Rating: PG
A/N: I realize everyone is entitled to their own opinion and I totally respect that,
but did anyone else notice "Mrs. Miller's" comment in my Part 1? The supposed
high school professor spelled "Offense" and "Opinion" wrong. I realize that my
spelling's not that good either, but if you're masquerading as a teacher, shouldn't
you at least try to be believable? Another thing: Why would a high school
professor be reading a fanfic? Just wanted to get that out. As for the rest of you,
thank you so much for the response. Considering that was my first, I'm really
happy you liked it. I hope you enjoy Part 2 and so on just as much. Thank you! :)
By the way, this is an awfully long author's note, or should I call it a letter?
Maybe I should ask Mrs. Miller. Okay, that was lame, I'll shut up so you can
read:
Ron laughed hysterically as Harry told them about how he had scared his piggish cousin Dudley into believing he had put an appetite-loss curse on him. Hermoine had to bite her tongue to keep from scolding him. She's promised herself that she'd be more lenient on them this year.
Meanwhile, however, as she had begun to think about this, Draco Malfoy and his thugs Crabbe and Goyle had entered their compartment.
Immediately, the three Gryffidors stood defensively. Fighting these Slytherins was definitely something Hermoine would not object to.
"What do you want?" Ron snarled at Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle glared menacingly.
"Oh, nothing much...Weasel." Malfoy drawled with a malicious smirk plastered across his smug face.
Oh, how much Hermoine wished that someone would wipe it off.
But Malfoy continued, "Just wanted to make sure that we start the year off right with our very best friends, Weasel, Potty and Gangly."
Malfoy had touched a definite nerve with Hermoine. She knew it wasn't actually something personal, but before she had gotten her braces on and off, her two front teeth had been slightly, well, gangly. She heard someone let out a growl of anger and realized it was her.
Draco turned his attention to her with a cold glared.
"Why do you hang around with these boy dirtbags? Don't you have any scummy Gryffindor girl friends?" he demanded.
That was it. All three of them leapt at him at once. There was a mad scrambling and scuffling as Crabbe and Goyle jumped in to defend Malfoy.
Quite suddenly, the compartment door opened and in stepped a tall, thin woman dressed in neat black robes and a hat. She had a pretty face, dark hair and gray, stormy eyes.
Quickly, the 6 of them parted and dusted themselves off. They eyed her nervously. But she simply let a small smile play over her thin lips.
"Careful now, wouldn't want to get in trouble for fighting on the very first day, now would we?" she said. Her voice was soft and smooth, each syllable neatly annunciated.
With a last cold glare, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle exited the compartment.
"Now," the woman turned to the other three who were shuffling their feet sheepishly, eyes glued to the floor. Suddenly, her eyebrows raised, "Harry Potter," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Harry Potter..." she repeated slowly, "You have your mother's eyes..." she shook her head and stopped. "Well, I don't believe your mother would've been very proud of you fighting normally, but against a Slytherin, especially from Malfoy blood..." her voice trailed off and she pressed her fingertips together, looking at the three.
Harry looked up at her, startled, "You-You knew my mother."
"Of course," the woman smiled her small, secretive smile again, "I was her best friend in Hogwarts."
A realization lit Harry's face, "Right! You were her Maid of Honor...I've a picture of you!" he said excitedly.
She nodded, still smiling.
"Are y...you the new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher?" Hermoine ventured cautiously.
"No, I'm afraid not. I am Professor Calysta Lambert, your new Potions instructor" she said.
The cabin was silent for a moment.
"You mean Snape quit?!" cried Ron excitedly.
"In a way..." she paused, biting her lip, "He's now...your Defense Against The Dark Arts instructor."
Three smiles fell off three faces and hit the floor, smashing to a million pieces.
"No..." whispered Ron.
Harry's face was white and Hermoine felt her spirits sinking too. If there was one teacher, well, besides Professor Trelawney, who seemed to dislike her, it was Snape.
"Evidently this news is now going over very well," commented Professor Lambert mildly.
