Ancient Runes in the Modern World - 2/? - Teen - Blaise/Hermione
Title: Ancient Runes in the Modern World (2/?)
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Sixth year continues in the sequel to The Importance of Ancient Runes. Of course, nothing ever runs smoothly, especially when you're at Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat wanted unity between the houses - this probably is not what it had in mind.
Word Count: 3153.
Chapter Two: In Which Cats Feature Heavily
“What do you mean, ‘he’s missing’?”
Shrugging, Daphne said, “He’s missing. No one’s seen him. We think he might have run away.”
“Run away?” Hermione shook her head. “Why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”
“We’ve been telling everyone that he’s ill in the Hospital Wing.” A group of chattering Ravenclaws passed by and Daphne lowered her voice. “Snape knows, but he’s told us to keep it quiet.”
“Thanks, Daphne,” Hermione said quietly. “I’d better go - I told Harry and Ron that I’d meet them.”
Daphne nodded. “Okay. If you hear anything from him…”
“I’ll let you know,” Hermione finished flatly, feeling deflated by the revelation that Blaise was missing. Was it because of her? Had he really run away?
Why were Slytherins so confusing?
In the Great Hall, Harry and Ron were already eating, sat opposite each other at the Gryffindor table. Harry was picking at his food, but Ron was digging into his stew with vigour. “You alright, Hermione?” asked Harry, as she took a seat, pulling a plate towards her.
“Fine.” She had not yet decided whether to tell Harry and Ron about Blaise. Even if she did, the Great Hall was not the right place to do it. Hermione looked at her plate. There seemed to be far too much food on it but she remember McGonagall’s promise to give her the antidote and restore her Animagus ability if she started eating properly again. With a resigned sigh, she picked up her fork.
“You look worn out,” commented Ron through a mouthful of dumpling.
“We were doing Troll in Languages,” Hermione said. “Having an entire vocabulary put magically into your head is enough to tire anyone out.”
Ron started waving his fork about as he spoke. “See, that’s what I don’t get. If they can put a language straight into your head, why do you need to take the subject?”
“They can only give you the vocabulary. Not the grammar or anything like that.” Hermione did not feel like getting into a long and detailed explanation about the subject: Ron probably would not want her to, anyway.
There was a screech from a couple of fourth years further down the table. Looking up from his meal, Harry said, “People shouldn’t let their pets come into the Great Hall.” A black cat had jumped up onto the table, knocking someone’s plate and sending gravy all over the white tablecloth. When a salt shaker was overturned, one of the girls gave another shriek and hurriedly tossed some salt over her shoulder.
“Cats aren’t like owls,” Hermione said evenly. “They don’t spend all day sleeping in the Owlery.”
Ron looked at her oddly. “Where is Crookshanks, anyway? I haven’t seen him for a while.”
A cool voice behind them said, “Concerned about Granger’s pussy are you, Weasley?”
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Malfoy?” asked Hermione wearily. She would not be at all surprised if he had anything to do with Blaise’s disappearance. Their dislike of each other, while nowhere near as potent as Harry and Malfoy’s, was nearing explosive proportions.
“I just haven’t seen it for a while,” Ron said and Malfoy arched an eyebrow.
I wonder if he practises doing that, Hermione wondered, whilst cringing inwardly. Shut up, Ron! Shut up!
Ginny slid into a seat beside her brother and Hermione reached for her drink, pretending not to hear the exchange between Ron and Malfoy.
Malfoy turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “The poor old Weasel hasn’t seen Granger’s pussy for a while,” he said to them. They chuckled on cue.
“I don’t really like it anyway, Malfoy,” Ron said. “So what are you going on about?”
“So you don’t like her pussy?” Malfoy asked with glee.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Hermione was on the verge of throttling Ron.
“Ow!” yelped Ginny. She glared at Harry. “Why did you kick me?”
He ignored her. “How’s your wand, Malfoy?” he asked loudly.
“What do you mean, Potter?”
“Well,” said Harry nonchalantly, “I heard a couple of girls say that ever since Pansy dumped you, your wand hasn’t been working properly.” Malfoy looked outraged at Harry’s insinuation and stalked away without a further word.
Ginny looked pained. “Why did you kick me?” she asked again.
With a glare aimed in Ron’s direction, Harry said, “I was trying to shut him up.”
