A/N: *gets down on knees* I'm terribly sorry for taking so long!... but if
you want a characterization on Dill Harris of *To Kill A Mockingbird*, I'll
send you the file. :-)
Okay, sorry for the joke -- but I'm trying to keep my fanfiction a secret from my mom, who would conclude I'm utterly crazy, never let me on fanfiction.net, and wouldn't even let me use the computer for my *original* stuff... so bear with me here. :-)
This chapter was so long I had to use the document file, so I apologize for how stupid it looks. I hate this format.
Thanks again to all my reviewers: Julia, Le Chat Qi Garde La Lune (I've got to use that, as the second piece of French I know, in this fic...), Lavender Ice (who has reviewed EVERY ONE of my fics, thanks, LI!), Lily Evans, and Sorensen.
To answer a few quick questions: Lily: Of course Hermione can't; but she's six. Let her believe she can get away with it for awhile. :-)
Sorensen: Ron... hmm... uh... er... *glances around helplessly* I'm working on a Percy fic, one very long chapter, is that good enough? *hopefully*
DJ: *note -- not on ff.n* Well, Hermione's Hermione. With Sirius and Harry both referring to Remus as "Remus", she probably thinks of him as that, but Hermione Granger, calling a teacher (even a former one) but his first name without explicit permission (and maybe not even then?) Never.
Isa: Wanna count how many times the CC is mentioned? Heh heh...
Sara has gotten on to my account. I think she sent y'all an email... Hermione is working as my secratary. These characters are nice! With that, something I've been warned by DJ I've forgotten... Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fic. I even disclaim the plot and original characters. Without J. K. Rowling, I wouldn't have created them. (Hopefully she wouldn't be horrified by them...) I assure all that I make no money off of this. In fact, I lose money, because I use a lot of Advil...
Note: Can anyone explain the pence system to me? I want my fics to be accurate, but that still confuses me a bit...
As always, I thank you wholeheartedly... and apologize in advance for the cliffhanger, and the wait.
Lastly, I want to do a fic called "Receiving the Hogwarts Owl", in which each chapter will recount the event of certain characters finding out they were accepted to HSoWaW. (Although I am forcing myself to post nothing until I finish Serendipity.) For those of your interested, you get to decide -- which character do you want to see first? The only one I will not do is James Potter. I have a full series on him, and not saying the event of his owl will give me a real incentive to get to work! So who do you want to see in the moment? Any canon characters, and of my original characters (*sighs*... yes, Isa, that includes Sara, it won't be given away if I do), and *if* you get me permission from the author, anyone else's OCs. If interested, tell me who you want to see in a review! (If you somehow *forget* to review... *glares around* ... Oh, well, email me!) In case of ties, I'll pick the person I like best.
That is, the charcter that'll be easiet to do, not the reviewer I like best. That's favourism. *grin*
Enough blabbing, on with *this* chapter!
10 December
I feel terrible. Doing the right thing can really make you feel lousy. It can really make the person you're trying to help feel lousy, too – or humiliated is more like it.
Well, I couldn't very well do it in the Great Hall, even though then the Slytherins would be sure to hear. So I needed something that word of mouth would carry. What's the one way I get my name in gossip circles lately?
Viktor, of course.
So… last evening I planned it out carefully and waited for Ginny to come in. Hoping to spare her, I bent over my books and faked a look of panicked, frantic studying.
Ginny ignored it, coming over to me with her own History of Magic work. "Hi, Hermione."
I glanced up. "Oh! Hi, Ginny." I bent down again, silently praying. *Gin, just get out of here! Please!*
Ginny didn't hear my thoughts and plopped down. "Still on homework, I see?"
I took a deep breath and then forced an exasperated sigh. "Yeah," I said, sounding snappish, raising my voice slightly.
Ginny glanced at me in surprise, looking a little hurt. I felt pinpricks of guilt already. "Oh." I wished she would say, "Okay, I'll leave you alone then." Instead, she said: "I'll just keep quiet while we work," with one of her hesitant but friendly smiles.
It was the thought of no one – not me, not the Weasleys – ever seeing that bright smile again that kept me going through my act. "Oh, sure you will," I said acidly.
Ginny looked even more startled. "Er – Hermione?"
"What is it, Ginny? See? You're doing it already!"
"W-What?"
She sounded like she had three years ago, as a nervous first-year. Her voice was now uncertain.
"Just go away…" I tried to add: "You brat", but I couldn't quite manage it. "You've made enough trouble for me already."
As I said, I was speaking loudly, and the common room grew quieter as some people turned to look.
I'm not sure if it's good or bad that Ginny's Weasley temper kicked in. "Just what did I do?" she demanded coolly, putting a hand on her hip as she stood.
"Go ask *Viktor*," I snapped. "Not that he'll talk to you."
"H-Hermione?"
At the sound of "Viktor" and me looking so upset, the whole common room silenced. Several glances were exchanged, several eyebrows were raised, several knowing smiles showed, and several soft calls of: "Ooooh" sounded the room. (The twins and Lee, I'm sure.)
Ginny found her anger far enough to ask sharply, after the hesitant calling of my name, as if asking where I had gone and who was acting me out in my absence, "Just what about Viktor?"
I feigned being on the edge of tears. Just what I always wanted – crying in front of Gryffindor over a boy. "V-Viktor s-said that he c-c- couldn't date m-me any l-longer because he c-couldn't be w-with a g-girl who always had a little bratty t-tagalong in ratty robes h-hanging around!"
The silence deepened as this sunk in. Ginny's face began to turn as red as her hair. My own shame was causing me to heat in the cheeks as well, but if they were colouring, I think it was mistaken for anger or being upset.