The conductor's voice cracked the silence.
"10 minutes' 'for we reach Hogwarts!"
Professor Lambert smiled, "Well, I will leave you to prepare...see you at school."
The three stood in silence.
"Well, I guess Snape's finally got what he wants." Harry commented with a gulp.
"Yea, and I guess we've finally had our nightmares come true." Ron said darkly.
They wordlessly changed into their robes and trooped off the train, glumly waving a half hearted hello to Hagrid who eyed them, puzzled but was too busy hustling first years into boats to ask. As they drew near Hogwarts, Hermoine felt her hopes rise a little. Any new year at Hogwarts couldn't be too bad, even with Snape at him new position. And Professor Lambert seemed nice...
* * *
Hermoine snuggled deep into the warm, soft covers of her bed located in
the girl's room of the Gryffindor tower. As always, it had been a wonderful start
of the year feast, full of delicious dishes, reuniting friends and laughter. Her
stomach was full and her body sluggish, but her mind was still quite awake and
excited to be back where it felt most at home.
She sighed, turned over in the bed, punched her pillow restlessly and
rolled her eyes in the dark. Next to her, as much as she denied all allegations of
it, Lavender Brown was snoring so loudly Hermoine felt a fierce desire to
smother her with her own pillow.
She traced the intricate weavings of the embroidered silken blanket with a
finger...around a phoenix, carefully curving about the gentle swirls of a flower...
Shaking her head, she slid out of bed, shoving her cold feet into a pair of
fuzzy slippers that her mother had made and sent to her last Christmas.
She crept into the Gryffindor common room, pacing restlessly in front of
an empty, lonely looking unlit marble fireplace. There was a large, rectangular
mirror hanging over it. It had a rich, solid gold frame. Hermoine assumed it was
new, she'd never seen it before.
She was wondering if it talked like the kind in the Leaky Cauldron when it
happened. As she took a glimpse at the shiny, clean glass and saw
something...a bluish, iridescent white figure...a woman emerging from the back
of chair. Hermoine gave a start and spun around, prepared to defend herself or
yell out if need be.
But the room was vacant besides herself, eerily silent.
She held her breath, half wondering if she should check behind the
squashy, comfortable arm chair the figure seemed to have been emerging from,
however, at that moment the head teacher of Gryffindor, stern looking Professor
McGonagall, hair tightly in a bun and all chose to enter from her room, holding a
candle, her squared spectacles slightly askew.
"Ms. Granger!" she said in surprise, "You seem to be the last person that
I'd assume to be wandering about in the middle of the night. I supposed Mr.
Potter and Mr. Weasley are involved in this escapade as well?" she scanned the
room with her piercing gaze, as thought expecting them to be hunched over in a
corner.
Hermoine, however, as good at she was with teachers, was for once at a
loss of words. Her heart pounded against her chest and cold sweat ran down her
back as the hairs on her neck prickled.
"Professor...there...there are no...no female ghouls around here...are
there?" she managed.
Professor McGonagall seemed rather irked by this.
"Now Hermoine, I don't see what that has to with anything, but to answer
you, no, none that are regulars at this school. Why do you asked?" she fixed a
suspicious look on Hermoine who was still staring at the chair, especially pale.
"I-I...Nothing." Hermoine shook her head, her logical mind racing. It must
have been a trick of the light, she told herself mentally.
All the same, she barely seemed to realize that she had narrowly escaped
punishment-something normally she never would've lived down in her own mind.
It wasn't until she was crawling back into her bed that she realized that
there had been no light to play tricks on her eyes.
She shivered in bed, though she was quickly warmed by the thick
blankets. Then what could it have been? All she was sure of was that it wasn't
her imagination and that in the brief second that she had seen the figure's
tormented but somehow familiar face, that it had been warning her of something.
She was even more determined not to fall asleep, but as happens with
even the most alert minds, drowsiness overcame and she drifted off. And at the
last moment that she was awake, she realized who she had seen. It had been
Lily Potty, none other than Harry's deceased mother.