hey, sorry this chapter was a bit late. Had a bit of trouble deciding about the ending of it. Let me know if it was worth the wait :)
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Chapter seven - His Glasses
On Wednesday evening, for the first time since Ron had initially made the team, Hermione headed off to watch the Gryffindors' Quidditch practice after dinner. Sure she had not finished her homework, sure she was supposed to be sorting through the prefects schedules, and sure, maybe she might have been supposed to be finding a good date for the next Hogsmade trip . . . but if she had a bet with Malfoy over the upcoming Quidditch match on Saturday, she was going to see what she had bet on.
Of course she had confidence in the Gryffindor team, they hardly ever lost. And when they did, Hermione knew it was mostly due to good reason. A terrible fleeting memory of Dementors and a falling Harry flashed through her mind . . . She shook it off.
But Hermione was determined to beat Malfoy. When he had to go to Harry, tell him he was the better man and apologize, maybe it would make him realize that he is in fact not the best at everything, and maybe his pride will take just enough bruising, just enough, to make living with him bearable. Hermione grinned a little to herself as she made her way further down to the Quidditch pitch, there would also be the satisfaction of his expression, his complaining, and his conjuring up some excuse as to why he had lost. Hermione looked forward to it.
"Hey Granger," said a deep, smooth voice. Hermione's hair flew around her as she whipped her head in the other direction. Coming up immediately behind her was Blaise Zabini. Why did he always seem to be around her?
"What do you want, Blaise?" she asked flatly.
"Do you really need to ask?" he said, in that same weird tone that he had been using with her since the beginning of term.
"Good-bye, Blaise," Hermione said monotonously, turning and walking away.
"Now why," he said, walking in stride with her, "are you always in such a hurry?"
"Why does it matter to you?" she retorted, not looking at him.
"You know," he said slowly, stepping in front of her so she was forced to look at him at last, "if you like it fast, I could help you out."
"You are scum, Blaise Zabini," she spat, walking around him and holding her cloak close together. She was surprised, but pleased, when he didn't follow her any further. That boy was creepy.
As she finally made her way onto the Quidditch pitch she noticed that it was empty; they must still be in the changing rooms. She went over to the stands and took a seat, closest to the doors. It had been a while since she had seen the team in full action. She hoped they were good.
But they were. And they would win. And Slytherin would lose. And Malfoy would cry.
The doors swung open after about ten minutes and Hermione stood immediately. Ginny was the first to march out.
"Ginny!" Hermione said, waving.
She looked at her, mouthed, "Hermione?" and then came quickly over to where she stood.
"Hermione? What are you doing here?" she said. "What's wrong?"
Hermione laughed, "Nothing, nothing's wrong."
"What are you doing here?" she repeated, looking at her oddly.
"Came to watch," said Hermione with a smile, watching as the rest of the team poured out onto the field. Harry appeared to be talking to them. Ginny looked over as well, then quickly turned back to Hermione. Hermione could see the blush in her cheeks.
"Hm, I wonder what could make Ginny Weasley blush?" Hermione asked sarcastically, arching an eyebrow.
"Oh shuddup," she grumbled. "And don't change the subject! I know who you're here to watch!"
"Who?" Hermione asked, bewildered.
"Haha, Hermione, nice try," said Ginny, "but you know he'll be a crap player tonight if he sees you watching, you know he'll get too nervous if you're here."
"Ron?" Hermione blurted.
"Yes," Ginny said slowly. "You're not here to watch him?"
"No!" said Hermione, quickly looking down and clearing her throat. "No, I mean, I'm not."
"Okay," Ginny said, "then why are you here?"
"I already said!" Hermione explained, smiling again. "To watch! Is there something wrong with that?"
"No, I guess not," shrugged Ginny, "but Ron'll still be all over the place. We'll be lucky if he don't fall right through the hoops like last time–"
"He didn't?" Hermione gasped. Ron had better pull it together for Saturday, she thought. How humiliated would she be if that happened? She would never hear the end of it from Malfoy.
"Yes he sure did," said Ginny. There were both looking out over the team. They seemed to be looking for something. "Looks like they've noticed I've gone, I'd better get back–"
"Right, go," said Hermione as Ginny headed off. "Before Harry gives you trouble!"