“Oh,” Ginny said in understanding. She, too, glared at Ron for good measure.
“Why?” Ron’s eyes were wide with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
His sister patted him gently on the arm. “It’s alright, Ron,” she said gently. “I’ll explain later.”
*****
“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
Millicent looked up from the piece of parchment on the table with a puzzled expression on her face. “It’s hangman, Pansy. It’s hardly difficult.”
Pansy frowned. “Not that,” she retorted, glancing at Daphne’s wonky lines. “The word’s ‘Acromantula’, anyway. Actually, I was talking about Blaise.”
The three of them had claimed a corner of the Slytherin common room as their own, sending threatening glares in the direction of anyone who came near them. As extra security, Delilah was curled up on Pansy’s lap, purring contentedly.
“He’s probably buggered off to London, or something,” Millicent said. “Or maybe he went to Italy. The weather’s bound to be better there than it is here.”
“How did you guess it?” Daphne said miserably, seemingly ignoring the other girls’ conversation as she finished filling in the word on the parchment. For fun, she started drawing a picture of a stickman. Then she drew a flower.
“Because you always choose it,” Pansy said. “And don’t pout - it’s most unbecoming.” She turned back to Millicent. “Why would he go to Italy?”
“Because that’s where he comes from?” suggested Daphne, fiddling with her quill; it was bright pink.
Millicent rolled her eyes, unimpressed by Daphne. “He’s from Suffolk, you div.”
“But his family…!” the blonde Slytherin protested.
“I know what you mean,” Millicent snapped, scowling at the other girl.
Pansy looked at her, concerned. “You alright?” she asked.
“Just worried about him,” Millicent admitted reluctantly. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to run away.” Daphne and Pansy nodded in agreement.
Nervously, Daphne asked, “Do you think he’s been kidnapped?”
None of them wanted to answer this question.
*****
Hermione simply could not concentrate. Even reading Hogwarts, a History did nothing to focus her. If anything, she found it increasingly difficult to stop her mind from wandering away from the words on the page.
It was lunchtime and she was not hungry. Closing her book, Hermione replaced it on the shelf and stalked out of the Library, intent on finding somewhere that was not so deadly quiet. As peaceful as the Library could be, there were times when you needed a bit of noise.
Eventually, she settled in one of the rose gardens. It was still slightly cold outside, but she had - for once - remembered her gloves. With her cloak wrapped around her, she was content to sit on a bench, going over her Transfiguration notes. She amended her spelling on a few sentences and pulled out her wand to erase a doodle of a scarecrow.
A cat leapt up on the bench beside her, a streak of white flour on its black coat. “It looks like somebody has been down in the kitchens,” she commented with a smile and hold out her hand to it. Inquisitively, it padded towards her, nuzzling her hand. She took the opportunity to brush away the offending white powder.
Her fingers found no collar around its neck. “That’s not very good, is it? I shall have to speak to Professor McGonagall - people don’t seem to realise that putting collars on their pets is for their own good.”
She leant forward and added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Of course, if I even tried to approach Crookshanks with a collar he’d scratch me.”
The cat purred as she scratched it behind the ear. “Hmmm,” she said. “This is no good. You’re distracting me.”
Reaching for her homework diary, Hermione sighed as the cat decided to curl up on her lap. “Don’t do that,” she scolded half-heartedly. “Now I’m never going to be able to concentrate.”
Once again, the cat purred, as though this had been its intention.
She narrowed her eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a Slytherin cat. You’re definitely sneaky enough for it.” The cat stared at her with large eyes. “And distracting enough.”
As she opened her diary, she received a sharp warning that she had a Transfiguration essay to write. Hermione snapped it shut. For once, Transfiguration could wait.
“What is it about Slytherins?” she asked. “I used to think they were one thing, but suddenly, they’re indescribable.” She paused, frowning. “And not in a good way.”
There was a muffled squeak from her diary and she gave it a thump before slipping it back into her bag. No matter how helpful it was, it could also be incredibly annoying at times.
“It was easier when we were younger,” she admitted, glad to have an audience that was not going to start thinking about Quidditch while she spoke. “Everything was more black and white. Now it’s just different greys and I’m not sure what to do about it.” A crooked smile crossed her face. “At any rate, the red and green were more distinct.”
