That Friday night was an uncomfortable one for Hermione. Re-growing snapped bones was a horrid affair, she should have had more sympathy for Harry last year. The pain potions helped ease the pain, but the unnerving sensation of disappearing and reappearing bones remained. Madam Pomfrey had fretted over Hermione since she'd crossed the doorway. Well, more like glided across the doorway, as Hagrid's limbering frame carried her.
She was diagnosed with a shattered fibula, a torn Achilles tendon and bruised ribs. Madam Pomfrey admonished Hagrid for not immediately sending for her, worried her ribs could have been damaged further by the hike back. In truth, Hermione couldn't feel the bruised ribs until she'd been told of the injury. Once she'd been told, she'd felt the stabbing sensation flitting across her ribcage, giving her an unwelcome greeting.
Fred had a few superficial cuts, which were swiftly closed with a flicked wand. He didn't argue with McGonagall when she sent him off to bed after his interrogation. Hermione had kept one eye on Fred during his recounting, wishing him into silence as Madam Pomfrey poured a foul beef-flavoured potion down her throat. What happened tonight wouldn't reflect well on Hagrid if he gave the full story. Nor did she want to instigate a hunting party for the feral animal either. She had wanted to speak with him before McGonagall was summoned in her pale grey sweeping nightrobe. She wanted to create a cover story, but sadly, Madam Pomfrey had her on a bed immediately, ready to begin her prodding, and far away from Fred.
Fred had complied with Hermione in the forest less than an hour ago. Well, there was no verbal agreement, but she thought there was an understanding between them. Fred's lips were far looser than she'd have liked. Describing the journey through the forest with Hagrid's large dog, who had abandoned them as a guide shortly after. He'd described the chase and the moment he'd heard Hermione scream, realising he was not being chased anymore. In a very dramatic fashion, she thought.
She wanted to curse him. Although, how many times had Hermione wanted to tell an adult the truth, when the three Gryffindors were involved in a misadventure? Could she blame him for doing something, she would have? No, she couldn't. She developed a newfound understanding for Ron and Harry, as she pouted in her sickbed.
Her own interrogation was paused as Madam Pomfrey closed the curtains around her, urging her to rest and banishing everyone from the room. The propped foot was preventing Hermione from turning in her sleep, and waking her up when she tried to. She threw her blanket off her rashly, propping herself up to grab her wand. Throwing a quick tempus, she learned it was only midnight, leaving her with another twelve hours to go.
"Pssst, Hermione. You in there?" a recognisable voice whispered from behind her curtain.
"Harry?" she croaked with broken sleep. Her curtain cracked open a fraction, appearing as though it opened by itself. The gap allowed the cloaked boy through, falling behind him as he dropped the curtain. As the invisibility cloak fell, Harry and Ron revealed themselves still wearing their uniforms from earlier in the day.
"Sorry, hope you weren't asleep," Harry said, an apologetic smile on his face. "We tried to get out sooner but Filtch was guarding the wing –" he lifted the rolled parchment in his hand as proof. She pursed her bowed lips. The dreaded map. Hermione was sceptical of anything =the Weasley twins gave anyone, but the timing of the magical map appearing was odd to her. The bow was tied too clean and far too beautifully wrapped around the nameless gift. Highly alluring to the boy with a fondness for lurking. She truly feared his easy faith in the map, a reliance she feared would lead the boy into tremulous waters if he was not careful. "—We waited till he left. Took hours."
"Sad git was waiting for us, I reckon. Knew we'd come, just sat waiting to catch us out," Ron said, through gritted teeth. "Map was a blood godsend; Mum wasn't too happy when she found out I've already gotten five detentions. Merlin knows what she'd do if I got another. Probably a howler..." Ron shuddered. "...Had to risk it though." He sat gingerly at the foot of her bed, avoiding the pillow mountain her foot lay on. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, as though he was waiting for something from her. What exactly, she did not know. "Well, go on then! what happened tonight?" Ron's eye scanned her prone form, landing on her wrapped foot propped on a mound of pillows. He'd some idea of what happened by her position alone.