"I said shuddup!" she repeated. "And don't tell Ron I told you that, he'll murder me. And the teams needs at least one good Weasley for Saturday!"
And then she ran down to the field. So Hermione sat, and took out her notebook. Yes, she brought a notebook to the Quidditch pitch. She needed to know how they were, didn't she? What better way to do that then record it?
So they were off in the air. She couldn't tell exactly what they were doing, but she was sure it had to do with flying skills, as none of the balls were released yet. Half the team was flying straight ahead only about ten feet, stopping dead, and repeating all the way down to the end of the field. They turned around and returned. Harry said something, it was audible, but not so she could tell what it was he was saying. The next half of the team went ahead and started – Ron was in this half. Hermione was impressed by him, he seemed one of the best. She raised her eyebrows as she watched his mop of fiery red hair proceed to the end of the field and back again. She smiled in pride – Malfoy was in for a treat.
After that the team let out one bludger. She guessed the snitch was out too, because Harry flew off after a moment. And then Ginny and the other chasers lined up in front of the three hoops, where Ron hovered. Once again, he impressed her greatly. Ginny flew ahead a bit, then through the ball at a fair speed straight to the middle hoop – Ron snatched it, threw it up and caught it, then tossed it back as Ginny flew to the end of the line and the next chaser caught the Quaffle with ease. This one was a boy. He flew up, a bit farther than Ginny, and again, to the middle hoop. Ron grabbed that one with one hand and tossed it back quickly. The last chaser – another girl – came up, throwing extremely hard to the left hoop. Ron spun, or twirled, or something, and captured it with both hands. It went very fast.
The two beaters were about, hitting the one bludger back and forth, and ducking quickly when they weren't able to reach it in time. They were good. They could've been better. But they improved as the time wore on. Harry caught the snitch after half an hour, then released it, and waited ten seconds, and took off again. After forty-five minutes of the same things, the chasers were now all three throwing the ball, forcing Ron to be flying back and forth from the first hoop to the second hoop to the third hoop over and over as the ball traveled down the line. And then the chasers backed up, passing the quaffle between each other and launching it towards Ron at unexpected times. He got every one. Hermione guessed that without George and Fred, and without the pressure of an audience, he could do exceptionally well.
Pretty soon Harry gathered the team and they were practicing particular plays and specific runs about the field. This went on for some time. But Hermione kept watching. The one boy chaser, could do with being a bit father to his right on the third play, and Ron might've just come out a tiny bit further on the fifth. Harry was brilliant. Hermione had nothing to say about him – other than how scared she was every time he dipped down so low hear to the ground.
After an hour and forty minutes, just as Hermione's legs began to fall asleep, they touched down to the ground and after five minutes of Harry apparently talking, they dispersed. But they just seemed to be taking a break, because they stayed on the field and began to rest and stretch. Hermione grabbed her notebook and headed down to the field quickly.
"Hermione!" said Harry. He was closest to the stand as she made her way onto the grassy field. "Wha–why are you here? Is everything all right?"
Hermione stopped, and looked at him. Why did everyone assume, that just because she was there, that she must be running to tell them that something horrible had happened? "Yes, Harry, everything's all right."
"Oh," he said, looking lost as to what to say next. "Er, what are you doing here, then?"
"Came to watch," she said, shrugging. Harry eyed her suspiciously.
"What for?" he asked her.
"Just to see," she said, not elaborating. He raised his eyebrows.
"'Mione, I know you, not saying that you wouldn't come to watch or anything, just, you know that I know you. Why are you here?" he continued, leaning on his broom.
"I just came to watch you practice!" said out of frustration. Any other time she would have told Harry about the bet, but she wasn't sure that telling him that she had bet on him would be any good – it may even mess him up. Maybe they weren't allowed to tell anyone about the bet, either? Hermione wasn't sure. But she didn't want to be the cause of her own humiliation.
"Alright, alright," he said. "That's great, but could you just go–?"
"What?" Hermione said, looking at him.
