Thank you so much to my awesome reviewers, especially those of you who review regularly :). I probably would give up on this if it wasn't for you guys! I'm not giving away my ending, you'll have to wait and see if Hermione ends up with Godric or Ron…but I can promise lots of romance before we get to that point! Happy reading, and please do review. 3
"Up!" Hermione tried again, shivering in spite of her cloak. It was a bitter morning, and frost clung to the grass of the Quidditch pitch. She was exhausted, having spent most of the night hunting for ever elusive mentions of time travel in the copious tomes in the library.
"UP!" She gritted her teeth in frustration. She had been unendingly thankful when flying lessons had stopped in her 3rd year at Hogwarts and had avoided brooms like bubotuber pus ever since. It wasn't just the dizzy heights and frigid rush of air that she hated. There was just no need for her to fly; she was perfectly capable of apparating thank you very much. Quidditch was a fairly pointless game, which she had tolerated for Harry, Ron and Ginny. On top of it all though, there was simply no logic to it. Flying relied on instinct and emotion, not book smarts and hard work. This, Hermione thought bitterly, was the biggest frustration of all. It didn't matter how long she studied the theory, she was still hopeless.
"Come on now, Miss Granger." The silky voice caressed her like a spider's cobweb and she shuddered, not just with cold. Salazar Slytherin strode deliberately in circles around her, a smirk on his lips.
"The first Years can do this."
"Well I can't!" She snapped, her teeth chattering. "It's a ridiculous subject, with little value!"
Hermione looked longingly towards the door to the castle entrance. The other students had been dismissed a good 5 minutes ago, and she was missing Household charms.
"10 points from Gryffindor." The founder admonished with a sneer. "And you would do well to remember who you are talking to. Up!" The broom flew effortlessly to his hand and he held it out for Hermione to sit on. She huffed, knowing from experience he would not let her go until he was satisfied, and sat inelegantly on the broom; striving not to brush against him. Side-saddle, because flying isn't stupid enough already.
The Slytherin let go, leaving Hermione's feet dangling about an inch off the frozen ground, and skirted around so he was facing her. She refused to meet his narrowed, clay coloured eyes and stared determinedly at the ground. Her jaw was set and her hands gripped the broom handle for dear life.
"Gently now, Miss Granger." He chided, easing her hands apart a little. She folded her arms stubbornly and his face hardened.
"Detention. Tomorrow, dusk." He smiled nastily and with obvious pleasure added "here."
By the time Hermione slipped into a seat next to Thea, the spot just above the bridge of her nose was throbbing. Her mood was considerably worsened when Professor Hufflepuff took another 5 points off Gryffindor for her tardiness, although it was clear she was reluctant to do so. Her friend glanced at her worriedly and continued to embroider delicate golden birds on the hemline of her dress robes, her wand tracing the pattern.
Hermione took out her own dress robes and tried to concentrate on thinning a swath of creamy silk to a translucent quality. It was slow, patient work and gave her no respite from her fury.
She skipped lunch and headed resolutely to the library to work on a healing essay on the properties of moonflower petals which she had planned to write tomorrow afternoon. Dotting a full stop a little too vigorously, she knocked the ink vial over the parchment. There was nothing to do but stare at it for a moment. The ink was rapidly being absorbed by the thick fibres of the scroll, and eating hungrily at the words she had spent the last hour scribing. She shook her bushy hair as she came to her senses and quickly cast a blotting spell. Realising it was too late to save it; she screwed her half-written essay up into a furious little ball and hurled it at the wall. If it hadn't have been the library, she would have surely screamed. Head throbbing dizzily, she collected the discarded essay and tossed it in the bin on her way out.
Will something please go right today.
Tears of tiredness pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them spill over. Her bag weighed heavily on her shoulder and her hair felt hot on the back of her neck. She grasped her wand for comfort as she entered the Great Hall. Godric Gryffindor glanced up from talking to Thea and Eleanor. The three were huddled in the corner, talking in low voices and Thea was gesturing wildly with her hands. Eleanor sent her a bright smile which Hermione couldn't return. She wondered vaguely what they were discussing as she set her bags to one side. Since she was late, she half expected the professor to take points off her, but he ignored her as he strode to the middle of the room.
"Most of you," he sent a sympathetic glance to Eleanor who flushed, "have mastered the art of non-verbal spells. Well done. Something we have not discussed however is a non-wizard opponent."
Arabella gasped sharply next to Hermione, sending a fresh wave of pain through her head.
"You mean you want us to attack muggles?!"
"No Miss Thornton," he said impatiently "That was not my implication. Who of you can venture what I may be describing?"
"A troll?" Thea suggested. This set the class off into various magical beings – merfolk, pixies, ghosts.
Eventually, Hermione raised her hand tiredly. "A boggart."