"Could've waited till tomorrow. I'm not going anywhere till then, anyway" she sighed quietly. Of course, she was going to tell them what happened, though she had hoped to do it at a more reasonable hour. Ron narrowed his muddy eyes. "Merlin, it wasn't anything, really," she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. Ron scoffed bleakly.
"Says you. Fred said you were chased by a were-bear-dog? whatever that is. I thought Fred was having a wind-up. Then he said you were in the hospital, and we thought maybe there was something to it," Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course, Fred had caused this midnight mayhem, somehow ruining her night from the comfort of his bed. Even if she was a little warmed by their concern for her, it was not unwarranted.
She stared between her two friends, wondering how best to get rid of them and return to not sleeping. Harry was eyeing her, though his gaze was considerably lighter than Ron's. She wasn't keeping a secret or hiding from them, so their behaviour was beyond her. She was injured, bone-tired and in need of some sleep. Ron rolled his hand towards her, gesturing for her to finally start speaking. She let loose a sigh of resignation, before telling him every detail from the moment she'd last seen them.
"… so, I don't know about were-dog or whatever nonsense Fred said it was, wait…actually, Harry, it looked rather like that creature you were looking up. The Grim, wasn't it?" Her head tilted in thought, Harry's eyes widened as she'd spoke. She could vaguely remember what he'd said about the creature, though she'd rather have a more accurate answer than her foggy memory of his words. Harry wide eyes shot to her as he gasped slightly. She looked to Ron for an explanation for Harry's behaviour. Though, Ron had paled considerably, ignorant of Harry altogether as he stared at her, too.
"You saw a G-Grim?" Ron whispered the cursed omen, casting a wary eye over his shoulder as if the animal was leering over him. "Hermione–"
"–I didn't say it was a Grim. It looked kind of like the one on Harry's book. Besides, it's all nonsense anyway," she dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"Nonsense? Nonsense?" he reiterated, his mouth falling open, closing swiftly as she nodded her head promptly. "Uncle Billius saw one in 1993. Do you know what happened to him, 'Mione?" He continued, ignoring her rolling eyes. "Died the next day. The next bloody day. It's not nonsense, Hermione. It's a bad omen," he finished sternly.
"How do you know it was a Grim, Ronald? Not just a dog, like I saw? Did anyone else see it?" She asked raising a haughty brow. Knowing she had the upper hand of an argument they'd already had once before, and she'd won already. A good indicator for how this would repeat, "Remind me, how did your uncle die, again, Ronald?" She asked mockingly.
"You already know," he narrowed his mud-brown eyes. She imitated his earlier hand-roll, asking him to tell her anyway. Ron sighed, arms weaving across his chest. "Fine, he had dragon pox. He died from dragon pox –" She harrumphed in victory "—that has nothing to do with it, at all!"
"Doesn't it? A dying man who died from his illness, or died from his imaginations? I think it has everything to do with it. Death omens are not real," she said, shrugging her shoulders. Ignoring the defiant snort from Ron, as he staunchly defended his ghost stories.
"You only found out about magic when you were eleven, but you can't believe that omens are real? Or in Divination, at all?" he said, a disbelieving laugh. Harry watched the exchange carefully, eyes bouncing between the debating duo.
"Of course, it's entirely possible. It just happens that most accounts are rubbish. What was it again, Harry? A large, spectral black dog with…yellow eyes, was it?" She turned to him, he nodded his head slightly. "Yes. Most accounts are from people who are dying, and afraid to die. They remembered the tale of the scary black dog, as their body told them they were going to die soon. Any accounts of healthy people who died suddenly from a freak accident are written by other people. Why believe them?" She asked him seriously, wanting to know why he put so much stock in strangers.
"So, you're saying omens, divination, predicting the future, prophecies and seers – it's all lies?" he retaliated. She shouldn't reply, recognising the never-ending circle she was willingly jogging around.
"Not all of it. Just most of it. How my tea leaves fall does not divine my fate. It shows me that they have a higher density than water," she replied, Ron's pureblood face scrunched having no idea what Hermione was talking about. Harry remained mute eyes following their words, waiting for the final victor before forming his opinions. Surely, he had some opinions of his own. They could barely tear the book, out of his hands in the library. "Harry, that book. Did it say anything about when two people saw the Grim?"
