The Grist of Her Mill
By SilentG
Chapter 1
The entire Upper Sixth was in the Mid-May Doldrums. At least that was what Hermione Granger told herself when she asked herself, later, how the whole schlimazel started.
It was the soul-sucking three-week period between the end of new material and the beginning of NEWTs – spirits were low and pranks and misbehaviour were high. Ostensibly, the time was for revision: (most) classes were into review, professors were holding study groups and arranging tutoring, and organised students (like Hermione) were busy organising others. But Oh, the call of the sunshine and sweet grass outside! Oh, the stale dry stickiness of the air inside! Oh, the tickle of butterfly wings tattooing freedom on a ribcage! Although she'd never admit it, even the Unstoppable Miss Granger was finding it hard to concentrate, with the combined stimulus of summer and graduation begging for her attention.
Then there was the dubious influence of her friends…
"Why don't they hold exams at the beginning of the year – get them out of the way," Ron said glumly to no-one in particular, after heaving a huge sigh at the sight of the stack of potions books on the table at the far end of the library. He was the first Gryffindor to arrive today at the ad-hoc Inter-House study group that had been meeting every Saturday morning since February. Attendance waxed and waned, although certain members (mostly Ravenclaws, and Hermione) had been regulars since the beginning. Today, he was in the company of four Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff, and Hermione and Harry were both expected.
As he seated himself (reluctantly) at the table, Hermione hove into view, flanked by Lavender and Parvati. The two girls were obviously there under duress, caught in the Granger undertow. Lavender was carrying nothing but a paperback and a quill, and Parvati, looking a little teary-eyed, appeared to have her hair done up in curling papers. Catching Ron's eye, Hermione drooped her eyelids and rolled her eyeballs back in her long-suffering look, an unfortunate inheritance from Professor Snape, adopted sometime during the last year and roundly disapproved of by the Gryffindor student body.
"Where's Harry?" Lavender and Parvati said in unison as the trio sat. Without waiting for a reply, Lavender opened her book at a spot marked by an owl feather, and started reading. Parvati took out a parchment and quill, not too speedily, and sat with slumped shoulders, scowling sidewise at Hermione.
"Harry. Is out. Flying." Hermione said with a sniff, as she picked up the disused books from the table and sorted them alphabetically.
"Oh, Quidditch practice?" Padma asked, obviously not recognising Hermione's tone, which forbade further discussion.
"No. Just. Flying."
The six seated students exchanged resigned but knowing glances as Hermione arose abruptly and stomped around the table, tossing pages of notes in front of each person and uttering little 'tsk's of exasperation, presumably at the state of the students' revisions, but who could be sure??
"Which is it today, Miss Prissy – or Miss Pissy," Ron said to Padma in a stage whisper. The muted laughter of the assembly drowned out the exaggerated scraping of Hermione's chair as she dragged it under her towards the table as she sat. Over their heads, thin shafts of sunlight warmed and beckoned, but only the dust-motes seemed to respond, dancing in the library's mouldy updrafts.
Just then, Harry appeared, sweaty and beaming, picking up his book-bag from beside Ron before sitting down. "Ta, mate," he said, in the affected manner he'd picked up from a burly All-England seeker from Liverpool who'd mentored him at Quidditch Camp the previous summer. Hermione did her eye-rolling trick again, and this time was joined by the other Gryffindors at the table. Harry's currency was a little low at the moment, having lost innumerable House points that year, mostly in pursuit of adventure and mayhem such as would credit the Godson of The Swagger That Walked (as Gred and Forge privately called Sirius Black). The highlight of the twins' summer was when Sirius solemnly told them that their nickname for him was 'redundant', since 'swagger was a synonym for walk'. The two managed to keep a straight face until they escaped the kitchen at The Burrow, and spent the rest of the week perfecting their imitation of him.
Unfortunately, Harry was also perfecting his own imitation of the infamous Marauder, the reason why this year, Gryffindor was relying solely on Hermione's marks to keep it out of last place in the House Cup standings. It was no wonder, really, that she was so moody.
"Right. In front of each of you is a sample essay question, one of the known components of the Potions final. This will be an in-class essay, so each of us will have to rely on our actual writing abilities, not our skills in sleep-deprivation, paraphrasing or forgery." Hermione looked pointedly at Ron at the conclusion of this speech. She continued, "We each have a different question – to cover as much ground as possible. For the next hour we're each going to write a sample essay on the presented topic without books or notes, then we're going to switch questions; at which time we'll spend two hours writing a similar essay, of a similar length, this time using reference materials. Remember, top marks are for essays that are complete, succinct and accurate. Eloquence counts for nothing in Potions." She spoke in clipped tones, trying vainly to catch Lavender's eye.
"When we're finished, I'll duplicate the essays," this said with noticeable pride, "and we'll each critique them all. Hopefully the results, at least the on-book ones, will be good enough to use as a study guide. If not, we'll at least know what we need to work on. Any questions?"