I didn't think Ginny could find her voice for a moment. I illustrated the scene by glaring at her. Ginny looked shocked and simply unable to understand. Then – why does she have to be so sweet? – she said softly: "Oh my goodness, Hermione, I'm sorry."
Why couldn't she have been *nasty* about it quicker? It would have made my job a lot easier. Since she didn't, I provoked her once more: "You had better be! I k-kept hinting at y-you last y-year to stop tagging along, but n-nothing gets through you're t-thick skull, d-does it?" I had done nothing of the sort, of course.
Ginny reddened again, partly from embarrassment – some snickers rounded the room – but mostly from anger. "Well!" she burst out loudly. "Why, I'm so sorry, *Miss* Perfect Bighead! Excuse *me* for trying to be a good friend as well! I've had *enough* of you. I'll just leave you alone, Professor Granger, you must have a ton of weeping of the soul to do in your *diary* after all that *homework* gets done!"
Despite the fact that she had revealed my diary to one and all, I felt I deserved it and couldn't pretend to fume or glare at her. There were now a lot of snickers from the room, in favour of Ginny.
She turned on her heel dramatically and started for the girls' dormitories, suddenly facing me again in the doorway as everyone was beginning to buzz about the row. "Hermy-own Krum didn't sound too good to my ears to begin with!" she added in a scathing shout.
She disappeared, and just as I had hoped (hoped, but hadn't looked forward to, mind you), the second she left the room began to fill with talk over the scene. Several people glanced at me pityingly, but most were as disgusted with me as I was with myself, many admiring Ginny's spunk loudly enough for me to hear.
"Good thing the twins' sister told her off. Always though Hermione Granger was too proud of her wonderful marks and dating Krum for her own good…"
"That was some telling off! I've been wanting to tell Hermione all that for ages…"
"Did Krum really dump her? Because of *Ginny* Weasley?…"
"I know." This girl giggled. "Thought it would be Ron, if anybody!"
"Didn't know little Ginny Weasley had that in her, y'know?"
"… Hermione Granger's just angry she wasn't made prefect, you know…"
"Someone give the Weasley girl a medal… that was great…"
I bent my head over my Ancient Runes as far as I could crane it. My face was burning and I felt close to tears.
"*Ahem*," a throat cleared from above me. Ron.
I glanced up. "What is it?"
"What the bloody *hell* did you do that to my *sister* for, you git!"
I had a feeling that "trying to save her life" wasn't going to work right now.
"If you're going to yell at me, that's one thing!" Ron continued furiously. "You lay *off* Ginny, that's *my* sister, and no way are you *ever* going to humiliate her in front of Gryffindor in front of *me*, you –"
"Watch your mouth!" I replied out of habit.
Ron stared at me, too rage-filled (and shocked) to say anything.
"Well, Weasley," I said coldly, scooping up my books and standing, "*I* never noticed before now that you were so fond of her. *I* recall hearing 'Go away, Ginny' and 'Ginny, stop bothering me'. Interesting that you're taking such an interest in her now, isn't it?"
Ron gaped and found his voice. "This is a lot different! Ginny's my sister and you can't tell her off like that!"
"I just did." I tried to sidestep him. He stepped on my foot. I muffled a small cry of pain and he glared at me.
"Funny," he said in a low voice, "I don't see the Hermione Granger I know."
"Well, your eyesight concerning me has always been a little off," I replied viciously. "Took you a while to realize I was a person… a little more to realize my brain could be put to uses… a few years to see I could take care of myself… even longer to see I was a girl… a little slow on the uptake, aren't you?"
He glowered.
"Listen, don't growl at me like a brokenhearted puppy," I said coolly. "If you want to ask me out, just do it and don't snap at me because you can't work up the courage!"
I said this a bit loudly as well, and again a good deal of Gryffindor turned to us, looking frankly amazed.
"G'night, Weasley."
I can't believe that. Ron and Ginny looked so hurt… "I don't see the Hermione Granger I know." Well, I'm not too sure where she is either.
12 December
My roommates are out on a mission to kill me. Well, I know at least two of them don't intend to – that is, Parvati and Lavender.
"Oh, 'Mione," they half-croon. *Mione*? Since when have I been *Mione*?! "Did Viktor Krum really break up with you? That's *awful*…" But I can deal with that. It's when they start putting down Ginny that I get angry! How Ginny was* always* a little bratty baby tagalong, and how they told me *long* ago to tell her to "buzz off"… sometimes I forget tat I'm supposed to be angry with her and almost start defending her before I remember. It's hard to keep my mouth shut.
Not that Ginny gets no defence. For one, a good portion of the school is applauding her – and glowering and spilling inkstands on purpose in regard to me. As for Parvati and Lavender – well, I suppose Sara Blustovadk isn't completely useless.
"Ginny is *not* a twerp!" she interjected hotly while hearing Parvati and Lavender go on. Which would have been very fine if she had kept it at that. But *no* – she continued: "*I* think" – who asked her? – "that Hermione owes Ginny a real apology. That was mean, Ginny's one of the best friends she could ever have and she tells her off because of what a *boy*, the great wonderful *Viktor*, says." Her grey-blue eyes flashed indignity and she stormed off.
While I could have killed her on the spot, at least it caused them to lay off Ginny. "What's with Sara, she's usually so nice…" Lavender said, but she kept quiet after that.
Harry is also furious with me. He's given me the cold shoulder all day and glared at me all during Herbology. Ron isn't half so subtle and talks none too discreetly about me – in my hearing. And it hurts, very badly… even though that's what I've been trying to make them do in the first place.
The one comfort, however, is that like I planned this is all over school and that Ron and Harry are very obvious about this. Ginny – and the other two – are safe from the Society for Purity.