Not that she was worried, it was all gibberish.
"Fred saw it?" Ron whispered the question to an answer he already had but did not understand. He looked stricken, as though he would empty his stomach if the breeze blew. Hermione's clamped lips dissolved. She may think it was all horse dung, but he didn't. He believed the Grim stole his uncle and would likely do the same for his brother, now. She nodded her head meekly; he didn't need to hear how divination was useless, right now.
They sat in silence, as Ron mulled the news over. Possibly wishing his brother had seen the mythical were-bear-dog, instead. She wanted to cast a tempus charm, wondering how long they sat there for. It had to be an hour at least. Harry seemed to be working some of his own problems out, too. Hermione tried to not focus on the death omen as he called it, it was a dog. It was no misty apparition. It had textured furs and scars, and its breath was freezing in the chilled air beside hers. It was a real thing, swimming with the essence of life.
"Hermione," her head lifted to look at the raven-haired boy as he spoke for the first time since entering. He downshifted in his spot on her bed, facing her head-on. "Do you really think it means nothing?"
"What would I lie for?"
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Harry and Ron didn't stay for long. They didn't speak much either, a half-hearted goodbye was the most they had said after what had felt like a lifetime of private reflection. She had no idea what was going on with Harry, last night either. He'd not even said goodbye, he merely stood and left after Ron did, both forgoing the cloak. See Ron was trying to come to grips with the information about Fred and the Grim. She was fighting herself, clutching her hands under her coarse blanket. Fighting the yearning to tell him it was nothing and he didn't need to panic. Even if she thought it was ridiculous, he didn't, and he wouldn't appreciate to hear it from her. It felt as though she was corrupting her genetic make-up by playing mute.
Harry though, she hadn't a single idea about what he was warring with. She hadn't thought he'd much faith in the divine arts. He clearly had.
Madam Pomfrey was satisfied with her healing. Giving her only a single pain potion for any lingering pain, though she didn't think she'd need it. She'd told her to be mindful, as her bone would not completely harden for a few days. Healing, twice as strong as before by weeks end.
She was finally free on Saturday evening, as Madam Pomfrey was satisfied with her healing. Giving her only a single pain potion for any lingering pain, though she didn't think she'd need it. She'd told her to be mindful, as her bone would not completely harden for a few days. Healing, twice as strong as before by weeks end. She missed dinner in the Great Hall. She was thankful for that too, not wanting to see her friends so soon after. Despite her dull afternoon, with not even a book for company, she had no want for physical company. She was far too tired for a battle of the mind with Ron or worrying about Harry's inexplicable swinging moods. She wanted to sandwich herself between her satin Gryffindor sheets, always magically toasty, and catch up on her lost sleep.
She sped down the stoned halls as fast as her soft foot allowed. The masses were returning to their houses, as the final chimes for curfew toned. She'd rolled her eyes heavily as she caught sight of Pansy Parkinson carrying the books of the injured Draco Malfoy, as she complimented his bravery all the while. His arm too savaged by Buckbeak to reply to the tittering witch fawning over him, simply shrugging and asking her to be careful with his first editions she was lugging.
She thought of her injured foot that felt as good as new after her foul beefy potions. Muggles had managed to flavour their medicine without magic. How was the wizarding world so far ahead and yet, so far behind? She shook her head at her straying mind. There was no way Madam Pomfrey hadn't healed his slinged arm in a single afternoon. It happened ages ago! Anyway, had he not been such an arrogant sod and listened, he'd be fine. It was his fault.
Yet, Hagrid was the one dangling over a lion pit, with a single string arresting his fall. All because Malfoy thought he knew better than the Hogwarts gamekeeper. She'd have to visit Hagrid soon, offer what little she could in his trial prep, as Lucius Malfoy would surely bring every incriminating thing he had. She was sure had she not been a muggleborn, he'd be using last night to further prove the man's incompetency for the job. One of those rare times her blood had given her an advantage. Well, she knew how toasters worked, too. If she ever lost her wand, she'd never be without warm bread.