Feeling a pang of hunger, Hermione said, “D’you think you could move?” The cat seemed to be drifting off to sleep. “I should really go get something to eat.”
The cat did not attempt to move and Hermione’s experiences with her own cat made her wary of moving it with force.
“Please?” she asked hopefully.
It made no difference.
However, a shout of laughter around the corner made the cat lift its head and it quickly sped off.
Not for the first time, Hermione realised just how utterly bizarre her life was. She lifted up her bag, in time to hear an angry torrent of swearing coming from the same direction as the laughter, which subsequently increased. She decided that, in her capacity as a prefect, she should investigate.
She was not prepared for the sight that beheld her.
It was Draco Malfoy.
He was blue.
Surrounded by a group of students, the Slytherin prefect was a picture of rage, his skin a bright cerulean and his hair a stunning emerald. He was swearing, apparently at Crabbe and Goyle, who were sniggering. A group of students was gathering, everyone trying to get a glimpse of Malfoy’s condition.
Hermione decided, as a prefect, to ignore the fact that Colin Creevey was snapping away with gusto. As a Gryffindor, she was rejoicing that there would be a photographic record of this event.
“What’s going on?” she asked Padma Patil. The Ravenclaw prefect had been there upon Hermione’s arrival and had presumably seen the entire spectacle.
“Crabbe did it,” the Ravenclaw said, trying to remain composed.
“By accident?” Even Hermione had assumed that Vincent Crabbe’s magical skills were at least somewhat controlled.
Padma grinned wickedly. “On purpose.”
“He what?”
Grinning, Padma nodded. “Yeah. Crabbe cursed him. I didn’t hear exactly what happened, but it seems that Crabbe’s actually grown a spine.”
“Should we take points?” Hermione asked uncertainly.
“Probably,” Padma agreed. “I might leave it for the professors to sort out.” She adopted a serious tone. “I’m sure that they would much rather deal with this situation.”
“What about trying to reverse the spell?”
The two prefects looked at each other before laughing. “Maybe not,” said Hermione.
Eyeing Colin Creevey, Padma added, “D’you reckon you could get me a copy of those pictures?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Now…” she trailed off thoughtfully. “Which professor do we tell?”
“Snape, definitely,” Padma said emphatically. “He’ll go mental.”
Snape it was, then.
*****
Opening his eyes slightly, Blaise yawned. It felt much too early to wake up properly, yet. Besides, he was nice and warm.
I’ll just have a bit of a catnap, the conscious part of his mind thought before he closed his eyes again.
*****
Lavender liked standing on her bed when she was excited. Hermione had never worked out why, as the mattresses were not especially bouncy and so were not much use for jumping on.
“So is he a good kisser?” she asked, clutching a heart-shaped pillow to her chest. Parvati looked up from where she was lying on her own bed, painting her nails.
Hermione placed Hogwarts, a History back on her bookshelf. “Is who a good kisser?” she asked.
“Justin,” she swooned. “He is so good-looking, Hermione. You’re so lucky!”
“I am?”
Parvati nodded. “Everyone says so.”
“They do?”
“He’s gorgeous, rich and… well, do I really need to go on?”
What about personality? Hermione wondered.
Lavender piped up, saying, “And you’re both Muggleborn! It’s like a match made in Heaven!”
“It is?” Hermione was not quite sure what to say to this. Granted, Justin was nice, but that was about the only adjective that she could ascribe to the Hufflepuff.
“I overheard him talking to Ernie,” said Parvati, who was applying a second coat of varnish to her left hand, “and he was saying that he’s never felt this way about anyone before.”
“He did?” Hermione’s voice raised an octave and Lavender let out a squeal of joy.
“This is so great! Hermione’s got a boyfriend!”
Did a not-entirely-sober New Year’s kiss and an awkward trip to Hogsmeade constitute a relationship? Then again, her relationship with Viktor had not progressed a great deal further than that and her and Blaise’s was not quite at that point.
Not that Blaise and I were in a relationship.
As far as Hermione was concerned, her relationships (if you could call them that) did not end well: Viktor was dead and Blaise was missing. All in all, things did not bode well for Justin Finch-Fletchley.
Picking up her hairbrush, Hermione said, “I don’t really think that I’d call him a boyfriend.” She began to tug at her unruly locks, reminding herself to use the Conditioning Potion when she next washed her hair.
