The House Competition
Round Eight - It's the End of the Word as we know it
Ravenclaw, DADA
Drabble
(Restriction) No characters under the age of 50-years-old.
Word Count: 506
Thank you, Bea, for betaing.
The Defiant Hero
"Harry, this is a horrible idea," Hermione said, slowly lowering her body into the chair. She looked disdainfully at the mess on Harry's desk. Her fingers reached out to collect the myriad of quills that were scattered all over.
"Stop it, this is my office." Harry snatched the quills out of her hand. "Why? I mean, why is it a bad idea? It is important for Aurors to train regularly."
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. It had gotten pretty quiet after the war. They had managed to round up all of the missing Death Eaters and year after year, the crime rates decreased. There wasn't much need for Aurors anymore. And as a result, the job lost much of its prestige and not many young people were interested in pursuing that career.
"You don't need any dueling skills to rescue kittens," Ron said, still chewing on his sandwich. A drop of mayonnaise was formed on the edge and dripped onto his trousers. He collected it with his finger and licked it off.
Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron turning her attention back to him. "Harry, you're not 18 anymore, you're 80. Dueling at our age isn't recommended."
"But I have still a lot to teach. And it would be awesome."
She levitated a book to her table. It was thicker than her head and leatherbound with metal applications. "I could help you organize a theoretical course."
"Since when do you use magic for such mundane tasks?" Ron asked her.
"I'm a witch," Hermione insisted.
Ron looked at her skeptically. "You can't lift those heavy tomes anymore, can you?"
"Of course, I can!" Her white hair was standing up in all directions. "I'm not frail!"
She slowly raised herself from the chair and lifted the book. She hissed. Biting her lip, she made funny faces. There was a crack and Hermione dropped the heavy tome onto the floor. The floor vibrated from the impact.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked. He readjusted his glasses and leaned forward to see her better. The deep lines on his face made his scar almost disappear.
"I'm fine."
Ron put down his sandwich. He looked at her quizzically. "Did you just break your arm?"
"No."
Reaching forward he tried to catch her arm but Hermione was avoiding him. "Stop being silly." He grabbed her arm and she winced in pain.
"I'm not young anymore." Her face was crimson. Her white hair was standing up in all directions and sparks seemed to fly from it.
"You could read normal-sized books and leave those monstrosities." With a flick of his wand, Ron healed her arm. "Better?"
Hermione grumbled. "Like I've said, we're too old for dueling. We should be sitting in a rocking chair on the terrace reading. No one in your department is under fifty-five."
"That's not true," Harry insisted, "Smith is only 51, I know that because he told me just recently. His father died at 51."
Ron scratched his bald head. "Mate, this was five years ago."