"Password, my lady?" said Sir Cadogan the Mad Knight, as his lance swung lazily in his arm. The damn knight changed the passwords as often as the temperature moved. She should be grateful; the added layer of security blocked any more efforts from Black entering the room to get to Harry. She simply wished it was any other portrait, as this one was egotistical and spoke far too loud in the mornings. Plus, he challenged everyone to duels for no reason. How one even duelled a portrait, she couldn't fathom. She oddly missed the old portrait and her endless chatter. The Fat Lady was steadfast, refusing to even remain in the same corridor anymore. The other portraits were not anymore aggregable to the position, which left them with the lesser known knight.
"I've been in the hospital. I haven't got it today. You spoke to me yesterday morning, remember?" She pleaded as the dreamy bedsheets slinked further away from her grasping touch.
"My lady, do you think when I battled the Wyvern of Wye, my horse fell because it was weary? I should think not!" He bellowed, and she winced at the force of it. She fought her rolling eyes and the swelling annoyance.
"You know wha–" she stopped herself from calling him out. "—just forget it. Could you please call for someone in the common room?" she asked, more politely than merited.
"One cannot make mince pies with spoiled meat," he replied, brandishing his lance in a complicated pattern. "Duel me, and I shall consider it," he finished, pointing the lance at her with a withering glower.
"Just open the damned door, you glorified squire," she snapped harshly, hands fisting at her side as she stomped her foot. She was glad her dominant foot was the uninjured one, as she'd be heading back down to the dreary cubicle again.
"I take great offence! You have questioned my valour, and I demand satisfaction. Duel me at once, wench!" he roared, trying to ram through his paged prison only to stumble back. She grunted loudly, dragging her hands down her face.
How she dearly missed the Fat Lady and her ringing vibrato. She wished he was the portrait that had been slashed, terrible as it is. Maybe if she even just shook the frame a little, instead. She slumped to the cold floor, as good a place as any to wait for a fellow Gryffindor to escort her through and bypassing the Mad Knight. She rubbed her arms, as the cold draft kissed the bared skin of her sleeveless arms. It was at least an hour before anyone came to the common room.
"Ah fair maiden, are you in need of rescuing?" Fred said in a high society accent, his hands full of stolen treats from the kitchens as he climbed the suspended staircase. She rolled her eyes, before climbing to her feet. Her lips glued shut, as she currently needed his help and what she wanted to say wouldn't help her get it. Her healing foot had slowed her down in her bid to catch up with the returning Gryffindors before curfew. After thirty minutes, she realised there was a very real chance nobody would break curfew. Especially with the recent Black incident. She needed Fred Weasley.
"Rescuing? It is I, who is in plight. This miscreant insulted my honour and defamed my name. I demand satisfaction, good sir," his horse reared, a loud neigh echoing the frame, as he lifted his lance aloft. Hermione hissed at the portrait. She looked to Fred, who had raised an eyebrow to her, but she only shrugged in response not trusting her barbed tongue to speak kindly. She did need him, after all.
"Sorry mate, left my duelling gear in the 1500s. How about the satisfaction of the right password, instead? Merlin Makes Merry Mead in Mid-May," Fred said with a cheeky wink to the crazy man. The passwords were devolving into utter madness. Most students were being locked out for saying 'Knights knight Knights before big battles', instead of 'Knights knight Knights beside big battles'. Most nights, the staircases regularly overflowed with stressing first years trying to get to bed before curfew. Fred probably loved the chaos the egotistical portrait caused. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if he had helped with the invention of the insanely wordy passwords.
The knight sniffed before the swinging frame opened, forced by his role as housekeeper to allow them in. Fred jerked his head to the door, letting her in first and she couldn't move quick enough. She nearly swooned as the blazing heat of the roaring fires consumed the room, instantly warming her. The oaky scent of the hardwoods littering the common room soothed her, as she breathed the scent of the days end in. The common room was empty, none of her friends were there except Neville who was engaged in a battle of wizard chess with Lee Jordan. He had an unfortunate nature, so he was probably losing. Unless it involved some sort of plant, Neville was not very good.
"How's your foot? Fred stood beside her, his arms full of smuggled sweets. Where he'd gotten all of the loot, was beyond her. She was curious, but her need for sleep was stronger.