"I mean–no, you know, I just mean, over there . . . where you were . . . wherever, just go," he went on, looking around. "Before he sees–"
"Hermione?" said a hoarse voice. Ron cleared his throat as he approached them, pulling back his shoulders. He stumbled on the grass, stood up, and walked over with his ears red.
"Hello Ron," said Hermione with a smile. Harry smacked himself in the face and let his hand slide down. Hermione tilted her head in his direction.
"Great! GREAT!" said Harry, walking away. Hermione and Ron both stared after him.
"So what're you doin' here?" asked Ron.
"Came to watch you–" Hermione stopped. "Er, came to watch you and Harry and Ginny, you know . . . haven't seen you guys play in a bit . . ."
"Oh, great," he said, scratching the back of his head. He attempted to lean on his broom, slid off, and thumped his face off of the grass.
"Ron! You alright?" she asked, helping him up.
"Brilliant, fine, good," he spluttered.
"Alright! Let's go! Only a bit more to go now . . . a couple . . . release quaffle . . . timing . . . call it a night!"
Hermione and Ron both heard fragments of Harry's speech as he called the team in.
"Gotta go," said Ron.
"Okay, bye," said Hermione. And she watched as he flew off.
She shook her head. How was she going to make him realize that she didn't fancy him anymore? Hermione stopped. When did she stop fancying him? She had only a little while ago . . . she shrugged. She had too much to worry about without worrying about that too.
When she got back to the common room, Malfoy was hunched over the coffee table, papers spread out in front of him, and a quill in hand. The sight shocked Hermione so much she actually had to walk closer to make sure it was actually Malfoy.
"What are you doing?" she asked suddenly, from behind the couch. Malfoy started, whipped his head around, and stood.
"What am I doing? What am I doing?" he said, looking hysterical. "I've been doing our head's work for the past two hours! Where the bloody hell have you been!"
"I–!" Hermione began, shrinking back a bit with wide eyes.
"Yeah, that's what I thought!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Leave me with all the work, what a great Head Girl you are."
"You know what? I've been doing most of the work alone since we started, Malfoy," she began, drawing back her shoulders and narrowing her eyes at him. "Have I complained once? No! One night with the workload and you go insane!"
"I – what are you talking about?" he said. "Insane."
"Malfoy, did you know that none of this is due until Friday? Meaning we have another day. Meaning I could've done it later, or tomorrow?" said Hermione.
"WHAT?" he shouted.
"Yes, that's right," she went on, "you're an idiot. I agree. See, if you would have taken any part in any of the meetings, you would have known this. You would have known that we don't meet the prefects until Friday night, and you would have known that we had more time. It's you that's making a fool out of your position."
"You–!" he began. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again it was with indifference. "So where the hell were you anyway?"
"What does it matter to you?" Hermione asked him.
"Checking on your precious Gryffindors, were you?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.
"How did you–?" Hermione said, looking at him with dislike.
"Blaise saw you," said Draco simply, shrugging his head off to the side.
"So now you send your friends to spy on me?" Hermione snapped heatedly.
"Yeah right, like I care what you do that much," he scoffed. "I have no idea why he–never mind. Point is, you're trying to see if they're good enough to beat me."
"No," Hermione said at once, "I was not. Three of my best friends happen to be on that team, Malfoy."
He smirked, shook his head, and sat down on the couch, putting his feet up on the table, over all the paper work. "How many times do I have to tell you that you are an awful liar before you get it, Granger?"
Hermione said nothing, just glared at him. He laughed. Hermione got down on her knees and sat down by the coffee table, looking through all of the mixed up papers. She pulled the last stack from beneath his feet, and they flopped onto the floor.
"So now you're grumpy because I figured you out?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Oh shut up already!" she snapped, still looking through the papers.
He leaned forwards, his elbows resting on his knees with his hands folded. He smirked at her as she looked up at him.
"So how goes your burning passion for me?" He wiggled his eyebrows.
Hermione grimaced. She wished he would go away. He was making her very embarrassed about her previous actions.
"Not good?" he asked, in a fake sad-tone.
"Sod off, Ferret," she snapped.