“Let’s give her a makeover so that she can look pretty for him.” Parvati shook her bottle of nail polish. Hermione had her wand out a second later, hairbrush falling to the floor.
“Don’t you dare even think about coming near me with any kind of cosmetics,” she warned. Lavender had the grace to look apprehensive, but Parvati just laughed, rolling her eyes.
“Even I’m not crazy enough to try anything on you, Hermione.”
Hermione lowered her wand. “Really?” Lavender and Parvati nodded in unison.
“You’re dead scary sometimes,” said Lavender.
“You make Umbridge look like a pussycat.”
“Have either of you seen Crookshanks?” asked Hermione suddenly.
Lavender clambered down off her bed, returning her heart pillow to the pile at the foot of the bed. “I remember chasing him out of here when he tried eating my moisturiser.” She paused, as thoughtfully as she was capable of, and said, “That was about a week ago, though.”
*****
Having already successfully Transfigured her pineapple into a porcupine and then into a pocket watch, Hermione set about watching the second hand as it ticked around. It seemed to be slightly faster than her own watch.
“Miss Bulstrode.” Professor McGonagall’s voice cut above the low murmur of the students. “Are you aware that your pocket watch is running backwards?”
Tearing her eyes way from her watch, Hermione looked over to where Millicent was sitting next to Theodore Nott.
“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” said Millicent, who sounded slightly exasperated. “I’ve tried three times and I still can’t get it right.” McGonagall waved her wand and the watch turned back into a porcupine.
“Does anyone,” said McGonagall, addressing the class, “have any idea as to why Miss Bulstrode’s method is failing her?” Millicent looked annoyed at having her failure pointed out in front of the entire class; Hermione would have hated to be in that position. McGonagall looked around expectantly. “Miss Granger?” she asked, sounding slightly hopeful.
Hermione looked carefully at Millicent: her porcupine was investigating her Transfiguration book. The Slytherin’s wand caught her eye. “She’s left-handed,” Hermione blurted out.
“And what does that mean?” McGonagall asked: Hermione detected a note of triumph in her voice.
“That she should try reversing the wand movements?”
Millicent looked slightly stunned at such a simple suggestion - and possibly the fact that Hermione had not elaborated further, as she was prone to do - and Professor McGonagall nodded. “Very good, Miss Granger.”
At the end of the lesson, Hermione returned her pineapple to the fruit bowl on Professor McGonagall’s desk. When she left the classroom, Millicent fell into step with her. “I’m sorry about having to correct you.” Hermione felt that it was right to apologise, for reasons that she could not quite understand. “Only, McGonagall asked me and…”
Rolling her eyes, the Slytherin girl said, “Does it really matter? If I was going to be corrected by anyone, I’m glad it was someone who knows what they’re talking about.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m more annoyed with myself than anything - I can’t believe that I didn’t get something so simple. I have to do that on a lot of spells anyway, so why I didn’t think of it straight away I just don’t know.”
“We all have our off days,” Hermione said. Millicent looked at her disbelievingly. “Even me!” the Gryffindor protested. “I’m not perfect.” She gave a short cry as she nearly tripped over a cat. “Not you again,” she scolded, peering down at it.
“That’s Theodore’s cat,” said Millicent.
“Theodore Nott?” asked Hermione.
“Yeah.”
“But he doesn’t have a cat.” The cat sat in the middle of the corridor, staring up at the two witches. “He’s allergic - has to go down to the Hospital Wing every week for a potion.” It had been in her second year, after the Polyjuice incident, that she had discovered this - there were several other students with the same problem. Spending all that time in the Hospital Wing while she returned to normal, she had watched a regular influx of students arrive for the simple remedy for their allergy.
Millicent looked at her sceptically. “Are you sure? Because I definitely remember seeing that cat in the boy’s dormitory. Black cat, no collar.”
Hermione’s eyes widened and a knut began to drop. “Was this before or after Blaise disappeared?” she demanded as the cat began to saunter away.
“Um, I can’t really remember.”
“Before or after?” The cat headed round the corner.
“After, I suppose.” She looked quizzically at Hermione. “Why, what is it?”
“We have to find that cat,” she said, pointing a trembling finger down the corridor and setting off at a run.
“Why?” Millicent called after her.
