Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, unfortunately, or any other of the
jazzy HP characters for that matter. Though if I did, it sure would be
spiffy! :D btw! Read and review or else the dammed Count of vOluptuous
sensuality will call u a….uhhh……*thinking hard*…….. an ASS! Wow, I'm
clever…. hahaha*gag*ha. Enjoy!
Hermione opened the nearest book, once again enjoying her supposed favorite past time.
'Some people called it "the time of undoing"; some, wishing to be more positive, spoke of it as "the replanting" or "the restoring" or even "the resurrection" of the Earth. All these names were accurate. Something had been done, and now it was being undone. Much had died or been broken or killed, and now it was coming back to life.
Why do people read, what is their purpose, what do they wish to accomplish betwixt the leafs of someone else's ingenuity? I know why I read: to gain knowledge, to extend my influence through the times of a growing intellectual world. Well, purposes can be deceiving.
A dull ache darted behind her left eyebrow.
'This was the work of the world in those days: Nutrients were put back in the soil of the great rain forests of the world, so the trees could grow tall again. Grazing was banished from the edges of the great deserts of Africa and Asia, and grass was planted so that steppe and then savanna could slowly reconquer territory they had lost to the stone and sand. Though the weather stations high in orbit could not change the climate, they tweaked the winds often enough that no spot on Earth would suffer drought or flood, or lack for sunlight. In great preserves, the surviving animals learned how to live again in the wild. All the nations of the world have an equal claim on food, and no one feared hunger anymore. Good teachers came to every child, and every man and woman had a decent chance to become whatever his of her talents and passions and desires led them to become.'
What is this book called again? Why am I reading it? *It is your destiny Hermione. Never question your destiny, but we must save that lesson for another day.*
She flipped to the front and read The History of Wizardry in Middle Earth.
O yes, my extra credit project for history. Here goes.
'It should have been a happy time, with humanity pressing forward into a future, in which the world would be healed, and which a comfortable life could be lived without the shame of knowing that it came at someone else's expense. And for many – perhaps most – it was. But many others could not turn their faces from the shadows of the past. Too many creatures were missing, never to be restored. Too many people, too many nations, now laid buried in the soil of the past. Once the world had teemed with seven billion human lives. Now a tenth of that number tended the gardens of Earth. The survivors could not easily forget the century of war and plague, of drought and flood and famine, of desperate fury leading to despair. Every step of every living man and woman trod on someone's grave, or so it seemed.
Hermione jumped as she felt something drag across her foot. She glanced up in time to melt into the eyes of a Ron Weasley, the man she had loved ere the first time her body told her instinctively what love meant for a man and woman. For a moment she feared his mischievous grin would swallow her whole. She bit her lip nonchalantly and continued reading.
'So it was not only forests and grasslands that were brought back to life. People also sought to bring back the lost memories, the stories, the intertwining paths that men and women had followed that led them to their times of glory and their times of shame. They built machines that let them see into the past, at first the great sweeping changes across the centuries, and then, as the machinery was refined, the faces and the voices of the dead.
'They knew, of course, that they could not record it at all. There were not enough alive to witness all the actions of the dead. But by sampling here and there, by following this question to its answer, that nation to its end, the men and women of the world could tell stories to their fellow citizens, true fables that explained why nations rose and fell; why men and women envied, raged, and loved; why children laughed in sunlight and trembled in the dark of night.'
What does make children tremble in the dark of night? Shouldn't those lovely stories lull them peacefully to sleep? *O you know, you know, Hermione. You know why the small ones tremble in the dark dark night, for you were once a small one. Alas, no more… go on, keep reading my dear, you will never find the answer to your strife without me*
She glanced across the library deftly, eyeing the remaining occupants.
"Did you hear something, Ron?"
"Ha! Only that bloody monkey snoring over there. Geez, don't you think he could get a room?"
Hermione choked on thin air.
