A/N Once again I must apologize for the lateness of this posting. In an attempt to make up for it, here are two chapters in one day (and the answer is yes, my sister is visiting me). Oh, by the way, J.K. Rowling owns all these characters. I just decided to play a shell game with them. And no Potters were harmed in the making of this chapter. I'm not sure if I can say the same for Fred and George (I'll try to keep Ron away but I can't make any promises). I'd also like to thank the game Kings Quest III for providing potion recipes.
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Hermione was shocked as she walked toward the back of the room. "How could Harry talk to a teacher like that! IN MY BODY!! I can't believe him," she thought she smacked him in the back of the head again, just to get her point across. It was very therapeutic. Of course she was also trying not to think that she was hitting her own body.
"Quit doing that!" Ron hissed he grabbed her arm and dragged her quickly to an empty table. "NEVER hit a girl, Hermione. Ever!" He whispered as they sat down.
"Why not? You guys hit each other all the time."
"But have we ever hit you? It's just not right!"
"But it's equal rights Ron. Women can take anything a man can, and childbirth to boot!"
"Equal rights? Hermione, girls aren't house elves. This is just the way things are."
"And what is wrong with being a house elf, RONALD!"
"Excuse me, is there something you'd like to share with the whole class, Mr. Weasely?" Snape asked in a mocking drawl.
"Actually--"
"Haven't you ever heard of a rhetorical question? I don't really want to hear your babbling excuses. I just wanted you to shut up."
"But I've been paying attention!" Hermione snapped back as she stood up, while Ron was furiously whispering, "shut up shut up shut up" and tugging on her sleeve for her to sit down. When that failed, he started praying. Hard.
"Oh you have, have you? You think you know about potions?" Snape started walking slowly towards his desk, "Let's just see what you know." He quickly spun around, "What ingredients do you use to brew a storm!"
"One cup ocean water, one spoonful of mud, one pinch of toadstool powder, and an empty jar." Hermione didn't even bat an eyelash.
"You're lucky I started out easy, Mr. Weasley. I guarantee it won't stay this way."
Ron could hear Hermione whisper under her breath, "Bring it on, you greasy old goat."
"What ingredients cause teleportation at random!"
"One spoonful of salt grains, one sprig of dried mistletoe, and a stone of unusual color."
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood!"
"You're getting slow, Professor. You asked that on the very first day of class. It creates," at this point Hermione started doing a Snape impression, a rather good one too, and Ron had taken to banging his head against the table with unfortunate enthusiasm, "a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death! HAH!"
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"I can't believe you did that Hermione," Harry said as they walked out of the room after class, "I thought the quizzing would have stopped after you called him a —"
"You can't say words like that, Harry. You're a girl now, remember?" Ron interrupted. "And what was that all about, Hermione!" He turned toward her angrily. "I can't believe you did that in my body!"
"What do you mean? I'm the one who'll have to serve the detention."
"Yeah but you made me look...smart." Somehow, Ron made smart sound more disgusting than Crabbe's toenail clippings.
"Actually, Ron, I didn't notice. Of course, Millicent had me in a headlock the entire period. I'm sorry I didn't believe you about how badly she smelled, Hermione. I personally think it was worse than week old liver."
"I'll forgive you for doubting me, this time. And, Ron, you're welcome for the display of intelligence. Oh crud, we're running late. Hurry up, Harry, or you'll be late for Arithmancy. What have we got Ron?"
"Divination" Ron smugly replied.
"Oh hell."
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Once again, Ron was the last person to get to the Divination classroom, but I'm not Ron this time. This time I'm HARRY POTTER. Ron had to resist the urge to strike a super-hero pose with his hands on his hips. And of course, he was followed by faithful sidekick, Ron. Who was really Hermione, but he could pretend. Everyone needs to be silly now and then, he thought to himself. Ron quickly plopped down on a cushion next to Hermione, just before Professor Trelawney walked into the room.
"She still looks like a freaky owl," Hermione whispered to him.
"Well class, as you know, today I'm giving you a workday because I have jury duty over at the ministry. Headmaster Dumbledore has assigned Professor McGonagall to be your substitute. Please don't let her doubting aura cloud your inner eye or predictions. Tootles."
She then swept out of the room and was replaced by the familiar spectacled face of Professor McGonagall. She looked like she smelled old cabbage.
"What is that stench!" she demanded
"Incense Professor." Hermione replied.
"Hallucinogenic, I should think." She waved her wand and the smoky atmosphere of the room vanished. She then put out the fire in the fireplace and opened the curtains. "Well, what do you know, there really is a classroom in here." She smiled to herself. Lavender and Parvati looked like they wanted to kill her messily.
"Anyway, you all have your work to do, and I expect you to be busy with it all period, unless you want me to assign something extra."
The divination class had never worked more industriously. Ever.
One Hour Later...
Ron looked across the table at Hermione. She had dragged out at least five star charts, a compass and protractor, a pile of scrap paper, and three quills.
"God Hermione you'd think you actually needed to do work in this class."
"Personally Ron, I think this is all bunk, but if you're going to do something, you should do it right."
"My way works just as well as yours."
"Yeah right."
"It does! She doesn't care what you write. Personally, I don't think she can read."
"That doesn't matter! Making up your assignments means you have wrong answers. Let me show you--what have you got for the tomorrow?"
"Hermione, they're called predictions, not answers, and on the fourth I'll go through the time honored tradition of falling down a well."
"YOU'LL WHAT?"
"Fall down a well, Hermione. It's just bunk anyway, who cares!"
She looked at him in amazement. "What have you got for the day after that?"
"I'm going to win a ten galleon bet. You know, Hermione, you're sort of obsessed with this whole prediction thing. It's kind of creepy."
"Let me see your sheet."
Ron handed it to her, eyeing her warily. Hermione set his paper next to hers and almost fell out of her chair.
"What is it?"
"We have identical predictions," she whispered in shock.
Ron guffawed. "I told you you were wasting time!"
"But I did it all correctly! How could you..." she trailed off into silence, staring at him.
Ron was about to make a snappy comeback involving a simile, Hermione, and a llama when he got a sudden headache. A really bad headache. Worse than the time Fred and George locked him in a room with a bludger, then gave him a laxative instead of aspirin. Just as suddenly, it was gone.
"Are you ok, Ron? You look like you were hit in the head with a five pound cauldron."
"I'm fine now, Hermione," Ron replied. "I think Harry's—er—my scar hurt, but it was only for a second or two."
But why did it hurt, Ron wondered. What is going on?