13 December
Did I mention the teachers are none too thrilled with me as well? (How goes gossip get this far, anyway? Is it those annoying portraits, or…?) Prof. McGonagall kept glancing at me yesterday like I had two heads. Very comforting. The work has been stepping down a little as well… everyone is ready for the holiday, I suppose. I've already signed up to go home. Ron and Harry and Ginny glared at me like poison, but I already vowed earlier to finally spend a Christmas at home! Of course, I can't tell them that… outside of Gryffindor, the Society might see. Inside the Tower, everyone is breathing down our necks watching. It will be such a relief to go home… I absolutely cannot wait another day. Well, I suppose I will, but I won't be happy about it. I want to get away from the feeling of paranoia of watching for someone with a knife, and away from the constant mutterings at me in the corridors, and the hissing in the Tower, and Ginny, who is walking around like a hurt little puppy. I just hope that Mum and Dad don't realize something's wrong. Parents are funny like that – have a habit of butting into your private life all the time.
14 December
Am I ever in trouble now. This clipping is from the *Witch Weekly* –
Bulgarian Star Seeker Single Again
Vrasta Vultures phenomenal young Seeker Viktor Krum has disappointed long-time fans by dating a young (quite young) British Hogwarts Gryffindor fifth-year, Hermione Granger, who is reportedly incredibly intelligent to make up for lack of looks.
Female fans will be heartened to know, however, that the infamous "Vicky" has recently cut ties with Miss Granger and is very single.
"Awesome," was the way one copper-haired, high-cheekboned witch phrased it. "Whenever I see Vicky Krum I just want to give him a big hug, a nice hot stew, and figure out how to make him smile."
Oh my goodness, I am in for it now. Why didn't I think of that? I had forgotten that Viktor was the Viktor Krum. He was just… Viktor. But I can't really dump him without being in the tabloid for star-struck witches; I had forgotten.
What if Viktor reads this?
Oh, forget that –
What about* when* Viktor reads this?
I will have a lot of explaining to do. I've already thought… just deny it, and say it wasn't me who said that… but, well… not even the fact that everyone in Gryffindor can confirm it… it's just that it would be lying. I can't lie to Viktor; I respect him a lot – respect him. And, well, perhaps Mum was right. It's sort of nice to not feel as if I'm completely committed to one person. It's a nice feeling of freedom to know that I can accept a date from Bobby Renshaw without quickly reminding him that I'm "going steady". Not that any boy around here is asking me out for a while, unless they're, say, Slytherin – oh, spare me – but it's just nice to know that if someone, like A/N: "Ron" was scribbled out Jerome is going to look at me admiringly, that I can give him a teasing grin. Goodness knows I don't want to be like some girls who are terrible flirts – but restraining myself because I'm "with" someone in Bulgaria…
Of course, I'm talking prematurely. Who knows? This might even escape Viktor's ears. But to tell the truth, last week I had to hunt up a picture of him to remember what shape his eyes were.
15 December
Hogsmeade isn't half as fun with no one to share it with. In fact, it's not much fun at all. I wouldn't even have gone if I hadn't needed to get Mum and Dad and the darling… sort of… cousins something for Christmas. I don't think getting Ron and Ginny and Harry and Neville and Parvati and Lavender anything will support my "bad-girl-standing-alone" act.
But I knew exactly what to get for Mum and headed straight for Gladrags Wizardwear. I got a magically enchanted shawl that's always warm but looks completely Muggle. It's a deep red with darker red paid and gold and navy fringe, very soft and comfortable. I considered getting one for myself, even, but it was a little pricey for two. Not having any ideas for Andrew and Lissie, I wandered off the main road to the residential areas of the village. I had read about a playground in Hogsmeade. (Fancy! A real wizarding playground! Another "first"!)
Although, magic children really aren't that different than Muggle. Except that their toys are a bit more, well, frankly, dangerous. I seriously wanted to get Andrew one of those jump ropes that kept skipping by themselves as the children jumped, speeding up and slowing down abruptly. I wouldn't have minded seeing Andrew smacked on the head. Okay, that was mean. But, well, let's face it, he more than deserves it. In the end, watching them got boring, and cold, and I decided to buy them (regular) jump ropes when I got home and could visit Markie's. I miss Markie; it'll be nice to see him. And really, watching kids jump rope isn't all that entertaining.
I kept walking and started working out ideas for *Fiddle Girl*. That thing's got to end sooner or later. I'm thinking that perhaps I'm going the wrong way with Gareth showing her the way back to Uncle Hennery. Perhaps that should be Nan. There's some sort of poetic justice in that. But there has to be a sort of resolution with Jinni and Gareth, there just has to be.
There are some very nice back and side streets in Hogsmeade. All these neat little cottage in wavy little rows, looking a bit untidier and more natural than Muggle homes. But while I was trying to enjoy it, I noticed something. At one bend I had passed a boy several years older than me was waiting with an Appleby Arrows pennant on. Many Appleby Arrows pennants. I mean, a bunch of pennants. But he also had a threatening half- scowl, and I grew nervous. I stiffened as I walked by, not meeting his eye. As I rounded the bend, I saw his make a hand motion in the direction behind me.
I grew worried. What if he was signaling someone? My fears were confirmed at another corner, where another boy, just slightly smaller (still so much older he could beat me to a pulp) bearing the same amount of Appleby Arrow propaganda. I walked past, eyes averted, trying to walk confidently while I grew more nervous. He had a wand in his pocket.
I rounded that bend when through the chain wire fence I saw none other than Sara Blustovadk walk from a different direction that I had to the corner and realized she had eyed up the whole situation. She stopped by the boy and grinned dazzlingly.
"Hello," I heard her say, "Sara Blustovadk, adamant hater of the Wilbourne Wasps. Nice pennants you got there; get them at a game?"