“I’ll explain later.” Hermione turned the corner. Things were starting to make sense.
One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Sixth year continues in the sequel to The Importance of Ancient Runes. Of course, nothing ever runs smoothly, especially when you're at Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat wanted unity between the houses - this probably is not what it had in mind.
Word Count: 3153.
Chapter Two: In Which Cats Feature Heavily
“What do you mean, ‘he’s missing’?”
Shrugging, Daphne said, “He’s missing. No one’s seen him. We think he might have run away.”
“Run away?” Hermione shook her head. “Why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”
“We’ve been telling everyone that he’s ill in the Hospital Wing.” A group of chattering Ravenclaws passed by and Daphne lowered her voice. “Snape knows, but he’s told us to keep it quiet.”
“Thanks, Daphne,” Hermione said quietly. “I’d better go - I told Harry and Ron that I’d meet them.”
Daphne nodded. “Okay. If you hear anything from him…”
“I’ll let you know,” Hermione finished flatly, feeling deflated by the revelation that Blaise was missing. Was it because of her? Had he really run away?
Why were Slytherins so confusing?
In the Great Hall, Harry and Ron were already eating, sat opposite each other at the Gryffindor table. Harry was picking at his food, but Ron was digging into his stew with vigour. “You alright, Hermione?” asked Harry, as she took a seat, pulling a plate towards her.
“Fine.” She had not yet decided whether to tell Harry and Ron about Blaise. Even if she did, the Great Hall was not the right place to do it. Hermione looked at her plate. There seemed to be far too much food on it but she remember McGonagall’s promise to give her the antidote and restore her Animagus ability if she started eating properly again. With a resigned sigh, she picked up her fork.
“You look worn out,” commented Ron through a mouthful of dumpling.
“We were doing Troll in Languages,” Hermione said. “Having an entire vocabulary put magically into your head is enough to tire anyone out.”
Ron started waving his fork about as he spoke. “See, that’s what I don’t get. If they can put a language straight into your head, why do you need to take the subject?”
“They can only give you the vocabulary. Not the grammar or anything like that.” Hermione did not feel like getting into a long and detailed explanation about the subject: Ron probably would not want her to, anyway.
There was a screech from a couple of fourth years further down the table. Looking up from his meal, Harry said, “People shouldn’t let their pets come into the Great Hall.” A black cat had jumped up onto the table, knocking someone’s plate and sending gravy all over the white tablecloth. When a salt shaker was overturned, one of the girls gave another shriek and hurriedly tossed some salt over her shoulder.
“Cats aren’t like owls,” Hermione said evenly. “They don’t spend all day sleeping in the Owlery.”
Ron looked at her oddly. “Where is Crookshanks, anyway? I haven’t seen him for a while.”
A cool voice behind them said, “Concerned about Granger’s pussy are you, Weasley?”
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Malfoy?” asked Hermione wearily. She would not be at all surprised if he had anything to do with Blaise’s disappearance. Their dislike of each other, while nowhere near as potent as Harry and Malfoy’s, was nearing explosive proportions.
“I just haven’t seen it for a while,” Ron said and Malfoy arched an eyebrow.
I wonder if he practises doing that, Hermione wondered, whilst cringing inwardly. Shut up, Ron! Shut up!
Ginny slid into a seat beside her brother and Hermione reached for her drink, pretending not to hear the exchange between Ron and Malfoy.
Malfoy turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “The poor old Weasel hasn’t seen Granger’s pussy for a while,” he said to them. They chuckled on cue.
“I don’t really like it anyway, Malfoy,” Ron said. “So what are you going on about?”
“So you don’t like her pussy?” Malfoy asked with glee.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Hermione was on the verge of throttling Ron.
“Ow!” yelped Ginny. She glared at Harry. “Why did you kick me?”
He ignored her. “How’s your wand, Malfoy?” he asked loudly.
“What do you mean, Potter?”
“Well,” said Harry nonchalantly, “I heard a couple of girls say that ever since Pansy dumped you, your wand hasn’t been working properly.” Malfoy looked outraged at Harry’s insinuation and stalked away without a further word.
Ginny looked pained. “Why did you kick me?” she asked again.
With a glare aimed in Ron’s direction, Harry said, “I was trying to shut him up.”
“Oh,” Ginny said in understanding. She, too, glared at Ron for good measure.
