, A Guide To Self-Protection and An Intermediate Guide to Transfiguration.
It was a little--okay, a lot--thrilling, to know that she, Hermione Granger, Muggle-born witch, bookish know-it-all, least-likely-to-do-anything-unusual-except-that-she-was-Harry-Potter's-friend, had actually honest-to-God kidnapped someone. Someone evil and--well, maybe not evil, only You-Know-Who was evil, and Malfoy, too--but someone definitely not nice. The power felt wonderful.
That evening, after a home-cooked meal of epic proportions (Hermione's mother loved to cook, and really missed having her daughter home to cook for), Hermione made her way out to the garden, the little glass jar in her hands.
But as she was preparing to unscrew the top, her father's footsteps came padding towards her on the footpath. Before she could get rid of it, though, he called out a question, "What's in the jar, Presh?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, trying to come up with a logical answer. "It's--it's--a bug," she said.
Wrong answer.
"Did you find it at school?" he asked curiously. Hermione groaned inwardly. Her father was fascinated by bugs of all sorts. He could spend an hour watching a single anthill, telling anyone who was listening his observations and conclusions.
Hermione nodded reluctantly.
"Were you going to set it free here?" he asked, examining it closely through the glass. "I don't recognize the species. It's definitely foreign," he concluded.
Hermione fought a hysterical giggle. "Foreign" doesn't even begin to describe it, Dad she thought.
"I don't know if you should let it go here," he said, and Hermione's stomach went cold. "Maybe we can bring it to the specialist over at the University tomorrow, and he might recognize it. Meanwhile, we should tranfer it to a better -" he said, starting to unscrew the cap.
"Stop!" Hermione screamed.
"What is it?"
"Er--I don't think it'll take well to being held," Hermione said, aware that it was a lame excuse. "And I've spelled the jar, too, so--so it's safe in there," she finished akwardly.
"Well, who am I to interfere with witchcraft?" laughed her father. He screwed the cap on again, and Hermione breathed again. "Let's go in, I smell pie."
Hermione dutifully followed her father back inside.
The pie was delicious, but Hermione didn't really taste it. Her mind kept wandering back to the jar, now sitting on the countertop. She could feel the journalist's glare boring holes into her back, and tried to ignore it.
But she didn't sleep well.
* * *
The next morning, sure enough, Hermione's father enthusiastically drove the two of them to the Entymology Department at the University, and found the door of his friend's office open.
"Bill!" exclaimed the professor. "Nice to see you, come on in!" Professor Brickwater was a thin old man, with very little hair and a long nose. "And your daughter? My, she's grown!"
Hermione smiled absently at the man as her father brought out the jar. She wasn't sure what she was going to do--would Rita stay in her form? Or would she take advantage of her freedom to escape?
Professor Brickwater examined the jar and its contents carefully. "No, no," he said. "I've never seen anything like this. From up north? Near what town?"
Hermione and her father exchanged a look. "It wasn't really near any habitation," she said quickly.
"Oh, how did you find it then?" asked the Professor as he rotated the jar.
"Camping trip," said her father. Hermione smiled at him thankfully. "I'm not really sure where it was, but up in Scotland somewhere."
"Hm," said the old man thoughfully. "Have you seen the markings around the eyes? Most peculiar--almost like glasses." The beetles' antennae quivered angrily.
"And it eats--I see, you've got some leaves in there. Well, Hermione, I must say that this is a most interesting creature you've got here."
"Interesting," indeed, Hermione thought.
She held her breath as the Professor opened the jar. But there were no loud pops, no sudden transformations. The beetle stayed still, quivering slightly, as the Professor held a piece of moist cotton cloth to it.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Just knocking it unconscious," Brickwater replied. "That way it won't go running off."
And indeed, the beetle looked quite still. Hermione forced herself to breathe. And became aware of an uncomfortable need between her legs. She shifted. "Um, Professor?" she asked. "Where's the-"
"Down the hall, to your left," he replied, holding a magnifying glass over the bug. "Look at the size of the mesocoxal cavities, Bill..." the rest dwindled away as she found the door to the ladies room.
She did her thing, washed her hands, and went back to the office.
The beetle was gone from the desk. She looked in the jar, but it wasn't there either. Professor Brickwater was returning the glass cover to one of his many display cases.
And inside, on a new peg, marked underneath Carabidae Conjunctae Hermionus, (Hermione's Beetle) was the body of the beetle that had been Rita Skeeter.
Hermione gulped. Admit it, you're not too upset, said a voice in her head.
But she's dead! another one replied.
Well, you take that risk in being a bug animagus, said the first voice. That's what you get for it! And the tone was so final that Hermione thought no more of it as her father took her back out to the car.
"What's for lunch, Dad?" she asked as they drove off.
~fin~