I kept walking, not knowing whether to be relived or not. She had saved me from whatever the Arrows fans were plotting, but then – *I was in debt to Sara Blustovadk*.
No, I wasn't, I reasoned, I hadn't asked for it. Well, perhaps I owed her a thanks, but little more, and I did so when I reached Hogsmeade's main road. I waited for a few minutes and she arrived, not looking too thrilled or angry or sad. Just thoughtful. I tried to look like I hadn't been waiting.
"Sara," I said a little stiffly, "thanks."
Sara, curse her, played innocent. "What for, Hermione?"
I resisted the impulse to scowl. "For holding up that boy back there."
"Oh, Adam, you mean? The one I was talking to?"
Now I did scowl slightly. "Yes, you know. The one who was signaled to follow me."
She raised an eyebrow witheringly. "Now, how do you know I wasn't just stopping to talk with him about the Arrows?"
Fine. I didn't have to take that. If she were going to play games, then I'd quit. I turned away.
I heard a sigh, and then a tap on the shoulder. I turned again stonily.
"You're welcome. I don't think you have to thank me, but you're welcome. Just stop thinking everything revolves around you, it doesn't always."
I glared, a little uneasily. Do I act that way, or was that just Blustovadk being a prat again? In any case, I don't feel very safe any longer. I remember with a touch of embarrassment while riding in one of the carriages back to the castle that I had Snape's chain. Still, not being able to walk around a small village without being stalked was pretty bad. I wondered if that had anything to do with the Society for Purity when I remembered that a few others, like Natalie McDonald, had also been a bit separated from the crowd – other Muggle-borns. There has to be something we can do, but I have no clue what.
15 December, later
There was a meeting of the CC tonight. Awkwardness galore, with me carefully avoiding Harry. This was made more difficult by the fact that Sirius and Lupin weren't there. I had been counting on that distraction. Lisa and Chelsea were still talking to me… if a little strained. The Slytherins are interested, but don't really care about anyone slighting Ginny, and Chelsea's never really fit the mold of "evil Slytherin" to begin with. So she just sort of said "hi" casually and chatted vaguely about Quidditch, eyes intense as she watched the level two senior members come in and comment shrewdly on them. She fits her House in some ways:
"Well, Johansson isn't late for once, there's a first… someone please tell Page that no one is forcing him to come to this and he can just go… maybe Payne will, I'm betting… just where is Lupin, he's usually one of the first here… oh, look. Poor Ms. Hansen's *nail* broke…" (Okay, I admit to snickering at that one.) "… we'll have to send her condolence cards… say, Harry and Ernie are talking. Imagine that. Wasn't Ernie all over him a few years ago, saying he was the Heir of Slytherin?"
I glanced over at the two; Harry was grinning while Ernie animatedly acted out a bit of dialogue.
Chelsea shook her head in amazement. "Well! Some people can forgive and forget, I suppose. I never could. Harry's really funny that way, though. It's odd, having him as a classmate. Especially after –" she glanced sideways at me " – no, Hermione, not because of his fame and what happened. Not quite. I just mean, well, you're Muggle-born. Lisa could tell you. All during our childhoods, our parents have been telling us when we do something wrong: 'Do you think Harry Potter would do that?' It was just amazing to come here and find out that he was a normal kid. I suppose I should have known, but…" She trailed off and shrugged. "Right, Lisa?"
"Oh, you bet. I don't think I had it as bad, because my parents knew his slightly, but it was incredible when he lost all those points in our first year. I owled Mum straight away, something along the line of 'So there'!"
I giggled, but felt a little cheated. I had read so many things on Harry, but never did any books mention things like what went on in the home. And I looked again at Harry and felt immediately jealous of Ernie. The "my-family-goes-back-so-and-so-generations-as-"purebloods" Ernie. I suppose *he* doesn't realize what it's like to have to hurt your friends to protect them.
Lisa carefully avoided any mention of the fight… but she sounded more strained than Chelsea. I think she was a little put off, and she made double sure not to mention anything related to Quidditch, the *Daily Prophet*, boyfriends, or Weasleys. It was most embarrassing with Grace Zambia, though.
Oh! I wanted to write quick and get to work on my History of Magic essay, but I have got to mention Grace Zambia, who managed to attend the CC meeting.
Zambia was late and completely unapologetic for it. She swept in like a bat, eyes looking around disdainfully before delicately pulling up a chair. As Ernie pointed out, the room seemed to chill a bit with her entrance. She moderately tall and thin, with dark hair that came past her shoulders, glinting silver at the edges, hiding her face. Although when you see her face, not only is it olive, it looks a little like a bird's. A bad- tempered bird that needs to eat more, that is. Her mouth was set tightly and she listened more than she talked; she spent her time staring around at each and every one of us, fixing her eyes on us in turn and making us nervous, jumpy, and uncomfortable. When she did talk, it was like her hands were on reigns – she controlled every pitch, syllable, and breath to it's fullest capabilities of disagreeableness, playing her voice like a instrument – a musical saw at a deathday party is the closest one I can find to it.
"So this is Granger," she said, when Mrs. Gondola introduced her to the junior level one. "The one flirting with the Quidditch stars… I suppose they can't see her face with their eyes so bloody."
The Nurses, Page, and Bell tittered, and it didn't make me feel much better when Miss Payne gave her trouble throughout the meeting. I was mortified.
"So that's why no one likes her," Chelsea decided after the meeting in a low undertone. "Why'd she glare at Payne like poison?"
"Because nearly everyone else does?" Lisa guessed.
She had quite a point. And now I really want to finish this essay and start to pack – holiday starts tomorrow. I can't wait to go home and get away from Hogwarts for a while. Then I can worry about everything later.
