For notes, disclaimers, see part one.
A/N: Thanks to PepsiAngel for pointing out timeline problems – I never noticed that! Definitely a "duh" moment! I've tweaked it a bit now.
Thanks: To all the people who have reviewed so far – especially those (you know who you are!) who've reviewed more than just *one* story of mine. You're all wonderful! I'm really surprised by the response this story has gotten!
Chocolate Self-Hatching Eggs and a very special Ron-Smile go out to Courtney, the beta-bomb and resident Priestess of Racy Innuendos. Not only was she able to control my insane urge to write in lower case, but she was able to spot a surprising number of innuendos. See how many *you* can spot!
Tuesday
4th September~
Hair bushiness (on scale of 0 – 10): 3. School assignments
completed: 3. Hours spent on study: 5 (g). Chocolate eggs consumed:
0 (excellent!). Current tally of highly suspicious DADA professors:
4.
7:57 am: Ugh. Overslept. Missed breakfast. Must shower. Feel like a
Bundimun's armpit.
7:58 am: Oh no oh no oh no oh no! No time! Class! Must get to class!
Ack!
11:14 am: Horrible - new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor
thinks I am procrastinating half-wit. Can't believe I over-slept. Must have
been the chocolate before bed. How many times have I lectured the boys about
sweets before bed? Should follow own advice.
Woke up still fully dressed with silly romance novel open over my face.
Snogging couple on cover were snoring in each other's arms, and I realized with
a start that that was the only snoring I could hear.
"Lavender?" I called out, and flung open the drapes around my
bed. "Parvati?"
There was no answer. There were no roommates. Then I noticed that alarm
clock - which sat slumped on my nightstand - read 7:55. The clock looked
exhausted. Probably had been trying to wake me for hours, poor thing. Must talk
to Harry and Ron about inherent cruelty of magical alarm clocks.
Briefly debated merits of changing clothes and brushing hair, teeth. The
clock ticked over to 7:59 am, and decided that bed head wouldn't look any
different from normal bushiness. In fact, bushiness decreases with lack of
brushing (3!).
Should consider never brushing hair again, instead joining a Mediterranean
Reggae band. Would do wonders for appearance.
Would
scandalize parents. Hmm.
Five minutes later, quite out of breath, I burst into the DADA classroom.
I'd performed an anti-wrinkling charm on the way, but as I had been running,
the charm's results (and my school robes) were a bit spotty. Tried to sneak in
through the door at the back of the classroom, but of course, a draft from the
hall caught it and flung it into the opposite wall. Everyone turned to stare.
Professor Putnam looked up from his desk. I may have squeaked in horror, as Putnam
is even more horrid-looking up close than he had been at Sorting Ceremony. Face
like blob of gray sealing wax. Rumor is he had a run-in with a Chimaera, years
ago.
Ron says he looks like something his pet Puffskein coughed up once.
Ron can be very disgusting at times.
"Sorry I'm late, sir," I gasped out. Putnam raised one scraggily
eyebrow.
"Oh? And who might you be?"
"Hermione Granger, sir."
He shuffled arthritically closer. "Well, Hermione Granger, you can
make reparations for your tardiness by explaining to the class what the best
approach to repelling an Expelliarmus charm."
Hmm. This hadn't been in the book. And if it hadn't been in the book –
*any* book… "With due respect, sir, I don't think it's possible to repel
an Expelliarmus charm. It's a defensive charm – harmless."
"Wrong, Miss Granger. It's hardly harmless if it leaves you
defenseless, is it?"
It took me a moment to sort out what he had said. A few students tittered.
"N-no, sir."
"Well then. Perhaps in the future a more timely arrival will be in
order."
"Y-yes, sir."
"Find your seat and be quick about it. Five points from Gryffindor for
your lack of preparation."
I did so, carefully avoiding the eyes of fellow Gryffindors. Simply can't *believe*
it! Professor Putnam is older, misshapen Snape!
The rest of the class went as well as could be expected – with Harry
looking at me as if he were afraid I would burst into tears. And Ron, of
course, muttering things that would shock his mother, and were (I think)
anatomically impossible anyway.
