The UNTHINKABLE
I've seriously considered turning myself into Azkaban.
What sort of monstrous person AM I? Ignoring clear, stern, vital instructions for my own personal gain? All for a comeback?
But the adrenaline rush was inexplicable- the look of utter bewilderness on Ron's freckled face is something I admit I'd never trade for perfect conduct.
Still, as I hurry down the deserted Corridor to Charms, certain that the Timeturner didn't take me back far enough to get there on time, I can't help but feel as though several Ministry Officials will spring from behind a statue and tackle me to the floor as I try to tell them of my endless academic achievements in choked sobs-
"Oof! Do watch where you're goi- Miss Granger?"
"Professor McGonagall!" I squeak, heat fizzling through me.
"Why aren't you in class? It's still the first les- oh." She squints at me as if I had something different about me, like a moustache, "Is this…the other you?"
I understand what she means. I nod, afraid to open my mouth in case I confess my crime in one rushed breath.
"Well, you've gone back a little too far; it's still five minutes until the next lesson begins. I expect you thought you were late- that would explain you indenting my person."
I nod again feverently. "S-Sorry." I manage to it out through gritted teeth. She narrows her eyes at my suspicious behaviour.
"How are you finding it- not too strenuous I hope?"
"No no, it's been brilliant!" I hurry, the banks bursting as I ramble on, "I'm having the most wonderful time! It's almost like travelling with the Doctor in the TARDIS, you know the one?"
"Doctor who?" She asks, looking slightly perplexed.
"Exactly!!!" I beam, before my bubbly façade cracks and I have to duck around her just as the bell sounds for the next lesson.
--
Ah, the perfect serenity of the classroom. Gazing around this stone walled paradise, I feel myself unwind once again, my unmanageable hair releasing most of its static energy. Professor Flitwick clambered upon his teetering pile of lovely books and squeaked his feeble command for silence. I relax into my upright, alert position and take a deep breath.
Forget everything, Hermione. Here, you are a superstar…I chant the same words I say to myself at the beginning of every lesson and feel the electric current begin to buzz once more.
"Alright everyone, alright," Professor Flitwick calls, "Today we're going to have a go at making our quills tickle the people sitting next to us. Now, beware, if you cast this too strongly, it may be very hard to lift the enchantment and um…well let's just say last year, a certain boy lost control of his…um…bodily functions."
As we all sit there, transfixed in horror by the idea that by the end of the lesson, one of us might have soiled ourselves, Professor Flitwick continues to talk.
"Now, can anyone remind us of Markle's two laws of inter-persons enchantment?"
And there it is, the heat blooming somewhere in my stomach, the trill in my abdomen that not even the most dashing boy could summon, the tiny portion of air that is gasped through my clenched teeth as my hand shoots through the air like an arrow from a centaur, my fingers formed in the position I've practised secretly, in order for it to be as streamlined as possible to whip up in the quickest time I can manage, so I can beat them all, every single person in the class who has never worked as hard as I have, to know the answers before the curriculum is even confirmed, who has read her books before they were even set, who has even taken a quick peek at one or two teachers' lesson plans to know what area of study was next…
"Miss Granger?" Hardly a second has passed- Professor Flitwick doesn't even have to look at me as he says my name, he knows I am ready. And the words flow.
"One: Make Sure The Person Whom You Are Practising Enchantments With Is Someone You Trust.
Two: Always Be Certain About Which Incantation You Are Uttering and Which Wand Movements You Are Performing."
"Five points to Gryffindor on account of your photographic memory, Miss Granger." He says, although he doesn't sound quite as jubilant as he had in my first year of Hogwarts, "Now can anyone remember the origin of the popular tickling charm?"
My hand strikes the air once again.
"Miss Gr-"
"Orion Withers, in Somerset, 1567! He used the charm to get out of a series of arrests from the law for stealing sheep."
Professor Flitwick stares at me for a moment. My fellow students are propping their heads up with their hands, or completely slumping over the desk altogether, obviously bored with me answering questions again. I stare back at Professor Flitwick. I expect he's surprised because of my memory again, although I did stay up late last night to read through the creation of-
"Incorrect."
There's a huge gasp as together, the whole class sits up straight. Every eye is on me, awaiting my reaction. I have never given an incorrect answer.
I choke back the urge to scream. My mind…my precious mind has failed me. I feel as if an old friend as stabbed me in the back. The toasty room has been robbed of all it's warmth; I draw a shuddery gasp through my numb lips.
No! I inwardly shriek, Three years of perfect answers…I'm ruined!
I'm so stupid! Why don't they just pull me back to the first years of education again, so I can actually learn something- what's happened to me! I'm just like Ron now!
I'm just like Ron…
This realization goes through me like a knife as I shoot a glance at my red headed friend, who looks as if he doesn't know whether to laugh or not.
"That is actually the Origin of the itching charm…" Professor Flitwick says in almost a whisper, as if breaking the news of a death in the family.
"Excuse me." I choke, and grabbing my things, I stand up and stumble out of the silent room.
--
As soon as the door clicks shut behind me I begin to hyperventilate. Blinded by pure horror, I feel my way along the corridor, until I duck behind a tapestry into a hidden chamber Fred and George had once told Ron about.
Professor Flitwick must've been wrong, he must've. Gasping squeakily, my fingers trembling, I yank out my Charms book with much less care than it deserves and tear through the pages. I come to a stop at the chapter I want- and there it is, in black and white, staring up at me.
My failure. The true Origin of the tickling charm. Weston-Super-Mare, 1387, Charlotte Charm. How convenient a name for such a HORRIBLE WOMAN.
Not that it is anything to do with her…
If only I could change this…If only no one saw this happen…
I know what I can do.
I know what I shouldn't do.
It's just a stupid question! That's what Ron would say…wise, stupid Ron… but what would he say after that? For how long would he tease me mercilessly about my little mistake?
It's a slippery slope…what if this is just the beginning? What if I never get a question right again? I must save my reputation!!!
But…oh goodness…I really can't do this again- it was bad enough when I did it the first time! I could barely look Professor McGonagall in the eye!
Yet…
…Slowly, I draw out the Timeturner. It glints in the shaded enclosure, winking at me, reassuring me, daring me…
Squeezing my eyes shut- as if not seeing myself doing this terrible thing will mean I didn't do it- I give the Timeturner a half turn. Half an hour.
And the room melts.
--
