Chapter 9: The Miscalculations of Hermione Granger

This is getting out of hand, thought Hermione, watching the thirty-six members of the Midnight Quidditch Club flit happily around the Pitch.

It had all started out so innocently. Just a small group of friends, getting together for a friendly game.

Now they had people from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff involved, and one quiet third-year Slytherin called Astoria Greengrass, who looked so frail that a strong wind might topple her, let alone the rush of air that one continually faced while flying. Nonetheless, the girl loosened up after the first hour or so and seemed quite surprised to face almost no direct animosity from the rest of the Club. Some of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had expressed some reservations, but seeing at how tentative and shy she was, most of the group seemed quite content to take her in as one of their own. Hermione had a suspicion that the girl didn't have many friends in her own house, or many at all. It was just as well, she supposed. After all, Hermione had been the one to suggest they build more connections and friendships between the houses. But she didn't expect it all to happen so soon, and with so many people!

She watched as Ron saved a goal from Alicia with ease, tossing the Quaffle over to Ginny, who zoomed down the Pitch single-mindedly, scattering Colin Creevey, Jason Phelangie, and Seamus Finnegan with her sheer speed. Rapidly, she approached Hermione and shot, braking to a halt to watch the results of her pitch. Hermione urged her broom up to the centre goalpost and managed to snag the Quaffle with one hand, almost dropping it. Pleased with herself, she threw it over to Dean, who took it back down the other end.

Hermione comforted herself with the fact that she had, at least done the right thing, in a way. That was to say, she had managed to make herself less wholly responsible for the whole thing should it all go to hell. Which she knew was a very selfish thing to do. But she had been shaken by the whole incident with Harry that week and she needed to do something to make herself feel secure. So much of this year, and the year before, was out of her hands, out of her control. And if Hermione despised one thing, it was not feeling in control. So, she had taken it upon herself to make a decisive action earlier that afternoon.

"Professor," she said, knocking lightly on Lupin's open office door. "May I have a word?"

"Hermione!" Lupin greeted her pleasantly. "Come in, come in, I'm just finishing up for the day, you've come at a good time."

She shut the door and took her seat, wringing her hands, very conflicted about what she was about to do. She knew Sirius had said it would be okay, but she couldn't be sure… Professor Lupin was, in his own way, quite like her. Which meant it was likely that he'd be as angry about the whole thing as she would have been had she not known about it, and had she not been corrupted with the boys' rebellious attitudes.

"So, Hermione," said Lupin, sipping from his tea and pushing his papers to one side. "What's bothering you?"

"Bothering me?" squeaked Hermione. "Why would you say that?"

Lupin raised a polite eyebrow. "You just jumped about a foot. You're wringing your hands, and you seem to be speaking in a register where only werewolves can hear you." He chuckled. "My little joke, forgive me. But what's wrong?"

"Oh, um." She did not know where to begin.

Lupin leaned forward a little. "Is it to do with Harry?"

"No! Well, a little, perhaps."

She saw Lupin's lips struggling to turn down. "Go on," he said.

"Okay, Professor, well, the thing is, you know me. I don't break rules at all if I can help it."

Lupin again raised an eyebrow. "Harry told me you set Snape's robes on fire in First Year. Then there was the Polyjuice Potion Ron mentioned in Second, not to mention freeing Sirius from the tower in Third… I could go on."

Hermione flushed. "I don't break rules if I have a choice," she amended.

Lupin acknowledged the truth in that.

"But this term, well… we've sort of been…"

"Would this have anything to do," said Lupin with a wolfish smile, "with the Midnight Quidditch Club?"

Hermione's tongue flapped uselessly as the words she had been about to utter lost themselves between her brain and mouth.

Lupin chuckled. "Hermione, you're speaking to the man who spent seven years at this school with James Potter and Sirius Black. I'm well in practice at noticing when students are up to no good, and very good at pretending not to notice, at least when I consider said no-gooders to mean no harm."

"But—" Hermione stammered, now a little injured that he had somehow found out about it. "But we were so careful! All our charms and concealments, and nobody would have told you, I made them sign a contract! I'd know! How?"