"Aw, I can see you're bottling your feelings, because now I know, but," and he climbed right off of the couch and sat right next to her, "you really . . . suck . . . at hiding it . . ."
Hermione looked at him with a doubtful expression. His eyes flickered downward, and yet again, his eyebrows jumped up and down in his arrogant fashion "You know you want it."
Hermione jumped up. "MALFOY! Are you kidding me – for Merlin's sake, you're disgusting!"
Malfoy burst out laughing. Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"Oh you think you're so clever, but you're not," she snapped, grabbing the papers and throwing them in his face. His laughter did not falter. Hermione, beat red from anger and embarrassment, ran off to her room in a pout. That was another one for Malfoy.
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"But I wanted Thursdays!"
"No! I asked for them ages ago, and plus you already asked fer Fridays."
"What about me? I wanted Fridays and I got Mondays!"
"So what? Look at this! I had Wednesdays since I bin doin' it, and now I got stuck with Tuesdays and Saturdays at nine! I can't do them!"
Hermione smirked at Malfoy as he glared around the room.
"Looks like scheduling is harder than it seemed, isn't it Malfoy?" she said to him.
"Shut it," he snarled.
"I CAN'T DO MONDAYS!"
"But I can't do Thursdays, I can't switch now!"
"SHUT UP!"
The whole room went silent and everyone looked at Malfoy as his chest heaved and he wiped the hair from his face as it fell into his eyes.
"Now what the bloody hell are you all going on about?" he sneered to the room.
A mixture of complaints, whining and yelling and shouting erupted. One glare from Malfoy silenced them again. Hermione was momentarily impressed by his authority.
"One at a time, morons," he said stiffly.
"I cannot do Fridays, it's absolutely impossible!" said the fifth year blonde-headed girl. Hermione recognized her as Suzanne Sezanear, a near bobble-headed gossip machine that traveled in some of the same circles as Ginny.
"Why not?" drawled Malfoy in a bored tone.
"Well obviously because its only the best night of the week, I mean, Mondays are not good at all, because we just get back to school and there's like mountains and mountains of homework already, like you need a shovel to get through it all, and Tuesday's is so boring because my classes don't have any cute guys in them, but Wendy, my total bestest, is in all of those classes so its okay but on Wednesdays I can't either because I watch my boyfriend – oh my God he's dreamy! – practice for Quidditch, oh and then Thursday is just like one total big BLAH before the weekend starts and then on Friday the weekend has officially started so like, yeah right, I'm doing Prefect's duties? Purrrleaaze! I mean, ask anyone but me, I've always got things to do on a Friday night like one time, a couple weeks ago, me and Wendy, not Wendy in sixth year from Ravenclaw but Wendy in fifth year from Hufflepuff, we were with my boyfriend – she's totally jealous, always has been, and she denies it, but like, yeah right Wendy, I mean, I love her to death, but there's a line, you know? – and anyways, we were with my boyfriend and his friend and we were sneaking to this thing right and oh my God she like totally flips out and I was like calm down Wendy but like Peeves was like flying over her head and like singing this song about this monstrous zit that she got like two days ago and oh Merlin she was like beat red and my boyfriend like started to laugh and I started to laugh and his friend started to laugh and we all laughed and then we like all stopped . . ." she took a enormous breath and continued, "and it was SUCH a good night like we had so much fun, except for Wendy from fifth year in Hufflepuff, we aren't BFF anymore, now I'm BFF with Wendy from sixth year in Ravenclaw and she wears way nicer nail polish anyway so like duh? Why not be her bestest friend and like she invited me to this thing on Friday night next week and if I have Prefect's duties how can I go? I mean, I'd have to blow them off, but I don't want to, so the only reasonable and sane solution is to not schedule me for Friday nights, because I'm never available, do you like get it now? I mean, it's pretty simple."
The room was silent. Malfoy's eyes bulged out of his head like never before as he stared at her with his mouth gaping slightly. "Er–?"