16 December
I decided to watch the last Quidditch practice in high hopes that we could prevent the other Houses, but particularly Slytherin, from winning the Cup. Most of Gryffindor came to watch, so I had to sit a bit apart, but I concentrated on the flying. I was impressed for the most part. Even Snape, overseeing the practices with all the Dark Activity (and it's also part of the Order of the Phoenix, Educational Facilities Guidelines Chapter 5 – Sports and Games – Subtitle 1: "All events and practices can and will be supervised by a trusted adult of authority."), was hard-pressed to find much to sneer at. In fact, only Sara gave him anything to pick on, but she did it with style. Her Shooting Star got temperamental on her and started jerking. I saw this at the beginning of practice but didn't say anything. Toward the end of practice she was thrown off from about fifty feet in the air. For a second, I felt horrified – she had well saved my life yesterday, and if she died now, this was my fault for not saying anything!
But George, bless him, went into a spectacular dive: "Sara – no!" He shot down like Hunter Greene's Arrow and managed to catch her. I don't know how; it went so fast, but it was pretty incredible. I really cheered George, and wasn't the only one. All of us in the stands were.
"All right, George!" Alicia grinned. "The Weasley talent's definitely in you!" Fred gave him a thump on the back and Katie gave him a kiss. "I reckon I ought to start paying you for your services. You've saved the damsel in distress how many times this year?" Sara joked weakly, still shaky from her fall.
Snape was not amused. "Are you all right, Miss Blustovadk?" he asked coldly, sounding as though he very much wished she wasn't.
"Thanks to George here, yes, sir."
"It's not safe," was Snape's only acknowledgment of her answer. "Those can't stand up to Quidditch play, those Shooting Stars. In trying to keep up with the other Chaser's Comets, you're simply endangering yourself and others. If you don't appear after Christmas with a rideable broomstick you shall be suspended from the team. Is that clear?"
The Gryffindor team all tried to protest, saying that it was merely Christmas anticipation that had gotten into Sara's flying. But no, Snape held firm, and while that's one way of getting her off the Quidditch team, it was also not quite… right.
16 December, later
I hate them. Don't they have anything better to do with their miserable lives? Why can't anyone stop this? I'm on the Hogwarts Express now and I keep thinking that it's going to topple over or something. They just won't leave me alone, will they?
I finished packing just about everything last night. I went to breakfast this morning, avoiding everyone with the trusty cover of a book. By the way, I've learned a lot of interesting things from extra background reading lately. I never knew half of that stuff on Wand Variations! Did you know that there's a piece of Dark Magic to make something called a "Dark Copy" off any random wand in the world? It appears to be an exact copy of the original, although its sparks are a little darker, and it works better with curses and not quite as good with regular things, unless there's evil intent. All right, all right, I suppose with times like these that's not really something to be excited about – who knows…? – but it's fascinating! Fancy being the person to discover charms and spells and entirely new enchantments likes that! I think I'd love to be an enchantment developer. That would be completely wonderful. I'm going to try and find a book on that.
But, well, back to the not-so-good thing: I went back to our dormitory and found that my things had been ransacked. My sheets had been tossed askew again, with a note pinned to them that read: "Merry Christmas". My schoolbag was slashed *again* – Flitwick's going to get suspicious about those seaming charms sooner or later. My clothes… and not just my clothes, my, you know, private wear… had been turned inside out and some of it was ripped. Ink was spilled all over the cloak for Mum. Pages had been torn out of books – both ones I own and ones on loan. My *Hogwarts: A History* was ripped, torn, scribbled upon, dog-eared, soaked, and the binding was damaged! This is it! And then there was another of those rude notes:
Mudblood – (can't they find an more original greeting?)
You're taking an awful long time to pack. Suppose we shouldn't expect a Mudblood to be clever enough to figure out how to do that. You are staying home, aren't you? Books aren't the only things we can damage.
-- The Society for Purity
P.S. Interesting choice of underwear.
How *dare* they!
Complete and utter gits, that's what. Ron's terming is quite handy.
Ron. *Ron.* He's on the train, too, all the Weasleys are. Can you believe? They're leaving for Christmas, and *not* taking Harry! What's with that? Poor Harry, he'd really enjoy a Christmas at the Burrow! I tried to ask about it, but, well, not only do I have to "lay low", they're not talking to me. I think – and I hope dearly – that there's something immediately important that they couldn't put off that they can't take anyone out of family for. Now I feel dreadful. Harry's all alone for Christmas at school. And practically no Gryffindors are there. All the families want their children home, with all the concern about the Dark Activity. Except Sara. She's staying, too. I swear, I will *scream* if I come back and they're all chummy. How much can one girl stand? No! That would be… urgh! I almost wish I could stay now. But not only did I *vow* – a Hermione Vow – I doubt he wants my company right now. And I don't want the Society for Purity to get any ideas.
Back to the Society. There's one thing that really puzzles me and really worries me. How'd they get in the Gryffindor Tower? I've thought and thought and thought. The only person to get in who wasn't a – current – Gryffindor and not a McGonagall was Sirius. But Neville's been really careful as of late on those passwords. I don't think I've ever forgotten the Howler. And Neville… he tries, he really does, and every year he gets a little less… careless. Oh, that's not the word, he's not careless at all, but "dim" just sounds rude. And he's not. He's actually fairly bright. He's just not… schoolish.
But back to the point: There's a *traitor* in Gryffindor. Now just who on earth could that be? They're in with the Society, obviously… who revealed the password?
And that's it. That's *it*. I'm going to work on *Fiddle Girl* for now, and I'm not going to worry about the Society for Purity. This is a holiday. I don't want to worry Mum and Dad. Sometimes parents need to be protected against themselves. I'm going to hum Christmas carols and finally give poor Jinni a nice day. I'm going to enjoy the snowy scenery and read *Innovations of the Lesser-Known Hufflepuff*. I'm not going to feel guilty about Harry or anyone else. I am *helping* them. I'm going to daydream about what presents I'm going to get and worry about nothing more pressing than on how to deal with the yearly Putting Up With The Cousins Miller.