“Why?” Ron’s eyes were wide with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
His sister patted him gently on the arm. “It’s alright, Ron,” she said gently. “I’ll explain later.”
*****
“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
Millicent looked up from the piece of parchment on the table with a puzzled expression on her face. “It’s hangman, Pansy. It’s hardly difficult.”
Pansy frowned. “Not that,” she retorted, glancing at Daphne’s wonky lines. “The word’s ‘Acromantula’, anyway. Actually, I was talking about Blaise.”
The three of them had claimed a corner of the Slytherin common room as their own, sending threatening glares in the direction of anyone who came near them. As extra security, Delilah was curled up on Pansy’s lap, purring contentedly.
“He’s probably buggered off to London, or something,” Millicent said. “Or maybe he went to Italy. The weather’s bound to be better there than it is here.”
“How did you guess it?” Daphne said miserably, seemingly ignoring the other girls’ conversation as she finished filling in the word on the parchment. For fun, she started drawing a picture of a stickman. Then she drew a flower.
“Because you always choose it,” Pansy said. “And don’t pout - it’s most unbecoming.” She turned back to Millicent. “Why would he go to Italy?”
“Because that’s where he comes from?” suggested Daphne, fiddling with her quill; it was bright pink.
Millicent rolled her eyes, unimpressed by Daphne. “He’s from Suffolk, you div.”
“But his family…!” the blonde Slytherin protested.
“I know what you mean,” Millicent snapped, scowling at the other girl.
Pansy looked at her, concerned. “You alright?” she asked.
“Just worried about him,” Millicent admitted reluctantly. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to run away.” Daphne and Pansy nodded in agreement.
Nervously, Daphne asked, “Do you think he’s been kidnapped?”
None of them wanted to answer this question.
*****
Hermione simply could not concentrate. Even reading Hogwarts, a History did nothing to focus her. If anything, she found it increasingly difficult to stop her mind from wandering away from the words on the page.
It was lunchtime and she was not hungry. Closing her book, Hermione replaced it on the shelf and stalked out of the Library, intent on finding somewhere that was not so deadly quiet. As peaceful as the Library could be, there were times when you needed a bit of noise.
Eventually, she settled in one of the rose gardens. It was still slightly cold outside, but she had - for once - remembered her gloves. With her cloak wrapped around her, she was content to sit on a bench, going over her Transfiguration notes. She amended her spelling on a few sentences and pulled out her wand to erase a doodle of a scarecrow.
A cat leapt up on the bench beside her, a streak of white flour on its black coat. “It looks like somebody has been down in the kitchens,” she commented with a smile and hold out her hand to it. Inquisitively, it padded towards her, nuzzling her hand. She took the opportunity to brush away the offending white powder.
Her fingers found no collar around its neck. “That’s not very good, is it? I shall have to speak to Professor McGonagall - people don’t seem to realise that putting collars on their pets is for their own good.”
She leant forward and added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Of course, if I even tried to approach Crookshanks with a collar he’d scratch me.”
The cat purred as she scratched it behind the ear. “Hmmm,” she said. “This is no good. You’re distracting me.”
Reaching for her homework diary, Hermione sighed as the cat decided to curl up on her lap. “Don’t do that,” she scolded half-heartedly. “Now I’m never going to be able to concentrate.”
Once again, the cat purred, as though this had been its intention.
She narrowed her eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a Slytherin cat. You’re definitely sneaky enough for it.” The cat stared at her with large eyes. “And distracting enough.”
As she opened her diary, she received a sharp warning that she had a Transfiguration essay to write. Hermione snapped it shut. For once, Transfiguration could wait.
“What is it about Slytherins?” she asked. “I used to think they were one thing, but suddenly, they’re indescribable.” She paused, frowning. “And not in a good way.”
There was a muffled squeak from her diary and she gave it a thump before slipping it back into her bag. No matter how helpful it was, it could also be incredibly annoying at times.
“It was easier when we were younger,” she admitted, glad to have an audience that was not going to start thinking about Quidditch while she spoke. “Everything was more black and white. Now it’s just different greys and I’m not sure what to do about it.” A crooked smile crossed her face. “At any rate, the red and green were more distinct.”
Feeling a pang of hunger, Hermione said, “D’you think you could move?” The cat seemed to be drifting off to sleep. “I should really go get something to eat.”