Hermione stood, pushed Malfoy back into his seat and cleared her throat while she leafed through some papers. She looked at the large blackboard beside her with the schedules written out. "Okay, Suzanne you will do Tuesdays and Thursdays, Charlie, your back to Sundays and Wednesdays, Lora, Rosemary, Leo and Vern, your all back to your regulars, oh and Sheila, I know that you have an extra class to handle so you'll only do one day a week for now until your caught up, and then Ron, you can take Saturdays and Mondays, alternating like before, and Ralph and Jack you are taking your schedules and moving the first day forward and the second day back, the times stay the same, and then Sam and Eric and Jackson you three will take your old schedules and just switch the alternation to the opposite week, okay ? And . . . that seems like it . . . the rest look relatively okay . . . oh, and Fredrick, you take your times, and move them forward an hour on Mondays and take the hours you have on Fridays and move them back one, and that'll fix the conflict with the curfews, okay?"
There was a slight murmur in the room for a second, and it died away a second later.
"Good, you can go now," Hermione said, dismissing them. "Don't forget about the Hogsmade date and Filches' rule about the magic masks in the Great Hall. If there are any questions, come find either me or Malfoy." Hermione paused. "Try to find me first."
And the crowd thinned.
"Well, maybe next time you'll take it slow and do it right?" Hermione simpered. She looked at Malfoy and raised her eyebrows.
"She . . ." he said slowly, "talked so fast . . . It actually hurt me a little bit."
Hermione laughed. "She does tend to get a bit carried away with her . . . stories," Hermione said, shrugging as she packed the papers away into her bag.
"So," said Malfoy, standing up, "ready for me to beat you precious Gryffindors tomorrow?"
"First off, I am a Gryffindor, I don't own them. And second, you're not going to win," said Hermione, heading towards the door.
"Yeah, sure, believe whatever you want Granger, but my team's got a few . . . new tricks up our sleeves," he said.
Hermione stopped, turned to face him and narrowed her eyes, "If I catch you cheating Malfoy, you lose the bet."
"Cheating? I don't have to cheat to beat the likes of Potter and his magical gang of misfits," he scoffed. "I'm just warning you, if you admit defeat to me now, I won't make it so hard on you."
"I'm not giving up," she said immediately. "You are going to lose tomorrow, and you are just trying to get to me to call off the bet so that you don't have to."
"You're wrong."
"You're scared."
And they stood there glaring at each other for a moment longer before Hermione remembered that she had somewhere to be. And so she turned and left the room.
"Just remember I gave you an out!" he said as the door swung shut.
Hermione smirked and shook her head. He was pathetic. Giving her an 'out'? She didn't need an out. She needed a new roommate, a better Head Boy, and an antidote for arrogance, but she didn't need an out. She was fine in, right where she was.
She made her way to the Gryffindor tower and headed inside.
"Hey Hermione," said Ginny. "How was the meeting? Ron said Malfoy made a fool of himself."
"He did, it was great," said Hermione, approaching her friend. "So . . . are you guys all ready for the match tomorrow?"
"Oh yeah, we're set," said Ginny excitedly. "Harry's even come up with these new defense tricks, we'll win for sure."
Hermione smiled. "Good."
"Why are you all of a sudden so interested in Quidditch?" asked Ginny. "First you come to practice, and now your making sure we're set for the game? I don't get it."
"Just trying to support the team, be a little more involved," said Hermione in defense. Just then Harry and Ron came down from the boy's dormitories.
"Hey 'Mione,' said Harry. "I heard Sezanear gave Malfoy an earful tonight."
"You should have seen his face," said Ron, laughing.
So the four of them sat down at a table in the corner by the fire and chatted for a while. They discussed the team for a while, and Hermione was more than willing to listen. After they had finally moved off of that topic, Ginny mentioned something about Professor Dolop.
"Someone said that he's not married," said Ginny, smiling at Hermione.
"Who?" asked Hermione. The three of them looked at her. "Well, just asking."
"Hm, it was one of Suzanne's friends I think actually," said Ginny thoughtfully. "Noticed he doesn't wear a ring at all. So she asked him an' he said he wasn't."
"Oh," said Hermione. She had already known this of course, but she didn't understand why it was so interesting to Ginny. "Why is that so important?"
"Well, when I thought he was, that was different, it was all jokes," said Ginny, looking down and still smiling. Harry looked away and Ron grimaced.