"Wow Herm, are you ok?"
"O yes, of course, something just went down the wrong pipe I guess. I think I'm going to go check out this book," She pushed clumsily away from the table. "Um yes, I think it could help me with extra credit for, for class, or something," she mumbled as she gathered her books.
"Ah, she is beautifully strange," Ron sighed.
This is the day, I will do it – the time is right. No one will notice. No one can notice but her. I can do it. Go, quick now! Quickly, quietly, but never invisibly gosh darn it.
She hummed the theme of "Carmen" under her breath as she slipped Verges' book, The Hex of Venus' Hunger and Foining Fencing, behind the others. Sweat dripped from her brow, wetting the surface of Hogwarts: A History. Her arms ached from the weight of her precious books, the books that held the secrets of her life, her covert existence.
O, this must be it! I must find it today, no – tonight! I will stay up all night if I must. It is the only way – I must walk in the valley of death in order to conquer the Dark. O how I am afraid of the Dark! Childish, childish fears do become me it seems. Think: concentration is key to survival. I must find the ingredients, the basis of my potion. Else I will live forever with my nose buried in a cumbersome book, one after the other, everyone forever thinking, 'O there goes Hermione the bookworm! Smart, intelligent Hermione. I wish I was as smart as she is…' No you don't. You have no idea. The pain. The agony. Everyday, the torture and temptation to be what I am not.
She bumped into Ron on her way back to grab her bag. Blood rushed to his face and neck as he moved nimbly out of her way, executing a mild bow as she passed. She did not even attempt eye contact with the man she loved. The man she wanted to spend the rest of her condemned life with.
I'm not good enough for him! I won't ever be until I rid myself of this…
She hurried past Ron without a backward glance, sensing his disappointment and perplexity as his eyes bored into the small of her back. She slipped into the dark hall, stealing glances left and right.
*Come Hermione, it's already 9:10 and you have plenty to do tonight. I will draw you in, never let go. You are mine Hermione, my toy forever and on in the days of Darkness, enveloping this world with timely fear. I will take you and twist you until you resemble nothing of this world. O this will be fun, my dear, jolly good fun!*
Hermione opened the nearest book, once again enjoying her supposed favorite past time.
'Some people called it "the time of undoing"; some, wishing to be more positive, spoke of it as "the replanting" or "the restoring" or even "the resurrection" of the Earth. All these names were accurate. Something had been done, and now it was being undone. Much had died or been broken or killed, and now it was coming back to life.
Why do people read, what is their purpose, what do they wish to accomplish betwixt the leafs of someone else's ingenuity? I know why I read: to gain knowledge, to extend my influence through the times of a growing intellectual world. Well, purposes can be deceiving.
A dull ache darted behind her left eyebrow.
'This was the work of the world in those days: Nutrients were put back in the soil of the great rain forests of the world, so the trees could grow tall again. Grazing was banished from the edges of the great deserts of Africa and Asia, and grass was planted so that steppe and then savanna could slowly reconquer territory they had lost to the stone and sand. Though the weather stations high in orbit could not change the climate, they tweaked the winds often enough that no spot on Earth would suffer drought or flood, or lack for sunlight. In great preserves, the surviving animals learned how to live again in the wild. All the nations of the world have an equal claim on food, and no one feared hunger anymore. Good teachers came to every child, and every man and woman had a decent chance to become whatever his of her talents and passions and desires led them to become.'
What is this book called again? Why am I reading it? *It is your destiny Hermione. Never question your destiny, but we must save that lesson for another day.*
She flipped to the front and read The History of Wizardry in Middle Earth.
O yes, my extra credit project for history. Here goes.