"Ah, Hermione, I have my ways." Lupin smiled at her for a long moment in which she stared back at him, and then he relented. "That, and Sirius told me at your birthday party."

Hermione's jaw dropped in indignation and she folded her arms crossly.

Lupin held out a placating hand. "You're right, you did a very good job. The Invisibility Marquee, eh? Catchy. You could make a fortune selling that idea. And the Illusionment Charm, very nice touch. But I suppose you're expecting me to reprimand you in some way for breaking a dozen school rules, force you to disband the Club, or perhaps invite me to join? After all, what could you stand to gain by telling me?"

Hermione kept her arms crossed, but remained deeply confused. "I just—I wanted to tell someone responsible. Someone like me."

"And now you have. Do you feel better?"

"A little. But Professor, you really don't mind? I mean, now you know, you have to keep it a secret from the other teachers. I mean," she hastened to correct herself, "not that you have to, I wouldn't ask you to do that, but well, now you're in the know, you take on some of the responsibility, not that I'm asking you to, but—"

"Hermione, Hermione," said Lupin, and she stopped speaking. He tilted his head to one side kindly. "You remind me of myself a little, at your age."

Hermione was both flattered and embarrassed.

"I, too, agonized over whether I should turn my friends in for their countless misdeeds, until I eventually gave up and participated in their supposedly fiendish schemes. I owed it to them, after all, nobody else had expressed a desire to be my friend. And I imagine I realised that they were just trying to have fun. After all, that is what people at your age should be doing. I just wish I realised it sooner. But, the odds were always stacked against me. I'd hate to see you make the same mistakes I did, when you clearly have such fun-loving friends."

Hermione looked at him with a softened gaze and forgot to keep her arms crossed. "I—well, Sirius said something similar."

"I imagine so," said Lupin, amused. He also looked quite wistful.

"He also said that you probably would be okay with it. He's been right about a lot of things, you know. I guess I should start taking Sirius more seriously…"

Lupin chuckled. "I'm sure he'd be both delighted and very amused to hear you use those particular words."

Hermione allowed herself a wry smile. "Since you're not turning us in, and if you aren't busy Friday nights, you are welcome to come along. I think everyone would feel safer with a teacher there. You're probably the one Professor that most of us feel comfortable around outside class."

"Irony at its finest, Hermione," said Lupin, but he looked quite pleased and surprised. "I'll think about it. Perhaps you could benefit from a good referee…"

"I think we'd like that," said Hermione.

"I do appreciate you coming to me about this," said Lupin.

Hermione nodded quickly.

"Anything else on your mind?"

Hermione made a show of thinking about it, then shook her head. "No, sir."

"Are you sure?" said Lupin curiously. He seemed to be egging her on to mention something, and Hermione had the distinct impression it was about Harry.

"Well, now you mention it," said Hermione, determined to turn the tables on him, "there is, of course the matter of that parchment… don't think Harry and I have forgotten about it, just because it seems to be kept hidden more safely these days, and not flashed about. It started with you, so I can only return to my investigation there, that is, here, at the scene of the crime."

"Well," said Lupin loudly as if she had not spoken, "thank you for visiting me, Miss Granger, it's been grand, but I've just got one more paper to mark, so…" He gestured to the door.

Hermione resisted the urge to shout at him—she knew Professor Lupin liked her very much, but he was still, of course, a Professor, and probably wouldn't take kindly to verbal abuse in his own office—and stood with dignity, seeing herself out the door. She did make sure to shut it with just the right amount of finality and authority.

"There," she muttered to herself. "That'll show him." And feeling a little better about everything, she walked off, ready for another night of the Midnight Quidditch Club, now with the blessing of one Professor R. J. Lupin.

Now, Hermione hovered on the school broomstick in front of the goalposts. For the first time, Harry had reclaimed his Firebolt, with Hermione's assurance that she had improved enough to sit on the school broom. Watching him flit around the pitch, she realised how much he had been held back these past few weeks. Now, the Fleabags stood no chance against his unerring speed and skill.