"You know Ginny, that may have been the stupidest thing you have ever said or thought about," said Hermione bluntly. "You're kidding right?"
"But he's so hot!" whined Ginny. And as the boys were still looking away Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked at Harry. Ginny blushed a little and shrugged.
"But anyway," said Hermione after a moment. "You should be excited for the holidays, right? They're only a month away now."
And Harry and Ron had a lot to say about that. They were planning to go to the Weasley's for Christmas, well Ron and Harry and Ginny.
"You're invited too, Hermione, of course, mum would never let us leave you here," said Ron. He wasn't looking at her though.
"Oh," was all she could say. Did she want to go there again this year? Harry and Ginny would probably want some alone time, did she want to be forced into that situation? Hermione pushed that to the back of her mind for now. It was a while off. She had time to think about it later.
And they talked an hour more. Hermione thought it was nice to just sit and laugh with her friends like they had used to do all the time; when she had resided in the Gryffindor tower. She missed it a lot. Why did the Head Girl and Boy have to share a dorm? Why would Dumbledore do that? Have a person living with their friends for six years, and then have them removed for the graduation year?
But maybe Hermione needed some independence? She was independent in her studies, but living alone had given her a larger sense of responsibility – it was more like real life. But did she want to face that kind of thing before she had to? Why couldn't she just stay with her friends, and have their last year just as good, even better, then the previous ones?
Hermione couldn't help but to notice, that since they had started talking and her mind had wandered . . . that his chair had moved considerably closer to her own. She shook the thought off. So what? No big deal. So they talked for a while more. Harry and Ginny had a few awkward moments, where they were all laughing, and the two would catch each other's eye and stare for a moment before looking away. Hermione was happy that they were getting closer. But she wasn't happy that Ron had just inched his way even closer to her.
But when his hand slipped over her own underneath the table, she couldn't explain the feeling she had gotten.
Hermione leapt from her seat, and thwacked her head off of a statuette on the wall behind her. She held her head for a moment, feeling dizzy.
"Hermione!" gasped Ginny. "Are you alright?"
Harry stood to help her. Ron still sat at his chair staring down, but Hermione knew he was looking at his hand. She could notice his reddening ears at a glance.
"Yeah . . . fine," she mumbled, embarrassed.
"Hermione–?" said Ginny, beside her. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine, but I have to go," she said quickly, heading for the door. She avoided Ron's eyes all the time until she was out in the hallway and the portrait door swung shut behind her.
She stopped, leaned against the wall, and breathed a moment. What was that? Why had she just acted like that? Why had Ron touching her hand been such a big deal.
"He's practically my brother . . ." she said underneath her breath. She growled out of frustration and set off in a fast paced walk down the corridor.
She didn't even remember heading back to her dorm . . . partially because she didn't go to her dorm. She headed towards Professor Dolop's office. And as she knocked on his door, she wondered why she was there. What was he going to say? But she did not turn around. She was already there.
And he opened his door, wearing black-framed glasses Hermione had not seen him wear before. They looked good on him.
"Hermione–?"
"I am a terrible person! Terrible!" she said, throwing her hands up in the air and walking into her friend's office. She slumped down into the chair she usually occupied.
"What's–?" he said, sitting in his chair.
"Ron."
"Weasley?" he asked, his brow raised.
"Yes."
"What's he done now?" he asked, a slight grin etching onto his lips. Hermione almost smiled, but a churning feeling in her stomach stopped her.
"Nothing, it's me who's gone and done it," she sighed, letting her head fall into her hands. "We've been friends since first year . . . since he and Harry saved me from that troll, remember, I told you? Well, anyway, along the lines . . . somewhere, I guess we sort of developed this . . . thing . . ."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, shaking his head a little bit.
"I guess . . . maybe a relationship . . . but not even close, ugh," she went on, sighing again. There were a few moments of silence until Dolop cleared his throat.
"You two . . . have a thing?" he said at last.
"No, no, believe me, no we don't," said Hermione. "It's just, I used to fancy him . . . and now I don't . . . I dunno if he used too, if he did, he hid it well, I was more sort of–"
"The point . . . ?" Dolop said, interrupting her rambling.