'It should have been a happy time, with humanity pressing forward into a future, in which the world would be healed, and which a comfortable life could be lived without the shame of knowing that it came at someone else's expense. And for many – perhaps most – it was. But many others could not turn their faces from the shadows of the past. Too many creatures were missing, never to be restored. Too many people, too many nations, now laid buried in the soil of the past. Once the world had teemed with seven billion human lives. Now a tenth of that number tended the gardens of Earth. The survivors could not easily forget the century of war and plague, of drought and flood and famine, of desperate fury leading to despair. Every step of every living man and woman trod on someone's grave, or so it seemed.
Hermione jumped as she felt something drag across her foot. She glanced up in time to melt into the eyes of a Ron Weasley, the man she had loved ere the first time her body told her instinctively what love meant for a man and woman. For a moment she feared his mischievous grin would swallow her whole. She bit her lip nonchalantly and continued reading.
'So it was not only forests and grasslands that were brought back to life. People also sought to bring back the lost memories, the stories, the intertwining paths that men and women had followed that led them to their times of glory and their times of shame. They built machines that let them see into the past, at first the great sweeping changes across the centuries, and then, as the machinery was refined, the faces and the voices of the dead.
'They knew, of course, that they could not record it at all. There were not enough alive to witness all the actions of the dead. But by sampling here and there, by following this question to its answer, that nation to its end, the men and women of the world could tell stories to their fellow citizens, true fables that explained why nations rose and fell; why men and women envied, raged, and loved; why children laughed in sunlight and trembled in the dark of night.'
What does make children tremble in the dark of night? Shouldn't those lovely stories lull them peacefully to sleep? *O you know, you know, Hermione. You know why the small ones tremble in the dark dark night, for you were once a small one. Alas, no more… go on, keep reading my dear, you will never find the answer to your strife without me*
She glanced across the library deftly, eyeing the remaining occupants.
"Did you hear something, Ron?"
"Ha! Only that bloody monkey snoring over there. Geez, don't you think he could get a room?"
Hermione choked on thin air.
"Wow Herm, are you ok?"
"O yes, of course, something just went down the wrong pipe I guess. I think I'm going to go check out this book," She pushed clumsily away from the table. "Um yes, I think it could help me with extra credit for, for class, or something," she mumbled as she gathered her books.
"Ah, she is beautifully strange," Ron sighed.
This is the day, I will do it – the time is right. No one will notice. No one can notice but her. I can do it. Go, quick now! Quickly, quietly, but never invisibly gosh darn it.
She hummed the theme of "Carmen" under her breath as she slipped Verges' book, The Hex of Venus' Hunger and Foining Fencing, behind the others. Sweat dripped from her brow, wetting the surface of Hogwarts: A History. Her arms ached from the weight of her precious books, the books that held the secrets of her life, her covert existence.
O, this must be it! I must find it today, no – tonight! I will stay up all night if I must. It is the only way – I must walk in the valley of death in order to conquer the Dark. O how I am afraid of the Dark! Childish, childish fears do become me it seems. Think: concentration is key to survival. I must find the ingredients, the basis of my potion. Else I will live forever with my nose buried in a cumbersome book, one after the other, everyone forever thinking, 'O there goes Hermione the bookworm! Smart, intelligent Hermione. I wish I was as smart as she is…' No you don't. You have no idea. The pain. The agony. Everyday, the torture and temptation to be what I am not.
She bumped into Ron on her way back to grab her bag. Blood rushed to his face and neck as he moved nimbly out of her way, executing a mild bow as she passed. She did not even attempt eye contact with the man she loved. The man she wanted to spend the rest of her condemned life with.
I'm not good enough for him! I won't ever be until I rid myself of this…
She hurried past Ron without a backward glance, sensing his disappointment and perplexity as his eyes bored into the small of her back. She slipped into the dark hall, stealing glances left and right.
*Come Hermione, it's already 9:10 and you have plenty to do tonight. I will draw you in, never let go. You are mine Hermione, my toy forever and on in the days of Darkness, enveloping this world with timely fear. I will take you and twist you until you resemble nothing of this world. O this will be fun, my dear, jolly good fun!*