"A wise suggestion Miss Granger, but no. No, today we will learn to do battle with Dementors!"
Confused mumblings broke out amongst the class, although Hermione did notice Thomas nodding knowledgably.
"A new, jail is to open soon. Askaban, will be its name. The guardians of this god-forsaken place are to be creatures known as Dementors. Believe me when I say, you do not wish to be close enough to feel their breath on your cheek. Fortunately, there is a simple incantation to repel these foul beasts."
He stopped and met the eyes of every student in the class firmly.
"Dementors feed on fear and unhappiness. They make their feast from your pain and agony." He spoke softly. "The counter spell is simply a forced expression of joy. Pure, undiluted happiness. Thus…Expecto Patronum!"
He rolled the 'um' deep in his throat and flourished his wand purposively. Without hesitation, a silver lion pounced out of his wand tip and prowled the hall, causing a few girls to scream.
He instructed them to get into a space and the seventh years began. Cries of 'EXPECTOOOO PATRONUMMM!' rang out across the hall and wisps of silver hung to a couple of wands. Hermione dragged her usual memory to mind – a peaceful afternoon in the Three Broomsticks with Ron and Harry.
"Expecto Patronum." She muttered half heartedly and was rewarded with a distinct lack of, well, anything. She tried again a few times, trying to ignore the silver spurt that had erupted from Thomas' wand rather quickly. Most students had managed a silver mist by this point, and the lion was dozing under the table. Half an hour later, she felt herself burning as it became obvious that she was the only one who was yet to produce anything. Even Eleanor had achieved a few wisps of silver.
She felt Godric Gryffindor place his hand on her shoulders, a soothing touch but one she shied away from.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger." He murmured, and Hermione was sure she saw faint pink spots on his cheeks.
"Are you having difficulty?"
I can do this spell. I can. I don't fail at everything. Hermione told herself furiously.
Taking her silence as an affirmative, he looked at her gently. "Tell me, what is your memory?"
"Having a drink with my frie-" she stopped as he began shaking his head.
"No, that's not nearly powerful enough. There must be something else."
Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose as she thought and then lifted her wand.
Strong, keeper arms held her slender body against his muscular one. Her own arms were wrapped loosely around his neck and her hands tangled in his carroty hair. His lips were clumsy against hers, crushing them desperately with his kiss.
"Expecto patronum." A silver mist squeezed out of her wands tip and dissolved quickly in the air. She frowned in hurt confusion.
"That is good, Miss Granger, keep practising." Then louder, "Class is dismissed! Excellent effort today."
Hermione waved her friends out and lingered until the room had emptied apart from her professor. The young man was wearing his usual red robes and waving the large tables and benched to their rightful places. He looked up, seemingly unsurprised by her presence and spoke before she could.
"Miss Granger, do not worry yourself. It is a difficult spell to master. Why even the greatest of wizards…"
"I can do it." She interrupted. "My patronus is an otter. It just wouldn't work today."
He sighed and moved the last bench into place with a flick.
"Miss Granger-"
"I'm telling the truth! Look! Expecto patronum!" Nothing. "Ex-expecto patronum."
"Hermione." He spoke softly, his voice kind. "Are you unwell?"
"No. I'm fine. Well, that is I have a bit of a headache." She admitted lamely.
His brow furrowed with what Hermione assumed to be concern, although why a professor should be worried about her headache, she couldn't fathom.
"May I?" he stretched out an open palm and when she simply shrugged, placed it on her forehead. His hand felt rough and calloused but refreshingly cool against her aching eyes. He muttered a spell under his breath and the throbbing died down to a dull ache. Hermione sighed with relief.
"Thank you." She made to step away from him, but he caught her cheek in his palm and looked closely into her eyes.
"There is more. Something you are not divulging."
"I'm just tired." She blushed.
"No." He growled. "Hermione – Miss Granger, if something has upset you, I beg of you to let me know. I would have no discomfort come to you in this castle."
She met his eyes curiously, and it was like staring into a bubbling stream. They held intensity, and were constantly fluid with unspoken emotion. He greeted her rich, deep orbs without flinching.
"It's like I said, professor, I'm fine." Even to her ears, the line sounded phony.
He dropped his hand loosely to his side and Hermione, to her embarrassment, found herself longing for him to replace it.
"I implore you to get an early night then." His voice had returned to its humming melodic tone. "After all, the ball is approaching swiftly and it would not do for you to be tired for such an occasion. I am sure your suitor would be terribly disappointed if that were the case."
It was him that strode out of the room, offering her a polite bow before he did so. The young Gryffindor stood like a suit of armour for a moment before sinking to the floor in a heap of black robes and frizzy hair. For the first time since the night at the window, she wept. She cried for her exhaustion; for her frustration; and mostly for the kiss that no longer filled her with joy.