An outside observer would be surprised, possibly, at the meek acquiescence of the assembled students; the mood was of gloomy, resigned doggedness (if there is such a thing), as they all (including Lavender, who'd reluctantly closed her book) shifted and rustled and took their positions for battle with the Potions essays.
-*~~*~~*-
One hour later…
"Time's up. Switch essay questions. On book now - you may use your own notes also. No talking. Each of you will find at least one textbook in the pile that matches your essay question exactly." A chorus of groans met Hermione's pronouncement, and Parvati, handing Lavender borrowed parchment for her essay, spoke up.
"'Mione, you must be joking. Didn't you just say last week that the human brain needs an hour of rest after each hour of study? You can't expect us to go straight on, my brain's positively mush."
"It's ten minutes, actually, but yes, OK, we'll take a break. Ten minutes, no more. You don't expect Snape to give us a break, do you?"
"Certainly not, Miss Granger, not at this, your penultimate hour. Although I might wish, however futilely, to give myself one." The subject of discussion stood perfectly still behind Hermione's chair, and Ron could see the uncertainty on her face as she tried to decide whether it would be better to sit calmly and await his next declaration, or to show docile approval by craning her neck around to observe her favourite teacher. "And Miss Patil, if your brain is truly mush, perhaps you might consider donating it to the Potions Laboratory at St. Mungo's…or perhaps the canteen." Glancing briefly at Lavender's book, a small Muggle paperback out-of-place amongst the hide-bound Potions tomes, Snape pivoted noiselessly on his heel and swept off just as Hermione turned to look at him.
"Honestly. That man is a menace to education. I don't know how you tolerate him, Hermione; he's an utter prat." Harry snorted at Ron's comment and decisively turned his essay parchments face-down on the table. The rest of the students followed suit, and the brief break flew by in a flurry of jumbled conversation.
"Lavender, what is that you're reading?" Harry, who had been speaking to Ron for most of the break (probably 'discussing broom technique', as they were wont to say, with a smirk, when asked) inquired of his House-mate. Lavender had been absorbed in her book since she put her quill down, and curiosity spread to the rest of the table as she fidgeted self-consciously with the feather she'd been using as a bookmark.
"Probably one of the Muggle romance novels she's been hoarding since last summer," Parvati replied. "She's addicted to them – I'm surprised no-one's noticed it before." Lavender's glower was enough to cut off her best friend at the pass, but Harry wasn't to be put off so easily.
"Oh yes, Mills & Boon, I suspect. Aunt Petunia's positively devoted to them." Harry batted his eyelashes as he spoke, drawing a anonymous kick from under the table.
"Well, let's see it then," Ron said, taking up the torch of male superiority in the face of feminine recreation with an outstretched hand. Lavender, seeing the futility of protest, handed the book to him with a sigh. Ron held the book up for the whole table to see, revealing a cheesy front cover of sun, sand and a timid-looking girl in a string bikini, and the words
DANGEROUS ESCAPISM
By Lottie Guenther
There were giggles from the Ravenclaws, even the boys, and Harry snorted. "Yup, Mills & Boon, no doubt about it. I don't need to read the back cover to know what it's about. Boy meets girl. Boy verbally abuses girl, to hide his unbearable attraction. Girl retreats into her own little world. Girl gets into a tricky situation over a pound-note. Boy rescues girl. Boy berates girl. Girl falls in love with boy. Boy ultimately shows signs of affection. Boy ultimately shows signs of arousal. Boy and girl bog off, leaving shagging to the imagination of the reader. The End." The whole table laughed out loud, including Lavender but excluding Hermione, and Madam Pince made a brief stop at the table to shush them.
"Very funny, Potter, but let's hear what it's about," Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw, said with a wink in Padma's direction. "Go on Ron, read the back." A chorus of agreement met this statement, and Ron turned the book over. As he began to read, Lavender looked pointedly at a spot on the table.
Penniless and abandoned in a Spanish paradise, Callisto Farmer is befriended by a kindly Englishwoman on the Costa Del Sol. But as this innocent-seeming grandmother gains her trust, what danger is lurking on the hot Moorish sands? Callisto finds out, when she is unexpectedly confronted by the one man she'd like to forget, the man she never thought she'd meet again.
More troubles await the beautiful young researcher as she returns to London to find her position made redundant and her flat ransacked. Is the mysterious, dark stranger lurking at her doorstep a friend…or something else, something… more?
"Is it some kind of mystery?" Ron asked Harry (obviously the resident expert) when the former finished reading.
"Oh no. You know those jacket descriptions – they always hint at things that are utter rubbish. She was probably on the Spanish Coast for a vacation with her brother's best friend, whom she expected to propose marriage to her, but who instead left her flat when she refused to sleep with him. The man she'd like to forget is probably the same guy as the dark stranger, and the reason she'd like to forget him is likely because he gave her a bad employee review for her assembly-line job at the chocolate-making factory. The kindly old woman is probably his mother, the danger is not likely to be worse than sunburn, and the only mystery is why anyone would ever read more than one."