"Oh, fine. I just have to be careful. It needs to set," she said, her voice was polite and even. It was the second time he'd helped her from a tight spot, this week. Third, if you counted the dog incident, which she never would. She wouldn't start any fights, with him for the rest of the weekend, even if he deserved it. It would be more thanks than warranted, but it evened the field where they stood.
"Why isn't harry and Ron with you? Did they not come to pick you up?" He looked around the common room, for his brother and his friend. They were probably tucked in their dormitories, tired from their Hermione free day. No doubt they'd been up to no good, without her there to reprimand them for it. She may wake up tomorrow, to find Harry has found another Hogwarts monster to battle since she'd been gone. Maybe a dragon, this time.
"I didn't tell them when I was coming out," even at her worst, Hermione had great forethought. She was not equipped for the boys, today. Normally, Ron cheered Harry up when he was glum. If Ron was down, Harry returned the favour for him. This was not Hermione's job, and she didn't think she was qualified for the role. She was the brains behind the group, she was no human pepper-up potion, nor would she pretend to be. Fred pursed his lips before his features smoothed snapping his finger.
"You sick of Ron, too, then? He's absolutely relentless. Wouldn't even let me sit by the fire earlier. I tried to lift my knife at dinner, and you'd swear I tried to uproot a mandrake," he shook his head, his laughter causing his food pile to wobble with him. The crinkling sound of the wrappers was almost like his food had joined in on the laughter, finding the situation funny too. "I mean, it was great in the end, he cut my meat for me. My hands are soft and free of the callouses of hard labour," he wiggled his free hand to show off his wide hands, while his other now juggled his snack pile efficiently. Hermione fought her wavering lips, but Fred's widening smile meant he'd caught her slight smile.
"Like my own little house-elf, he is. We've been brainstorming names for him. I've gone with Gingey, but Lee thinks that's hypocritical—" he paused to run his long fingers through his locks. "—Lee doesn't realise that Forge and I are redheads. Ronnie's full-blown ginger," he finished with a secretive smile. Hermione almost smiled at his teasing, before remembering why he was teasing him.
"Why are you so unaffected?" She asked, with a confused frown.
"What do you mean?" He tilted his head, not following her thought pattern.
"Didn't your uncle die from a grim?" Why was one Weasley in a fit of panic, and the other gorging on treats? Fred simply laughed, which dug her frown deeper.
"Grim or dragon pox? you decide," though his rolling eyes, didn't leave much room for decision.
"Ah," she said, unable to think of any other response.
"Yes - Ah, indeed,"
"So, you don't believe in the Grim either?" She asked. Ron was just so sure; how could his brother be the complete opposite? A small part of her couldn't believe they had something in common. Hermione did not believe it was a death omen. It was a dog, simple as.
"Not a fan of the gazing into the beyond, no? It's not a belief for me. If I'm going, I don't want to be worried about dying. You may as well be dead then; life is for living. If I'm going, it'll be with a belly full of treats and a fat smile on my face," he said, throwing her a cheeky wink.
"Hmm," her inner mind wondered if that's what he was doing now, with the sugar-laden goodies in his arms. Living, just in case. They stayed like that, observing one another with veiled curiosity. Fred was the first to break, displacing his foot ever so.
"Hey, I didn't get to give my proposal today," he said with a mischievous smile. Oh, of course. The dreaded morning offers to go to Hogsmeade with him, they'd started after the first offer in her DADA class. She'd said no every time, the severity of her response depended on how many hours of sleep she'd gotten.
"It would have been no if you're wondering. You should probably realise that sooner, rather than later," she rolled her eyes, as her hip cocked a little. As usual, Fred's sly smile never faltered. He shook his head, the long red strands falling to his forehead as he walked backwards towards the boy's stairs.
"I'll get you to say yes eventually Granger. Besides, I never worry about later," he said, through his wide smile, tossing a snack at her with his free hand. She caught the package without thinking as it flew towards her, her reflexes rivalling Harry's at that moment. He had barely caught sight of her scowl before he was heading to his room. How was he continuing this charade? What would it take for it to sink into his thick skull? She huffed as her fingers clenched into a fist, she expected her fingernails to bite into the skin of her palm, though they tensed around something else instead. Looking at her hand with a wrinkled nose, she remembered the snack he'd thrown her way, again. She looked at the Sugar Quills curiously, before heading to bed resolved to catch up on some well-deserved sleep instead.
