Chapter 8: Patrice's Gift
Hermoine kept her guard up around Patrice constantly now. Something was seriously odd about her. It had been four weeks since the tryouts, and October was well on it's way. Hermoine, much to her grand annoyance, had yet to figure out the common spell placed over them all. She could not see any noticeable changes in any of the others, except Ron, who still tripped over himself to help Patrice. Surely, not everyone had been given medical attention either. . . . Hermoine thought she would go insane trying to figure it out.
Patrice was sitting in the common room. There was a crowd of people around her. She had an easel before her. Hermoine got closer, and saw that Patrice was painting a portrait of Neville. The portrait was extremely lifelike.
"Ohh, me next!" insisted Ginny.
"No me," insisted a third year.
"Calm down," replied Patrice. "I have an appointment book. Sign it if you want one. One painting for ten Knuts." Everyone who hadn't already signed rushed over to the book hovering behind Patrice. Neville's picture was beaming. So was Neville. He took his portrait up to the boy's dorm.
Ron was next, followed by Harry. Hermoine watched out of the corner of her eye as she did her Charms homework. Patrice spent at least two hours on each portrait, so it was nearly super time when she finished Harry's portrait.
"Hermoine, come look!" called Ron. "These things are absolutely wicked!" Hermoine gazed at the pictures. Harry's face was set in a small, tentative smile, while Ron wore a huge grin in his portrait.
"Patrice claims that they are magical," Harry said in a whisper, "but they haven't done anything yet."
"She says that she's not going to tell us what they do. We have to figure them out for ourselves," added Ron, completely missing the doubt in Harry's voice. "I bet they talk or something."
"Why would you want to talk to yourself?" asked Hermoine haughtily.
"It could be useful for figuring stuff out," pointed out Harry.
"Hermoine, could I see you for a sec?"
Hermoine turned. Patrice was waving her brush at her. Hermoine shrugged, told the two boys to wait for her, and headed over to Patrice.
"Sure, what's up?"
"I wanted to give you your portrait," replied Patrice. Hermoine's mouth flapped open. She was at a loss for words.
In the portrait, Hermoine was bent over a stack of books, her quill raised above a painted piece of parchment. Her head was up, as if she were copying from the board. Her face was set in a look of frustration. Hermoine examined it. There was no question that she was the one in the painting. Her hair was just right, and managed to look frizzled even on paper.
"Thanks, Patrice," she said at last, recovering her voice. Even if the picture wasn't magic, Patrice had an amazing talent.
"Yours is active," Patrice told her. "They actually have to sit for 48 hours to become active. I hope you like it."
"It's wonderful. I had no idea you were so talented." Patrice grinned.
Hermoine ruffled through her pockets. She pulled out ten Knuts. Patrice pushed the money away.
"You were the first girl to talk to me, and be nice to me. You've been more then helpful. Forget about paying me."
"Al - alright," replied Hermoine. "Thanks, Patrice." Patrice went red.
"If you give up on trying to figure it out, let me know, and I'll show you," she promised. "Now hurry up, Ron and Harry are waiting for you. I'll be down when I'm done cleaning up."
Hermoine bid Patrice goodbye. After she had put her portrait up on her bed, she hurried back to Ron and Harry.
"Hurry up, Hermoine, or we'll miss out on good food." Ron grabbed her arm, and pulled her along faster.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!"
A thought struck Hermoine as she sat down to eat. She thought back, with all her might, to her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. They had been talking with Patrice.
"Mrs Coeur is not what I'd call a . . . conventional teacher," is what she had said in the hall. No, in the classroom. The empty classroom . . . .
Hermoine nearly shot from her seat. A memory charm! That's what had been cast on all of them!
"What is it, Hermoine?" asked Ron.
"Nothing," Hermoine lied. "Just had a thought for a good essay." Ron groaned.
"Is that all you ever think about?"
"No. Sometimes, I think about life, but only when I'm done my homework." She was rewarded with another groan.
Hermoine managed to get all through the supper without exploding. She practically ran up to Ms. Coeur as soon as the meal was over, saying she had a question. Professor McGonagal gave Coeur a good-natured smile, accompanied by an "I told you so" look.
"Come to my office, Hermoine," bid Mrs. Coeur. Hermoine followed, gooseflesh rising on the back of her neck.
The office was very cluttered despite it's size. Drawing apparently ripped from books were hung on the walls. There were books piled all around, leaving only a very small path to walk in.
"I thought you had no use for books," said Hermoine with a smile. Mrs. Coeur smiled.
"So you figured it out, did you? Put it to words then."
"You cast a memory charm on all of us to keep us from remembering what we really do in your classes."
Hermoine felt like she had been struck by lighting. She realized that she was on the ground. She also realized that she had remembered everything. All the classes, fighting trolls, dark wizards, boggarts and all other manner of creatures.
"I'm genuinely impressed, Hermoine." Mrs. Coeur handed her a pitcher of Butterbeer. "Drink up, and you'll feel better," she added.
When Hermoine's head had cleared, she looked around the office anew. It was still cluttered, but with very different things. All manner of orbs, charms and trinkets littered the office. There were no books in sight.
"Feeling better?" Hermoine looked up at Mrs. Coeur.
"Yes," she admitted.
"Good. I must admit, you are the first to break through the memory charm."
"Really?"
"Yes." She hesitated. "If it is all right with you, I want to arrange with Professor Dumbledore a special test for you." Hermoine gave the professor a side ways look.
"Why?"
"Because you are something special," replied Coeur with a shrug. "If you don't want to take it . . . ."
"I do," replied Hermoine hastily. Something told her that this was important.
"Good. I'll let you know of the date as soon as possible. Go on back to your house now, Hermoine." She smiled. "I'll see you in class tomorrow. It should be. . . memorable."
