A/N: This is my first fanfiction. Throw fire. Be mean, be gentle, and be creative. Whatever your reaction is, go for it. I'd be pleased to know how I'm doing.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, any nouns you may recognize from HP and the magical world in which they are found do not belong to me and should all be credited solely to JK Rowling and her fruitful imagination.
Adopting Magic
Chapter 1
"Cogdale, Karen…"
"Here."
"Breton, Bethany…"
"Here. So… how was it?" squeaked the eternally perky blonde sitting next to Hermione.
" 'It' was fine, Beth, nothing spectacular. Although I'm not sure what you really expected when he came over to see my father."
"Yes, but while he was working out the kinks in his Jump Shot you could have easily made yourself noticeable. 'Oh, did you want some fresh squeezed lemonade, Dillon, how about some brownies?" Or you could have simply put on your bathing suit and sunned yourself in the driveway; it's not hard to think these things up, honestly 'mione, pick up a book now and then."
"Ok first of all Beth, it is January, not exactly the proper time for lemonade or sunning;"
"Granger, Hermione…"
"Secondly, I don't care if Dillon Fry is at my house or not, lots of guys come to my house, my Dad is the basketball coach."
"Granger, Hermione…"
For a second, that familiar drowning sound had caught her attention, but Hermione didn't pause; she needed to get this out.
"And third of all, and this is the last time I say this before I just clobber you square in the head, a magazine is NOT a book. It does not make a difference how thick it is, or how many articles and quizzes it may contain, TeenBeat, TigerBeat, and/or BOP are not books."
"Umm. 'Mione…"
"Granger, Hermione…"
"No, Beth, cosmopolitan, seventeen, even TIME, they are all magazines."
"GRANGER! Just say 'here' so I can move on, please."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Present."
As her best friend snickered, Hermione mentally decided to keep her mouth shut. Somehow, she knew that opening it simply to say 'Shut it, I can say 'present' opposed to 'here' if I choose,' as she had almost every morning since fourth grade, would only give Beth the invitation she was looking for to start chirping on about Dillion Fry again. And Hermione didn't care about him, that stupid, seventh grade point guard… lemonade probably wouldn't have been a bad idea…her 8ball did say that he would be her date to the spring fling in May…
'NO! Jeez, Hermione, where has your head gone? You don't even know him…but the eight ball… doesn't make a difference. It's just a silly, stupid toy. It's just a toy. Goodness Granger, get your head in the game, we have more important issues at hand.'
From all of the years of hearing her father's court side pep talks, Hermione was able to coach herself back into focus. Pulling her mind away from the 'magic' of her 8ball, Hermione realized she was being impractical, she didn't believe in magic, pish posh. Magicians are simply illusionists. Yes, illusionists. And the 8ball doesn't really know the what the holder is asking; no, it simply gives random answers that seem to fit based on the rule that you must ask a 'yes' or 'no' question. Therefore, Dillon Fry was not going to be her spring fling date. And even if he would be… Mr. Gail would soon be announcing something very important, something Hermione had been waiting for all year, and she needed to focus.
"Harrison, Francesca…"
"Present."
Uhg… but how could she possibly pay attention with Miss Priss whining in her ear like that? Francesca spoke in a mocking note, so evil, that it literally made Hermione cringe as she wondered what it was that made this girl so desirable. Sure, her uncle was once a famous musician, but where was he now? No one seemed to know, or care for that matter. George Harrison, while he did provide the luxurious lifestyle that Francesca and her family had become accustomed to, was simply not the most memorable Beatle. Yet she used that. She used her family to boost her popularity, her ego, her loyal band of thoughtless followers. It drove Hermione absolutely crazy.
No matter, Hermione had been going through classes with Francesca since kindergarten and knew exactly how to deal with her. Setting all middle school evils and Dillon Fry into the back of her mind, Hermione took three deep breaths. Then, she started to hum 'Imagine' by John Lennon as she waited, patiently, for Mr. Gail to finish his attendance.
Everyone knew who John Lennon was.
A/N: I write horribly slowly and am utterly unconfident. Please Keep the criticism constructive but feel free to review as much as you'd like. I'd love to hear from you.
Peace,
L.Lilae