The cat did not attempt to move and Hermione’s experiences with her own cat made her wary of moving it with force.
“Please?” she asked hopefully.
It made no difference.
However, a shout of laughter around the corner made the cat lift its head and it quickly sped off.
Not for the first time, Hermione realised just how utterly bizarre her life was. She lifted up her bag, in time to hear an angry torrent of swearing coming from the same direction as the laughter, which subsequently increased. She decided that, in her capacity as a prefect, she should investigate.
She was not prepared for the sight that beheld her.
It was Draco Malfoy.
He was blue.
Surrounded by a group of students, the Slytherin prefect was a picture of rage, his skin a bright cerulean and his hair a stunning emerald. He was swearing, apparently at Crabbe and Goyle, who were sniggering. A group of students was gathering, everyone trying to get a glimpse of Malfoy’s condition.
Hermione decided, as a prefect, to ignore the fact that Colin Creevey was snapping away with gusto. As a Gryffindor, she was rejoicing that there would be a photographic record of this event.
“What’s going on?” she asked Padma Patil. The Ravenclaw prefect had been there upon Hermione’s arrival and had presumably seen the entire spectacle.
“Crabbe did it,” the Ravenclaw said, trying to remain composed.
“By accident?” Even Hermione had assumed that Vincent Crabbe’s magical skills were at least somewhat controlled.
Padma grinned wickedly. “On purpose.”
“He what?”
Grinning, Padma nodded. “Yeah. Crabbe cursed him. I didn’t hear exactly what happened, but it seems that Crabbe’s actually grown a spine.”
“Should we take points?” Hermione asked uncertainly.
“Probably,” Padma agreed. “I might leave it for the professors to sort out.” She adopted a serious tone. “I’m sure that they would much rather deal with this situation.”
“What about trying to reverse the spell?”
The two prefects looked at each other before laughing. “Maybe not,” said Hermione.
Eyeing Colin Creevey, Padma added, “D’you reckon you could get me a copy of those pictures?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Now…” she trailed off thoughtfully. “Which professor do we tell?”
“Snape, definitely,” Padma said emphatically. “He’ll go mental.”
Snape it was, then.
*****
Opening his eyes slightly, Blaise yawned. It felt much too early to wake up properly, yet. Besides, he was nice and warm.
I’ll just have a bit of a catnap, the conscious part of his mind thought before he closed his eyes again.
*****
Lavender liked standing on her bed when she was excited. Hermione had never worked out why, as the mattresses were not especially bouncy and so were not much use for jumping on.
“So is he a good kisser?” she asked, clutching a heart-shaped pillow to her chest. Parvati looked up from where she was lying on her own bed, painting her nails.
Hermione placed Hogwarts, a History back on her bookshelf. “Is who a good kisser?” she asked.
“Justin,” she swooned. “He is so good-looking, Hermione. You’re so lucky!”
“I am?”
Parvati nodded. “Everyone says so.”
“They do?”
“He’s gorgeous, rich and… well, do I really need to go on?”
What about personality? Hermione wondered.
Lavender piped up, saying, “And you’re both Muggleborn! It’s like a match made in Heaven!”
“It is?” Hermione was not quite sure what to say to this. Granted, Justin was nice, but that was about the only adjective that she could ascribe to the Hufflepuff.
“I overheard him talking to Ernie,” said Parvati, who was applying a second coat of varnish to her left hand, “and he was saying that he’s never felt this way about anyone before.”
“He did?” Hermione’s voice raised an octave and Lavender let out a squeal of joy.
“This is so great! Hermione’s got a boyfriend!”
Did a not-entirely-sober New Year’s kiss and an awkward trip to Hogsmeade constitute a relationship? Then again, her relationship with Viktor had not progressed a great deal further than that and her and Blaise’s was not quite at that point.
Not that Blaise and I were in a relationship.
As far as Hermione was concerned, her relationships (if you could call them that) did not end well: Viktor was dead and Blaise was missing. All in all, things did not bode well for Justin Finch-Fletchley.
Picking up her hairbrush, Hermione said, “I don’t really think that I’d call him a boyfriend.” She began to tug at her unruly locks, reminding herself to use the Conditioning Potion when she next washed her hair.