.
"…Let her speak through you, call her to wish as she sees fit. Allow your inner eye to bloom and see the wilting world we weave through, for what she truly is and will be," Professor Trelawney swirled through the students as they gathered around their crystal spheres. Seamus Finnegan had almost nodded off three times, almost cracking his failing head on the hard quartz if it wasn't for the hard shove Lavender gave him every time he let a snore loose. Hermione stared through the ball only able to see the scratched pinewood table beneath it. Rubbish.
"…As Saturn crosses Pluto at twenty-two degrees, expect the rippling energy to be explored in your visions," her shaky vibrato flowing overhead. The only students paying attention were Lavender and Parvati. Hermione muffled her yawn, beneath her hand as she could barely hold on herself. She'd stayed up most of the week finishing all of her due assignments. She was struggling to keep up today, the sleepless nights gaining on her. She'd almost yawned in Transfiguration, though a sharp slap to her face, had jolted her up. For Divination, she'd needed something harder. A solid fist, perhaps. Additionally, Hermione's mind was a darkened dungeon today, whispering fallacies about her future failure, and cajoling her to abandon hope. She'd imagined for a brief second, dropping a class to ease the burden and felt a long-forgotten peace. She killed the image quickly, as even thinking of such things was giving life to future failure. It was not long before the year would be over, and she'd be back to her regular by her sixth year. She'd survive this, emerging twice as strong as before.
"Mister Weasley, you've shown a caving eye. What vision has she brought you, my child?" Professor Trelawney fell to her knees beside her focused friend, as he narrowed his eyes to his fogged crystal. Hermione had no idea who she was – was she Trelawney? Was she mother nature? She hadn't the foggiest. When she'd asked for clarification she'd not gotten a better picture either. 'She is the wind in which we divine. She is the omen of all. She is she, my child.' Hemione certainly doubted whether that was a verified O.W.L answer or gibberish. She leaned towards the latter, cheeks burning at the idea of pledging such a thing to parchment. Ron's eyes narrowed, his upper lip disappearing in concentration.
"I don't know, I could be wrong…I just see grey clouds," He turned to his professor with a furrowed brow. Hermione saw a strange man going to his garden with a – bag? Yes, a large black bag. She divines from the parting sea; it was as clear as the glass she gazed upon. He was throwing away his rubbish.
"Look deeper, shake the branch, my child. I shall see for you, what your eye has hidden from you—" Ron flushed a deep red, as the flowery witch pulled the ball towards her. "Yes, there is grey. Uncertainty in your visions, my child. The wind shall clear, but not before the jaws shall clamp you, a tremor before the moon burns her bright white. Check-in with your relatives, my child," Professor Trelawney closed her eyes, breathing deeply as her head fell back. Ron visibly gulped. Whatever she'd said, did not sound pleasant. Fred was sure to have his shadow become even more pronounced, as he'd be the first relative he'd be checking in on. The professor moved to her left, flicking her loose knight scarf across her shoulder as Harry stiffened imperceptibly. She'd caught it.
"Mister Potter, has your vision found you?" She said, her buggy blue eyes scanning his face. Hermione resisted the need to pull Harry away, afraid the witch would deliver another one of her death prophecies to him and piling an additional helping to his brimming plate. Harry coughed lightly before straightening himself further, his shoulders strained against his creasing uniform. Still, he'd nodded his head no, his features placid as the older witch peered into his beyond.
"Not to worry, not to worry. Tis hard, though not impossible. Easiest, when you possess gifts such as I," it was hard when you were not as batty as her, more like. She'd yet to even predict the weather successfully. All her prophecies were worthless, despite Lavender's fierce support of the supposed seer. Yes, her rabbit had died on the day Professor Trelawney had said, but she'd said the thing Lavender had been dreading would happen on that day. Lavender's rabbit had been perfectly healthy, why dread his death? It was a freak coincidence, is all. Her professor's thick-lensed glasses clinked against Harry's crystal ball, as she leered close into the sphere. She withdrew suddenly, taking a shuddering breath. Hermione flinched in her seat, alongside Harry as the class readied themselves for another promise of his demise.