Sensing an appreciative audience, Harry's speech gained strength and emphasis, and he finished with a triumphant flourish of his still-gloved left hand, in an unconscious imitation of a Matador. He wasn't disappointed. The roar of approval that met his conclusion brought another visit from Madam Pince, as Hermione looked irritably at her pocket watch. "Oh, and that name, Lottie Guenther…probably a pseudonym. The author's most likely a man. Yes, men do write them, but the, er, people who buy these types of books apparently don't want to read them if they're written by a bloke. After all, we don't know anything about romance." Harry smirked at his own wit, and the other males at the table snickered appreciatively.
"Sounds like you are quite the expert, Mr Potter. Perhaps too expert. Tell me, Harry, how may have you read? Or perhaps you wrote one?!?" Lavender crooked an eyebrow at Harry and asked the question with some asperity, but no heat. Happily, the collective gaze of the study-group returned to The Boy Who Lived, and it was his turn to squirm at the attention.
Harry was saved from answering by Hermione, who hissed to them sotto voce to get started with their essays, on pain of failure, torture, and public humiliation. The next two hours passed in comparative silence. No-one noticed Hermione staring fixedly at the cover of the little book for the 10 minutes before their two hours were up.
-*~~*~~*-
By the end of three hours of solid essay writing, they were all in, and by unanimous vote (with the chair abstaining) they over-rode Hermione's original plan and agreed to evaluate the essays later and compare notes. Collecting her books, Hermione left the library in a huff, with Harry looking on with some regret. Ron had found the study session extremely gruelling and was just buoyant with relief that it was over.
"Crikey, Harry, I can't imagine that our Potions final will be that tough. If it is, I'm sunk," he said as they gathered their things and left the library. The plan was, a quick trip to the Gryffindor Tower to unload their bits and pieces (and check up on Hermione), and then off to dinner. Hopefully there would still be a bit of sun left to enjoy afterwards. Preferably airborne.
"Ron, I wouldn't be a bit surprised. You know that Potions and Transfiguration are both going to be murder. It's inconvenient, but really lucky in the long run that we have Hermione to whip us into shape…I don't like to think what our time here would have been like if we hadn't had her to prop us up. Speaking of which, I want to make sure she's OK before we go to dinner. You with me?"
"Er, Harry, you don't think she'll make us do more work if she finds us? I mean, she's had time to get her second wind." Ron looked positively pained at the idea.
"No, Ron, I don't. But if she does, we'll just have to tell her that we're growing boys, and dinner comes first! And speaking of which, Ron, you know the Muggle saying 'man cannot live by bread alone'?" Ron nodded. "That book of Lavender's gave me the wickedest idea for a prank…"
The two friends caught up with Lavender and Parvati on the way to the Gryffindor tower. They chatted about the study group, Quidditch, finals, and by the time they got to the Fat Lady, Ron had forgotten all about his essay stress.
"Tender Tootsies. Lavender, no hard feelings about today, huh?"
"No, Harry, if you forgive me for outing you as a romance novelist." Harry allowed the two girls to precede him through the door – Ron had already stepped through and was doubtlessly sneaking up to the boys' dorms as fast as his legs would carry him.
"No, no problem. And Parvati, what on earth is going on with your hair?"
Lavender answered, glad to have a chance to get revenge on her best friend. "Well, while I've been on my fluff kick, Parvati's been going nutso over historical romances. She's been on a big Georgette Heyer binge, and she decided today to style her hair like a Regency Lady of Quality. Somehow, the spell doesn't seem to work too well when you're using 1820's Muggle hair supplies, and this is the result." It was Lavender's turn to snicker, and Parvati turned wordlessly and ascended the stairs.
_____________________________________
A/N: Any resemblance you see to actual romance novels may be credited to my pre-pubescent devotion to Harlequin Romances. I can't vouch for their authenticity v/v modern stories, as the books I read were c. 1974-79.
This story, like all my others, has unavoidable Blackadder references. Kudos to you if you recognise them. Congratulatory emails to you if you tell me about them.
There is also a shameless self-reference, to my paragon of spell-checked smut (aka erotica) Dangerous Escapism.
The name of our Mills & Boon heroine Callisto Farmer is not a random choice. Any ideas?
In addition to Blackadder, there is also a reference to what I consider the funniest half-hour of television, ever – an episode of the I Love Lucy show.
My fave Georgette Heyer book is A Lady of Quality. Guess who I imagine in the role of the hero??!! And…if you're interested in finding out more about the Regency Period about which she wrote, here's an URL: http://laura.chinet.com/html/recipes.html
Kudos or flames? email me!.
Many thanks to Lauren for critiquing my work, to Isirta2001 for posting the challenge, and to WIKTT for their inspiration.
TBC
Upload Date: 20-Sep-02
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