"Right, well, the point is that he really fancies me now . . . and I don't at all," she replied. And then there was more silence. Hermione wasn't uncomfortable, she didn't expect him to have a lot to say about this. It was, after all, about she and Ron. "I am a terrible person."
"No, you're not, believe me, you're not," he said. "You cannot help your feelings. How they change, how they disappear . . ." he went on, looking at her as she gnawed on her lower lip and stared at nothing in particular. "How they develop . . ."
"Hm?" asked Hermione.
"I–oh my, what's–?" he jumped up, rounded the desk and approached Hermione with haste. Her eyes widened at the look on his face.
"What?" she asked nervously.
"You're bleeding!"
"What?" she said again. She felt her neck and looked at her hands; blood. Her heart fluttered in her chest as a tendril of blood snaked its way down her neck.
"How do you feel?" he asked frantically.
And then Hermione suddenly knew, and she laughed.
"Oh no, you're delirious!" he said, looking around the room for nothing in particular.
"Professor–!"
"Are you dizzy?"
"Professor Dolop I–"
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"I–!"
"Can you could backwards from ten?"
"Wait–!"
"Can you–?"
"PROFESSOR!"
And then he was quiet, and he stared at her unblinkingly.
"I'm okay," she said slowly, grinning slightly.
"You – are?"
"Yes."
"You're quite sure?"
"I am."
"Oh," he said, pausing for a moment, "good . . ."
"I did it to myself," she said, moving her hair over one shoulder so the blood would not touch her hair.
"You–?"
"Yes, oh, well, not on purpose, of course," she went on. "When I jumped up, away from Ron – he tried to hold my hand – and I jumped up like he had burned me. Oh Merlin, I'm a terrible person."
"Stop with that for a moment, and let me see," he said, moving behind her as he regained his composure. Hermione obliged. She tilted her head over a little. "It's not bad, I don't think you'll need to see Madame Pomfrey."
"Okay," she said. "So you'll fix it then?"
"Well," he said, pausing. "I'm not an expert at healing spells – I am a muggle studies Professor after all. But it shouldn't be too hard to do it manually."
"Manually?" she asked, unmoving.
"Yes, one moment.
And he was gone. Hermione turned to see him open a door she had never noticed and come out quicky again with a white cloth in his hand.
"Go back the way you were, please," he said, and she did.
And then she started as he touched it to her neck; it was very cold.
"Sorry," he said, wiping off the blood. "Cold water usually works better with blood."
"Okay," she said again. Why couldn't she say anything else? Hermione thought it was surreal, at the beginning of the night she had been arguing with Malfoy, then laughing with her friends . . . and now she was seated here, having blood wiped from her neck by Professor Dolop. And he still had his glasses on. And they looked good. How had she not seen his glasses before? And how had she not noticed what Ginny had meant, by his face being especially symmetrical?
But what did that matter?
He looks good.
But what does that matter!
Goosebumps rose on the back of Hermione's neck as she felt a soft rush of air touch her skin. It was cooling. And then she realized that it was Dolop.
How had she gotten here again? Why did she feel dizzy still? And why was she feeling a rush of warmth over herself? It was hot in here. She needed a glass of water. She needed to go to bed. She was tired. Very tired.
He looks good.
And then that thought crept in through her mind again. Why had she noticed that?
Why did you just notice that?
And then she shook her head. And the cool rush of air had stopped. And there was silence. Hermione could hear her own heart beat in her ears. And she could hear Dolop's breathing. He was still behind her.
And then the silence was broken as he cleared his throat and pushed her hair back over her right shoulder. He rounded his desk and put the cloth down slowly.
"It wasn't bad," he said. "Er, you should probably . . . go . . . er, rest."
"Okay."
And there was that word again! Say something else.
"Er, thanks," Hermione managed to say. At the beginning of the night she couldn't shut up, and now she could hardly think of four words to say in a row!
"All right, feel better Hermione," he said quickly, getting up and opening the door. And Hermione stood and she approached the door. She turned and faced him for just a moment.
And then she left and was gone once more.