"Ah. I have traversed your life planes, the crops wither as your greatest fears take breath. You shall lose, and this shall be your last, my boy" she whispered, her handed clapping his shoulder as Harry visibly paled. Hermione knew it was nonsense, and she'd tell him so when they were done but his vacant stare had made her question. What was Harry's greatest fear, that caused the high tension in his shoulders?
"Have you faired better than your tablemates, my dear?" Professor Trelawney asked, from her right, the raspy voice drawing her from her worries. Hermione thought her binman analogy may make Harry smile, and that was the only reason she'd considered giving it. In the end, she'd just pushed her ball towards her, without a word. Judging by the positively salacious smile on the crazy bint's face, she did not mind the chance to flaunt her so-called gift.
Hermione watched as her professor's unkempt fingernails screeched soundlessly along the quartz sphere. Hermione squinted, beseeching any outwards signs the seer was truly having some sort of spiritual experience. The problem was she had no clue on what such a thing looked like. She relied on muggle fiction for this, looking for white eyeballs or an eye colour change to occur. She anticipated a fleeting blink from her third eye somewhere between her eyebrows, but nothing of the sort occurred. After some time, Hermione's professor's buggy blue eyes began to flash quickly, as if her eyes were racing through a picture book at triple speed.
"As we suspected. Black colours your petals dear, likened to your aura," Lavender gasped behind her, Hermione's eyes flitted to her as the large blue eyes wallowed. Hermione returned her gaze to the professor, snubbing Lavender's sad eyes entirely. "If you're not careful it shall smother you entirely. Your faith lays with the maiden, herself. If you do not change, it shall become you. Left to a bleak and dreary existence, miserable and alone, tending to the bleak globules of wisdom of men who've long departed our light."
The professor's dry hand clutches hers. Her bug-like eyes brimming with sadness as her lips dour. Hermione opened her mouth before quickly closing it. Her mind moved rapidly, trying to decipher the hidden meaning, was she implying she'd end up alone? Men's wisdom? Hermione hadn't a breeze. She slumped in her chair, dissecting each word she could remember.
"I know, I know, my dear. Reality is hard to face, when it is truly as depressing as yours," her professor clung her hand, patting it with the other. The older witch started shaking her head back and forth attempting to shed the sadness from her. Hermione's eyes blazed with untapped fury before she flung her hand free of the pitying witch. What. Utter. Rubbish. Sod Ron's vision, sod Harry's and sod her bloody own.
Before her mind could process anything further, her body leapt to her defence, her hand flinging the offending crystal ball to the floor, shattering into millions of glinting pieces at the bat's feet. The class gasped, whispers breaking around her, but she kept looking at the mass of bohemian knitted cloth in front of her.
"Sod this," she hissed to the stuttering goon as she stared at the glistening shards of glass at her feet, twinkling in the afternoon sun. Grabbing her small bag of books, and storming from the classroom without looking back. Her timetable had just thinned considerably, and Hermione Granger could care less.
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Hi, all.
So, I've missed an entire week. In my defence, I was dealing with a break-up which was kind of shit. I didn't think it would affect my ability to write until I read my writing and it was a lot darker than intended hahahaha. I'd consider posting it because it was so absolutely left-field to where this story was going. I then realised I needed some air before I could come back to this chapter so I didn't ruin my plot and the long-plan I'd drawn for this. On the plus side, I'd used it to fuel mostly all of my future angst/sad chapters. Upside, to everything I guess. Fifty rambles later and we have an update.
Damn guys, writing prophecies is hard even if the majority are nonsense lol! Some parts aren't, though I hope their deeply hidden in there. It would be no fun if everyone figured it out already, though I'd love to hear your guesses. I hope you liked this chapter, I'll probably hate it next week and see every concievable lol. Shout out if you spot any mistakes, I rushed the edit because I hate being late, I think we're okay though.
Fave/Follow/Review if the wind moves you,
Until next time