Title: Twists and Turns

Author: Isabel Ice

Rating: PG–13

Summary: Hermione Granger had her life planed out. When an unexpected law is introduced, all her carefully crafted plans are shattered.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.


For as long as I can remember, I have strived for perfection. Consciously knowing that it was impossible for someone to be flawless, but unconsciously believing that if I tried hard enough and dedicated myself to the cause, I would be an exception. In many ways, it sounds egotistical and arrogant, but I truly believed it. Maybe I still do. I don't know, all I hope for now is to do the best I can in any given situation, that's the most anyone can hope for.

My parents always pushed me to be the best I could be. They never scolded me for my mistakes, but the knowledge that they were disappointed was enough to motivate me not to make the same mistake again. The look on their faces convinced me that I my best was not good enough, I would have to try harder.

When I was eleven, all the dreams my parents had hoped for me shattered. They were devastated and I knew it. I could feel it. As a child I had always been too smart for my own good. They tried to hide it. They laughed and congratulated me, pretended that they were happy that I was the first witch in the family but I knew that it was a lie. A façade. To hide their disappointment. They had wanted me to graduate and go into dentistry in college. Until then, that had been my dream too.

I memorized all my textbooks and any other text I could get my hands on about the Wizarding world. If I was going to spend the next seven years in a new environment, I sure as hell was not going to go in oblivious. There is no excuse for ignorance. I was going to be the most promising and brightest witch of my time. My parents would be proud of me.

And for six years, I was. I was a prefect in years five and six. As expected I was Head Girl by unanimous vote for the staff. I was the ideal student, the loyal friend. I finally felt as if my life was on track. Unfortunately, in my seventh year, all my carefully crafted turned to dust.


Hermione Granger woke up with a strange sense of foreboding. Although she was adamant that Divination was no more like magic than the abaraca-dabara cantation that muggles liked to throw around, six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had taught her that her intuition was usually spot on.

Pushing her uneasiness aside, she got up and walked to the bathroom. As much as she was tempted to stay in bed, it wouldn't be proper for the Head Girl to skip classes, especially without a legitimate reason. What teacher would accept "my intuition" was an excuse?

After splashing water on her face, Hermione looked up at the mirror. She hadn't changed much over the years. Her hair always remained bushy, although true to her mother's word, the weight form the length had managed to tame it to a mess of curls. They were a constant source of annoyance for her, she couldn't understand why she was the only one in her family with this problem. Her grandmother once offhandly mentioned that she had the same problem in her youth, but Hermione couldn't imagine her dignified grandmother with anything but immaculate and tidy curls.

"You look tired dear. What time did you go to bed."

"Past midnight I suppose. I really should sleep earlier, but my rounds had taken more time than I had expected."

"Maybe you should try some concealer. Those bags look positively nasty."

Hermione paused. She had always prided herself as level-headed, not make-up obsessed like her classmates, namely Lavender and Parvati. But even she had to admit that she wasn't looking her best.

"Why not."

Hermione pushed her pride aside as she carefully applied some concealer and foundation.

"Now, doesn't that look much better."

"Thanks. I better go down to breakfast now. Thanks for your help."

And with Hermione concluded her conversation with the mirror and walked out, only to crash into Terry Boot, the Head Boy.

Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw that she had always regarded in high esteem was a principle choice for Head Boy. Although his grades within the top 5 of their year level and a spotless history, many people had been surprised at his appointment. Many had believed that Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived was a shoo in , but Hermione had known that almost all of the staff had vetoed against Harry, his recklessness and temper had been too much of a gamble for the teachers to support him. His marks, while above average, were still way below the accepted cut line to be seriously considered. The other main contender, Draco Malfoy, whose marks were also within the top 5 of their year level, had his name tarnished by his shady background in the Dark Arts and his history with authority had caused the teachers too much concern to appoint him in such a demanding position.

"Whoa. Are you okay there Hermione?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I wasn't looking."

Stumbling down the stairs, past her room into the Heads Common Room, that Hermione and Terry had been given to study and use to organize the many events that they would be expected to direct, Hermione found herself in front of the Great Hall. Taking in a deep breath, she pushed open the doors and sat in her usual spot, in between Harry and Ron.

Grabbing a piece of French toast and an apple, she began to eat.

"No, I think that the Hawkshead Attacking Formation would be more effective against Hufflepuff. They don't...Oh hey Mione."

"Don't call me that. How would you like it if I called you Ronald?"

"Sorry."

"Hey Hermione. What's –"

During Harry's question the flood of owls flew into the Great Hall. Dropping her subscription of the Daily Prophet, the owl flew away. Absent mindly, she took a drink from her goblet only to promptly spit it out again when she read the headline of the newspaper.

"WHAT?"

The hall became silent after the unexpected outburst of the Head Girl.