"I wish Lupin would come back. This Putnam is a right royal –"
I can't write what he said in case *my* mother ever finds this diary.
"Ron!" I chided.
He grinned cheekily, and then turned his attention back to the lesson. On
his other side, Harry snickered and pushed a scrap of parchment across the
table to me. He had drawn a rather rude picture of Putnam doing exactly what
Ron had described earlier. I think he was trying to make me feel better.
I appreciated the gesture. I really do have the best friends *ever*.
3:14 pm: Classes over for the day. Thank goodness. Last class was
Potions with Snape. Have feeling I will learn to *despise* Tuesdays and
Thursdays. Even Arithmancy is not enough to make combination of Defense Against
Dark Arts and Potions less miserable.
Did learn interesting potion used to detect danger. Called `Denunciation
Potion', rather difficult to make, and smells dreadful. It used nearly all of
my supply of caterpillar hearts. It's supposed to give forewarning when the
drinker is in the presence of a person who wishes harm by making them turn
blue.
Harry snorted a bit loudly at this. Snape glared, and went back to
lecturing. Harry leaned across the table. "I've found blinding and
debilitating pain is pretty effective, as well," he whispered to us. Ron
chuckled.
I didn't. I know I worry too much, but I just can't help it. It was just
another reminder of what *could* happen. I don't want to think about it.
9:27 pm: Sitting reading by Common Room fire, reading new O.W.L.s
handbook – *`More Than You Ever Wanted To Know About Your Upcoming Ordinary
Wizarding Level Exams'* by R. T. Redundas. V. interesting – have learned a
few useful hints and approaches to studying. Must tell Harry, and Ron, and
maybe Neville. I'm sure they'd be-----
10:03 pm: Huh. Ron just did incredible thing. Plopped down beside
me, took book, closed it, and then gave me an absolutely staggering smile.
Should not be staggered by best friends' smile. V. idiotic and just asking
for embarrassment. Have decided that unfortunately timed crush on said best
friend is nothing more than hormones (mum gave me "The Talk" last
summer – I know *all* about hormones and their debilitating effects),
and proximity. Ron is always *there*, so of course I should develop
strange fixation on him rather than, say, Ernie Macmillan.
Besides, Ernie Macmillan can't smile half so well as…augh! Must stop this
nonsense!
Where was I? Oh, yes.
Ron. He apologized. That is worthy of a diary entry in itself. Usually,
after one of our rows, we call a truce more than we actually say, "I'm
sorry". I think this is because I have horrible tendency to cry when
apologizing, and this alarms those around me. I *had* thought that
today's policy of non-ignoring was enough of a truce, but Ron must have wanted
to clear the air.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said.
I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"For yesterday. I didn't mean to………y'know………make you angry."
The novelty of an apology was making me imagine absolutely ridiculous
things. I ignored the fluttery feeling and tried to be casual. "Yes, well
– staring usually *is* quite annoying, Ron."
He took a deep breath as if to keep his temper, and continued. "I *wasn't*
staring at you. It was just – you know, when you're thinking hard and you have
to look at something while you do it? What am I saying – you do it all the
time." He laughed, and I had the terrible feeling I knew what he was going
to say next. "I mean, half the time you're staring at *me* while
you're using that enormous brain of yours!"
Yes, that's what I was afraid he was going to say.
I blushed horribly, but nodded. "Oh – er, of course. No worries. I do
it all the time. So…uh…there wasn't anything wrong with my hair, then?"
I didn't mean to say *that* either. What is *wrong* with
me??? Who cares about my hair??? Why can't I stop obsessing over superficial
things such as appearance???
Ron looked a bit puzzled. "Your hair? No – your hair looked
nice." Then he smirked a bit and tugged on a curl. "But what's up
with it today? It's not looking very………perky. You're not getting sick, are
you?"
Oh, Merlin. Leave it to Ron – usually the most clueless idiot in school –
to notice me when I haven't brushed my hair. Augh.
But he *did* apologize. Must put big `star' next to today. For
posterity. Or so I can look back on today and gloat gently to self.
Anyway – must get to bed. Long day tomorrow.
TBC...
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