16 December, later
Okay, so I lied.
17 December
Oh, I might be turning into a witch, but I don't think I'll ever lose the feeling of comfort I get lying on the bed in my own nice, familiar childhood room in Oxford. Never. There's something wonderfully calming about looking about your bedroom and knowing precisely where there's a tiny paint stain on the wall, or where in the corner the wallpaper doesn't quite match, or at that horrid picture of the person with the long hair and guitar with his wolf and parrot that Mum *insists* hangs in your room ("That was painted by my friend Otto; he'll be famous one day!") or that photo of the Beatles in the doorway that *Dad* insists is not to go ("Every young girl wants a picture of the Beatles in her room!"). And even that stupid little smiling tooth alarm clock! And the knowledge that your windows both face the west, so you can watch every sunset, and the exact view from each. Whew. I love familiar things. I want to be famous and do something splendid one day, but I also want an annoying replica of an overgrown tooth to wake me up while I do it.
I hugged Mum and Dad so tight when I got off the train that I think they had to catch their breath. Unsympathetically I didn't let go for a long moment, trying very hard not to cry.
"She wants something, Beth," Dad said warningly.
"Oh, Dad!" Can't he ever take anything seriously? Thank goodness he doesn't!
"No, don't give me 'oh dad'. What is it? You want to invite a boy from school over from the holidays? I don't think your Viktor will put up with me double-crossing him and giving him the Scotland Yard for a solid hour again."
I sighed, my sheer joy fading slightly as I remembered my Viktor worries. "Dad, he's not my Viktor."
"Hope it's not the other way around," he said worriedly.
"Alex," Mum scolded sternly.
"Money, then. Hitting me for money again." Dad sighed exaggeratedly.
"No! Let's get my things, okay?"
Mum glanced at him sardonically. "Or can't you handle that?"
I grinned. But as we went to collect my suitcase, Cassandra Nott of Slytherin spotted me.
"Watch out, Mudblood," she hissed. "Merry Christmas."
"The same to you, Cassandra," I said coolly.
Dad asked me if that was a "friend of mine, the Slytherin in the CC?" as we grabbed a trolley.
"No, just a classmate. Sort of," I replied sardonically, quickly changing the subject. "When are Andrew and Lissie coming over?"
Mum caught my wariness, and her eyes twinkled. "Oh, I'm not sure," she said offhandedly.
I froze, remembering the last time I heard those words.
"In fact, we made an important decision regarding your darling cousins," Dad continued solemnly.
"Oh, stop torturing the girl," Mum snapped lovingly. "Hermione, Aunt Jan and I decided to have Christmas separate this year."
"I won't be seeing Andrew and Lissie this year?" I gasped joyfully. "Ye --! Er, sorry. That's your niece and nephew, I forgot."
Mum pretended to sternly raise an eyebrow, but she, too, was grinning. "I hope you intend to send them a nice Christmas card."
Trust me, that was no problem at all. I did so cheerfully. ("Hoping your holiday is as nice as mine…") Dad hissed to me that Andrew and Lissie would have driven the Roberts crazy.
"Blessed be 'Manda and Tom," he finished seriously. "You'll be good for them, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, I was thinking of booby trapping the guestroom and chewing with my mouth open."
"That's my Hermione." Dad was getting on my nerves. He kept implying that I was too subdued. Honestly. I'm *fine*. I'm sure not telling everything that went on the last term, but I am fine. Right? But I'm home again, and for now that's all that matters.
19 December
Mum and Dad were nice enough to wait until I got home to do heavy Christmas decorating. (I think they're trying to bribe me into going home for holiday more often.) We went to Markie's lot to choose a Christmas tree and get the DC (Mum thinks that means "Darling Cousins" but it's really "Demon Children".) I was thrilled to see Markie. Oh! Markie has a girlfriend, Millierna.
It was Millierna who was at the cashier and when we said we'd like to speak to our friend Markie, she grinned and blushed. When I said: "Merry Christmas, Markie!" she grinned and blushed. Whenever anyone said "Markie", she grinned and blushed. It was hilarious, and I didn't dare glance at Dad for fear I couldn't keep a straight face. But she's pretty, with deep fawn brown hair and a perfect figure and nice enough. If Markie likes her, who was I to say anything?
There were only a few trees and most in varying degrees of scragliness, but we choose a small dark fir that looked rather stately even for its diminutive height and had great fun decorating it. We also purchased a good many greens from Markie (Millierna: grin, blush) and strung them on the mantel place. Then Dad announced we should leave the rest to Mum when she got an enthused glint in her eye while staring at the banister.
He needn't have worried; Mum merely strung it with glittering holly- and-berry garland. But I soon found it was an excuse to cross-examine me. "Hermione? Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"You're very quiet."
I shrugged. "I usually am."
"Anything wrong?" Dad looked like Madam Pomfrey, eyes searching mine.
"No," I said, trying not to sound annoyed.
"If you want to go back to your school –"
"Dad – no!" I burst.
I'll be happy when the Roberts come tomorrow. Then he can't pester me as mine.
21 December
Oh, I am glad the Roberts came. Amanda and Thomas are wonderful and very nice. Dad picked them up from the station yesterday, and they're great. Amanda is taller, with thick curly hair cut boyishly and fine clear- cut features. Tom is slightly shorter, very funny and laid-back. They're also musical (what's with musical acquaintances as of late?). Amanda adores the Kinks. She is absolutely dead gone on them. Tom plays guitar and has agreed that he could show me a few things, since it's my first chance to make good on the vow of learning to play an instrument. He gets a funny reverent tone when talking of vintage instruments, particularly guitars, which Amanda regards loftily. On the other hand, he tolerates her Kinks fixation in much the same manner. They're very funny. I admire them because even though they've just lost "Dolly" (Tom's father) they're very upbeat and determined to be good guests.