The thirty-odd players had settled into a comfortable routine, and each person seemed to have selected a side, becoming quite loyal to their team. There was now a little of that competitive spirit that seemed so important to Quidditch. Not too competitive—it was still very friendly—but there was a little less holding back now everyone had settled in. Harry was putting no stops out tonight. He ended the first game after just thirty minutes, leaving the score at 300-140, in Pigfarts' favour. In fact, Hermione got the distinct impression that Harry, usually so modest and humble, was showing off.

Hermione had managed to save more than her usual share of goals, even on the school broom (Harry had arrived early and set aside the best one for her), and dismounted onto the Pitch with more grace than she had been able to manage thus far.

"Good game, Harry," she said to him, as he dismounted beside her.

"Game?" said Seamus Finnegan grumpily. "What game? All I saw was Harry kicking our butts."

Hermione smiled patiently at him. "Guess the Fleabags will just have to up their game for the second match."

Seamus, George, Ron and the rest of the Fleabags seemed to take that as a challenge. The next match was considerably closer. It was so long that both teams switched out players multiple times, some going to rest on the stands and cheer everyone else on.

Hermione recognised the song playing through Fred and George's boombox. 'To Love You More', by Celine Dion. Hermione loved the singer, although she would never admit it to Harry or Ron. Her parents had introduced her to Dion's music earlier that summer, and one of her records had been on a loop for quite a few days as Hermione tried to stop thinking about Harry, which was a very counterproductive activity. She had subsequently spent a lot of time hugging her pillow to her chest while lip-syncing to the countless love songs (not singing; she wouldn't subject anybody to listen to that, especially not herself).

Now, she sat on the side-lines and watched Harry soar up to the goalposts to score one of his rare Chaser goals. The Quaffle slipped past Ron, who swore loudly. Harry did a victory lap, passing by Hermione with a whoosh of air and a carefree grin. She waved at him as he went, but he didn't notice.

She had hoped that her earlier assertion that she was not with Viktor in any sense of the word would urge Harry on to finally ask her out, now he had a clear field, so to speak. Sadly, it was to no avail. He seemed to have lost a little of his confidence, if ever it had existed in the first place. Granted, she had been rather upset and confused with his actions earlier that week, but a little flattered nonetheless at what was so clearly a reaction of jealousy. Or was it jealousy? Was it really that he just didn't want to see her get hurt? She had asked him, hadn't he, why it had mattered to him so much. And he hadn't said what she had so longed to hear...

"You were my strength when I was weak,

You were my voice when I couldn't speak.

You were my eyes when I couldn't see,

You saw the best there was in me."

Suddenly she found the music very irritating. She didn't need Celine Dion there reminding her that she was in love with Harry, who for all intents and purposes, didn't love her back. She was quite glad when the ballad was replaced with 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.' Because Hermione wanted to have fun. She stood and went over to the drinks station that Lee Jordan had set up and grabbed herself a Butterbeer, taking a long draught as she watched Ginny perform a little dance on her broomstick, taunting Dean, whom she had just scored against.

The game stretched out, and Hermione occupied herself with drinking, sometimes joined by other players, but mostly sitting and watching Harry. She was feeling down, for some reason, and drank mostly for an excuse not to talk to anyone, and to have something to do with her fidgety hands. Before Hermione knew it, it was one-thirty in the morning, and she had had five Butterbeers, and Harry's team had just won spectacularly yet again.

"Well done, Harry!" one of Ginny's friends called out. Hermione watched closely; the blonde girl seemed to be throwing herself at Harry as they descended to the ground, talking to him admiringly. Hermione felt the strong desire to throw her empty bottle at her. Harry seemed quite flattered by the interest, which increased her grumpiness.

The energy was high after the match, and nobody seemed desirous to go to bed. Fred and George suggested an afterparty, here on the Quidditch Pitch, which everyone responded to with cheers. They had plenty of Butterbeer and snacks, and even an evil looking bottle of Firewhisky which Ron was eyeing carefully.

"Hey, Hermione!"