“Let’s give her a makeover so that she can look pretty for him.” Parvati shook her bottle of nail polish. Hermione had her wand out a second later, hairbrush falling to the floor.
“Don’t you dare even think about coming near me with any kind of cosmetics,” she warned. Lavender had the grace to look apprehensive, but Parvati just laughed, rolling her eyes.
“Even I’m not crazy enough to try anything on you, Hermione.”
Hermione lowered her wand. “Really?” Lavender and Parvati nodded in unison.
“You’re dead scary sometimes,” said Lavender.
“You make Umbridge look like a pussycat.”
“Have either of you seen Crookshanks?” asked Hermione suddenly.
Lavender clambered down off her bed, returning her heart pillow to the pile at the foot of the bed. “I remember chasing him out of here when he tried eating my moisturiser.” She paused, as thoughtfully as she was capable of, and said, “That was about a week ago, though.”
*****
Having already successfully Transfigured her pineapple into a porcupine and then into a pocket watch, Hermione set about watching the second hand as it ticked around. It seemed to be slightly faster than her own watch.
“Miss Bulstrode.” Professor McGonagall’s voice cut above the low murmur of the students. “Are you aware that your pocket watch is running backwards?”
Tearing her eyes way from her watch, Hermione looked over to where Millicent was sitting next to Theodore Nott.
“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” said Millicent, who sounded slightly exasperated. “I’ve tried three times and I still can’t get it right.” McGonagall waved her wand and the watch turned back into a porcupine.
“Does anyone,” said McGonagall, addressing the class, “have any idea as to why Miss Bulstrode’s method is failing her?” Millicent looked annoyed at having her failure pointed out in front of the entire class; Hermione would have hated to be in that position. McGonagall looked around expectantly. “Miss Granger?” she asked, sounding slightly hopeful.
Hermione looked carefully at Millicent: her porcupine was investigating her Transfiguration book. The Slytherin’s wand caught her eye. “She’s left-handed,” Hermione blurted out.
“And what does that mean?” McGonagall asked: Hermione detected a note of triumph in her voice.
“That she should try reversing the wand movements?”
Millicent looked slightly stunned at such a simple suggestion - and possibly the fact that Hermione had not elaborated further, as she was prone to do - and Professor McGonagall nodded. “Very good, Miss Granger.”
At the end of the lesson, Hermione returned her pineapple to the fruit bowl on Professor McGonagall’s desk. When she left the classroom, Millicent fell into step with her. “I’m sorry about having to correct you.” Hermione felt that it was right to apologise, for reasons that she could not quite understand. “Only, McGonagall asked me and…”
Rolling her eyes, the Slytherin girl said, “Does it really matter? If I was going to be corrected by anyone, I’m glad it was someone who knows what they’re talking about.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m more annoyed with myself than anything - I can’t believe that I didn’t get something so simple. I have to do that on a lot of spells anyway, so why I didn’t think of it straight away I just don’t know.”
“We all have our off days,” Hermione said. Millicent looked at her disbelievingly. “Even me!” the Gryffindor protested. “I’m not perfect.” She gave a short cry as she nearly tripped over a cat. “Not you again,” she scolded, peering down at it.
“That’s Theodore’s cat,” said Millicent.
“Theodore Nott?” asked Hermione.
“Yeah.”
“But he doesn’t have a cat.” The cat sat in the middle of the corridor, staring up at the two witches. “He’s allergic - has to go down to the Hospital Wing every week for a potion.” It had been in her second year, after the Polyjuice incident, that she had discovered this - there were several other students with the same problem. Spending all that time in the Hospital Wing while she returned to normal, she had watched a regular influx of students arrive for the simple remedy for their allergy.
Millicent looked at her sceptically. “Are you sure? Because I definitely remember seeing that cat in the boy’s dormitory. Black cat, no collar.”
Hermione’s eyes widened and a knut began to drop. “Was this before or after Blaise disappeared?” she demanded as the cat began to saunter away.
“Um, I can’t really remember.”
“Before or after?” The cat headed round the corner.
“After, I suppose.” She looked quizzically at Hermione. “Why, what is it?”
“We have to find that cat,” she said, pointing a trembling finger down the corridor and setting off at a run.
“Why?” Millicent called after her.
“I’ll explain later.” Hermione turned the corner. Things were starting to make sense.
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