24 December
You know, it's funny, but I almost miss Andrew and Lissie. I feel as if it's been a long time I've been able to talk to anyone near my age… Lisa and Chelsea are about all. And even Amanda and Thomas don't like going outside very long. They'll throw a few snowballs, but that's about it. Dad says it's too cold and too wet; Mum says she's too busy. I tramp about in the woods a bit, but usually come back in after a while.
Tom was good as his word, though, and we've begun guitar lessons. He says that with luck, and hearing from Mum and Dad how diligent I was, that I would be able to reach the third string by the time he had to go. Thomas can play all six strings fairly easily, but he says he's met a lot of people who are better than him.
"Can you play 'You Really Got Me' yet?" Amanda demands.
Thomas shook his head patiently. "Not yet. Give me another decade."
One Kink song is called "Father Christmas", and considering the date Amanda has an excuse to play it a lot. The thing is, it sort of ruins my mood, because whenever I hear Ray Davies singing: "Give all the toys… to all the rich boys!" I keep thinking of Malfoy. Ew. Not on Christmas Eve!
But I suppose we'll have fun this evening, however. (I also think Mum's going to ban "Father Christmas" until at least Boxing Day.)
25 December
We did have fun last evening and today. We went to church yesterday afternoon at around sunset. I saw Missy Parks but I ignored her and all hissings of "freak". If she only knew I could turn her into a toad – (never mind that I wouldn't; just that I could) – and when she asked: "Read any *books* lately?" I wished I could reply nonchalantly: "Oh, yes; it's called *Ins and Outs of Levitation Charms*.
But it was nice to see some other people. Most from my old school barely recognize me; can you imagine that? (Although Missy said it was my hair that everyone vaguely recalled.) But Brenda Milroy did and demanded that we sit next to her. She kept whispering all through the service. I tried to politely shake her off, and Mum and Amanda kept glancing at mortified me looking very amused.
At least that dinner was worth it. Yes, yes, I sound like Ron, but after my diary entry yesterday, I spent the entire day running errands – to Markie's (blush and grin!), to the cellar, to the storeroom, to the cupboard, to the neighbours to borrow this or that, to the post office to send these cards… but finally, after all the chaos, it was worth it.
(House elves have to go through that on a regular basis. I feel old juices stirring up.)
But I mostly enjoyed the time afterward. There was a light snow out the window, and we only had candles and the Christmas tree lights (I find too much electricity a little irritating after Hogwarts anyway) and Mum played at the grand piano while we sang along with Christmas carols. Amanda has a nice voice. Mum's is more on pitch; but hers is richer. (I still prefer Mum, though, of course.)
We exchanged gifts the next morning, since the Roberts and I will be gone on the Epiphany. Mum got me a dress, which I squinted at suspiciously when she wasn't looking. (Just where does she want me to wear that? It's lovely, but deep green velvet is not exactly something you wear to Markie's…) Dad got me the video cassette tape of *It's A Wonderful Life* and whispered that it was a throw off, he had my "real" present set but couldn't give it to me while Manda and Tom were there, by which I concluded it's magical. The Roberts (with an apologetic manner, saying they didn't know quite what to get me) got me two gift certificates for a nice amount – one for Greene's Bookstore, and another for Tomorrow's Ladies' Clothes Rack. Mum *adored* the shawl, and we had a hearty laugh over the rubber spider Mum and I have been saving since last year for Dad.
Dad blinked. "It's…"
"Ribbit!"
It was better than I had imagined!
27 December
At the very least, it's snowing harder, and I might decide to go sledding later. For right now, we're all in the living room, and we're watching the end of *Jonathan's Christmas*. (Personally, I think it's a little sappy…) In fact, I badly want to go now, but Mum whispered that it's rude in the middle of a group film. I also sort of want to get some homework done, but that involves another forbidden activity for the moment – going to my room and locking the door. This is a bit of an inconvenience, but then again, Tom did teach me how to play two strings on the guitar, and Amanda is funny.
Furthermore, I don't want to go back to school. I almost want to give up the whole thing. *Everyone* hates me there now, and I'm just putting my parents and myself in danger. On the other hand… I'd be gone! I cannot give Malfoy that satisfaction. It would sting entirely too much. And… and I want to be an enchantments developer, and there aren't too many in the Muggle world. And I can't talk to Mum and Dad about it (well, technically I could, but I don't *want* to…)
The film is over – thank heavens – and it's getting gustier. Dad, Thomas, and Amanda are dealing out a card game while Mum takes out her novel Dad got her for Christmas. I don't know the title, hold on –
Say, something was at the window. I feel sorry for all the animals outside; it's freezing. It's called *A Year To Forget*. That sounds dead depressing to me. If you want to *forget* a year, that's pretty bad. Almost like –
Knock at the door. Like I was saying –
Oh my goodness, that's Sirius! Is he *mental*?!
A/N: Bhwawawa!
Okay, sorry for the joke -- but I'm trying to keep my fanfiction a secret from my mom, who would conclude I'm utterly crazy, never let me on fanfiction.net, and wouldn't even let me use the computer for my *original* stuff... so bear with me here. :-)
This chapter was so long I had to use the document file, so I apologize for how stupid it looks. I hate this format.
Thanks again to all my reviewers: Julia, Le Chat Qi Garde La Lune (I've got to use that, as the second piece of French I know, in this fic...), Lavender Ice (who has reviewed EVERY ONE of my fics, thanks, LI!), Lily Evans, and Sorensen.