Hermione turned to see Susan approaching her. "Susan!" she said, painfully aware that she was a little tipsy. "Well-played tonight, my friend."

"Thank you!" said Susan, quite pleased. "I didn't see you out there much tonight."

"I've been drinking," Hermione announced.

Susan raised an eyebrow and looked at the bottles littering the benches by Hermione. "So I see," she said, amused. "You doing alright?"

"Doing fine," said Hermione carelessly, accidentally knocking over a bottle to the grass. "Nobody does fine like I do, Susan. Susan, Susan, Susan…"

"That is my name," said Susan.

"Yes, it is," said Ron, who had just joined them. "Can I get Susan a drink, Susan?"

Susan giggled. "I'd like that. Come with, Hermione?"

Hermione stood a little unsteadily—Ron raised an amused eyebrow—and followed them over to the table, which was besieged by thirsty Quidditch players. Susan and Ron grabbed their first Butterbeers and Hermione grabbed her sixth. Harry joined them and cracked open his own bottle. His hair was very windswept, and even more messy than usual; it was very attractive.

"Harry," said Hermione quite suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"What was that girl saying to you?"

Harry frowned. "Oh, Janice? Nothing much, just stuff about the game."

So, Janice, was she? First name basis, are you? "How nice," said Hermione, and took a swig of Butterbeer.

"Well, cheers, I guess," said Harry, drinking from his own bottle.

"Yes, cheers," said Hermione vaguely.

Ron looked as if he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "Harry," he muttered in what was apparently supposed to be a furtive manner. "Firewhisky, Harry, over there: how about it?"

Harry looked wary, and looked at Hermione. "Er, really? Now?"

"Why not, mate?"

Hermione noticed that Harry seemed to be awaiting her approval, so she voiced it. "Firewhisky!" she said loudly. "Let's all do one!" And she led her way over to the bottle, where a few short glasses were lined up. Clumsily, she poured out three glasses and handed Harry and Ron one each.

"What are we drinking to, Hermione?" asked Ron, who looked as though Christmas had come early.

"To Celine Dion," slurred Hermione. "No, to Quidditch. No, to Lupin, the miserable fink… why didn't he come along tonight?"

"You asked Lupin to come here?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"Yes, why should we have all the fun?"

Ron shrugged. "He'd be welcome, I suppose."

"Anyway," said Hermione, getting back to the drinking. "To—to Hoggy-Warty Hogwarts!"

"To Hogwarts!" Harry and Ron chorused.

They downed their shots.

The spirit burned Hermione's throat but she held it down. The boys spluttered, faces going red, and they slammed their glasses down on the table. Susan laughed at their reactions.

"Sweet Merlin," Ron gasped. "So that's what all the fuss is about…"

"That was almost as bad as the Polyjuice Potion," Harry coughed.

Hermione looked at them smugly. "That was nothing," she said confidently. "Orange juice has more of a kick. Bartender!" She waved vaguely at Fred. "Another!"

Fred came over, holding in his laughter. "Think you'd better let it settle a while, Hermy."

Hermione slapped him good-naturedly on the arm. "You," she said, "Gred. Or Forge. Fredge. what did I tell you about that name?"

"That you love it?" said Fred cheekily.

"That I love it," Hermione agreed.

Harry and Ron burst out laughing.

"What a time to make your drinking debut, Hermione," said Ron mirthfully.

"I've drunk before," snapped Hermione. "I'm not a prude. I have imbibed the alcohol."

"Uh-huh," said Harry, tears in his eyes from laughter. "I think we'd better stop you imbibing any more tonight, though."

"You can't stop me," Hermione claimed. "Nobody shall stand in my way. Unless you want detention, Potter."

"What if I do?" asked Harry playfully.

Hermione's addled brain tried to compute what he had just said. Was that flirting? She decided it was. "You dirty flirt," she said, poking a finger into his chest, feeling the firm muscles within with surprised excitement. "You've given me no choice. Ten points to Gryffin-drawer. I mean Gryffindor. And you'll address me as Professor, Potter. Or else."

"Yes, Professor." Harry seemed to have turned red, although perhaps that was still the Firewhisky.

Be careful, Granger, Hermione told herself. You've got to restrain yourself. What were you thinking, drinking so many Butterbeers, taking a shot… but then, why shouldn't you? Yes, Lupin was right. It's time to have some fun.

And so Hermione had fun. Lots of it. She didn't remember much of what happened next, but she knew that music was involved, and drunken flying, and silly games, and dancing, somehow, and dancing with Harry, or someone she thought was Harry, and Fred and George setting off fireworks, and Dean and Ginny snogging behind the stands where they thought nobody could see.

So this, thought Hermione to herself, is what it's like to be a teenager. This is what it's all about.

Harry swayed awkwardly with a drunken Hermione, holding her waist with one arm, and his other hand on her shoulder. How had they ended up here?

He'd had another couple of Butterbeers, and a second shot of Firewhisky with Ron—he'd had to stop Hermione from having another, though he thought she might have snuck one when he wasn't looking. He was beginning to feel the effects, and he wasn't sure if he and Hermione were actually swaying in time to the music or if it was the Pitch under their feet that was tilting back and forth.

His left hand was on Hermione's waist just where her shirt and jeans met. He could feel the heat of her skin below, feel the contour of her body. He wondered if his hand was in a place where it shouldn't be, but he looked down to where Hermione's fingers were pressed firmly to his chest, tracing circles, and decided that he wasn't.

Two singers crooned a duet from the boombox:

"I'll hold you close, in my arms...

I can't resist your charms...

And I, I'd play the fool, for you, I'm sure...

You know I don't mind..."

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of Hermione's shampoo and the strong alcohol, feeling quite blissful and very lucky to have her here, in his arms. He would gladly be a fool for Hermione; he was a fool. But he didn't mind...

It was coming to three in the morning. Almost all the non-Gryffindors had gone up to their dorms. He vaguely remembered saying goodbye to a smirking Susan, a vacant Luna, and an amused Hannah Abbott. Everyone seemed to be whispering about Hermione—it was a rare sight, to see her so sloppy and unceremonious. Harry just hoped they wouldn't spread the news; he wasn't sure Hermione's hex on the list of members extended to simple gossip.

Ron was livid; he had discovered Dean kissing Ginny behind the stands and had got into a raging row with the two of them. Harry had let them fight it out; Hermione seemed very interested in him right now and it would be churlish of him to refuse her his company. Not that they did much coherent speaking—that seemed beyond both of them right now. But it was nice to just sway here, in the aftermath of it all.

Harry was wondering why none of them had ever drank before. Heavily, that was. Everyone had been in such a good mood—even people he didn't usually get along with were perfectly friendly—and Hermione was so interested in him that he thought briefly about telling her how he felt. But as he looked down at her, her eyelids fluttering shut as she murmured something unintelligible into his shoulder, he knew now was not the time. She probably wouldn't remember it the next day, and he didn't think he'd get the courage up to say it again.

George yawned loudly over on the benches. "Time for a kip, I reckon," he said.

Harry heard Fred shushing him, and then a whispered conversation. He looked over at the twins from beyond Hermione's hopelessly frazzled hair. They quickly looked away from him. Harry decided that he'd better end his and Hermione's 'dance' just now. He had no idea how long they'd been swaying here together, nor how many people had seen them. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Or whose idea had it been? Hopefully Hermione's…

"Hermione," he muttered gently.

"Hmm…"

"Hermione, we should be going…"

"But this's so nice…"

"It is," Harry agreed. "But sleepy-time… I mean, time for sleep. Bed, is what I mean."

"Bed," Hermione agreed. "Lesh-go."

Harry slowly manoeuvred them over to the Marquee's exit. "Come on, out we go, watch yourself."

They clumsily stepped out, even as Fred and George were turning off all the lights and music and dismantling the Marquee. Ron was out behind them, muttering about Dean under his breath.

"Give it a rest, Ron," said Harry, walking now with Hermione clinging to his arm, barely upright.

"Rest?" snarled Ron. "You saw the bugger, tongue down my sister's throat. I ought to…"

"Let's deal with it tomorrow," yawned Harry.

"Fine," muttered Ron, none too steady on his feet himself. "Good games tonight, huh, Har?"

"Great games," said Harry absently. He had been showing off, tonight, hoping that Hermione would notice and say something of his incredible ability. Unfortunately, he had attracted attention from all the wrong people, instead.

They were almost at the front door of the castle before Harry realised: "Cloak!"

"Cloak?" said Ron.

"Invisible," said Harry tiredly. "We need to be, quiet. Quiet." He drew the Cloak out of his pocket and flung it clumsily over the three of them.

Hermione muttered a protest. "'S hot, Harry…"

"Yeah, but I think Filch is around. Be quiet, guys…"

"You be quiet," retorted Ron lamely, and Hermione giggled.

Harry sighed.

By a stroke of luck, they came across no one on their journey to Gryffindor tower, which was just as well. Harry supposed even the teachers and Filch had to sleep sometime; they could hardly wander about all night and still do function all day, too.

"Come on, Hermione," he said, when they arrived safely inside the Common Room. He let go of her arm tentatively. "Think you can make it upstairs?"

"Yes," said Hermione confidently, and promptly fell over.

"Hemione!" said Ron, and they knelt beside her, trying to pull her upright again.

"'M fine," she insisted, rolling onto her back, "fine, let's just stay down here…"

Harry and Ron looked at each other and shrugged. They lay beside Hermione on the carpet between the smouldering fireplace and the sofa.

"Ah, floor," said Ron. "So underrated."

Harry had to admit it was very comfortable. He looked up at the ceiling, which was unfocused. He reached up to check he still had his glasses on, but surely enough he did. "Ron!"

"Harry!"

"Is the ceiling moving for you, too?"

Ron looked up. "Yup. Funny, that."

"Ron, we're drunk," Harry said, with clarity.

"Yes, we are."

Harry laughed. Ron laughed. Hermione mumbled something.

"What've we done?" said Harry, when the laughter had subsided.

"Something stupid," said Ron happily. "Or something genius."

"Let's say the latter," mumbled Hermione, her face now pressed into the foot of the sofa.

"Yes, Professor," murmured Harry.

Hermione reached over blindly and swiped at his face. Her palm found his cheek and she slapped it lightly. "Goodnight, Potter. Weasley."

"Goodnight, guys," yawned Ron. "I mean, morning. Oh, whatever…"

Harry was about to say goodnight, too, but before he got the words out, he was spinning down into the floor, into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The shortest chapter so far, only because I wrote another super long chapter and decided to cut it into two. The trio passing out drunkenly on the floor seemed a good place to leave things for now.

- I spent some time listening to some 90's music while writing this. I wanted Hermione to be a fan of the Spice Girls originally, but unfortunately they didn't debut their first single 'Wannabe' until 1996, which is just a year away from here. So, Celine Dion it is. The later song that Harry and Hermione dance to is the eternally beautiful 'Endless Love', from the 80s.

- I'm sorry if my Quidditch descriptions are growing more vague and summarised; they can be quite tiring to write meticulously... I shall endeavour to improve this in future chapters. Anyway, from Hermione's point of view, not much happens; she's of course focused on Harry. And, as someone who very much will drink continuously just to avoid awkwardness/to have something to do with my hands, I imagine Hermione would do the same thing. Unfortunately, this leads to well, a lot of drinking, which leads to unintended drunkenness, which leads to a desire to get even more drunk. Fun!

- Astoria Greengrass is, of course, Draco Malfoy's future wife. She was struck by a dark curse early on life, which caused her described frailty and eventually leads to her death (I think in the Cursed Child, if we're considering that canon). I'm of the tentative opinion that not all Slytherins were mindless bullies and pure-blood maniacs, and some would simply not get along with those who were, even if they did not feel they could speak up about it.

Anyhow, thanks for sticking with me, and I look forward to publishing the next chapter and hearing your thoughts! Big things are coming!