To answer a few quick questions: Lily: Of course Hermione can't; but she's six. Let her believe she can get away with it for awhile. :-)
Sorensen: Ron... hmm... uh... er... *glances around helplessly* I'm working on a Percy fic, one very long chapter, is that good enough? *hopefully*
DJ: *note -- not on ff.n* Well, Hermione's Hermione. With Sirius and Harry both referring to Remus as "Remus", she probably thinks of him as that, but Hermione Granger, calling a teacher (even a former one) but his first name without explicit permission (and maybe not even then?) Never.
Isa: Wanna count how many times the CC is mentioned? Heh heh...
Sara has gotten on to my account. I think she sent y'all an email... Hermione is working as my secratary. These characters are nice! With that, something I've been warned by DJ I've forgotten... Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fic. I even disclaim the plot and original characters. Without J. K. Rowling, I wouldn't have created them. (Hopefully she wouldn't be horrified by them...) I assure all that I make no money off of this. In fact, I lose money, because I use a lot of Advil...
Note: Can anyone explain the pence system to me? I want my fics to be accurate, but that still confuses me a bit...
As always, I thank you wholeheartedly... and apologize in advance for the cliffhanger, and the wait.
Lastly, I want to do a fic called "Receiving the Hogwarts Owl", in which each chapter will recount the event of certain characters finding out they were accepted to HSoWaW. (Although I am forcing myself to post nothing until I finish Serendipity.) For those of your interested, you get to decide -- which character do you want to see first? The only one I will not do is James Potter. I have a full series on him, and not saying the event of his owl will give me a real incentive to get to work! So who do you want to see in the moment? Any canon characters, and of my original characters (*sighs*... yes, Isa, that includes Sara, it won't be given away if I do), and *if* you get me permission from the author, anyone else's OCs. If interested, tell me who you want to see in a review! (If you somehow *forget* to review... *glares around* ... Oh, well, email me!) In case of ties, I'll pick the person I like best.
That is, the charcter that'll be easiet to do, not the reviewer I like best. That's favourism. *grin*
Enough blabbing, on with *this* chapter!
10 December
I feel terrible. Doing the right thing can really make you feel lousy. It can really make the person you're trying to help feel lousy, too – or humiliated is more like it.
Well, I couldn't very well do it in the Great Hall, even though then the Slytherins would be sure to hear. So I needed something that word of mouth would carry. What's the one way I get my name in gossip circles lately?
Viktor, of course.
So… last evening I planned it out carefully and waited for Ginny to come in. Hoping to spare her, I bent over my books and faked a look of panicked, frantic studying.
Ginny ignored it, coming over to me with her own History of Magic work. "Hi, Hermione."
I glanced up. "Oh! Hi, Ginny." I bent down again, silently praying. *Gin, just get out of here! Please!*
Ginny didn't hear my thoughts and plopped down. "Still on homework, I see?"
I took a deep breath and then forced an exasperated sigh. "Yeah," I said, sounding snappish, raising my voice slightly.
Ginny glanced at me in surprise, looking a little hurt. I felt pinpricks of guilt already. "Oh." I wished she would say, "Okay, I'll leave you alone then." Instead, she said: "I'll just keep quiet while we work," with one of her hesitant but friendly smiles.
It was the thought of no one – not me, not the Weasleys – ever seeing that bright smile again that kept me going through my act. "Oh, sure you will," I said acidly.
Ginny looked even more startled. "Er – Hermione?"
"What is it, Ginny? See? You're doing it already!"
"W-What?"
She sounded like she had three years ago, as a nervous first-year. Her voice was now uncertain.
"Just go away…" I tried to add: "You brat", but I couldn't quite manage it. "You've made enough trouble for me already."
As I said, I was speaking loudly, and the common room grew quieter as some people turned to look.
I'm not sure if it's good or bad that Ginny's Weasley temper kicked in. "Just what did I do?" she demanded coolly, putting a hand on her hip as she stood.
"Go ask *Viktor*," I snapped. "Not that he'll talk to you."
"H-Hermione?"
At the sound of "Viktor" and me looking so upset, the whole common room silenced. Several glances were exchanged, several eyebrows were raised, several knowing smiles showed, and several soft calls of: "Ooooh" sounded the room. (The twins and Lee, I'm sure.)
Ginny found her anger far enough to ask sharply, after the hesitant calling of my name, as if asking where I had gone and who was acting me out in my absence, "Just what about Viktor?"
I feigned being on the edge of tears. Just what I always wanted – crying in front of Gryffindor over a boy. "V-Viktor s-said that he c-c- couldn't date m-me any l-longer because he c-couldn't be w-with a g-girl who always had a little bratty t-tagalong in ratty robes h-hanging around!"
The silence deepened as this sunk in. Ginny's face began to turn as red as her hair. My own shame was causing me to heat in the cheeks as well, but if they were colouring, I think it was mistaken for anger or being upset.
I didn't think Ginny could find her voice for a moment. I illustrated the scene by glaring at her. Ginny looked shocked and simply unable to understand. Then – why does she have to be so sweet? – she said softly: "Oh my goodness, Hermione, I'm sorry."
Why couldn't she have been *nasty* about it quicker? It would have made my job a lot easier. Since she didn't, I provoked her once more: "You had better be! I k-kept hinting at y-you last y-year to stop tagging along, but n-nothing gets through you're t-thick skull, d-does it?" I had done nothing of the sort, of course.
Ginny reddened again, partly from embarrassment – some snickers rounded the room – but mostly from anger. "Well!" she burst out loudly. "Why, I'm so sorry, *Miss* Perfect Bighead! Excuse *me* for trying to be a good friend as well! I've had *enough* of you. I'll just leave you alone, Professor Granger, you must have a ton of weeping of the soul to do in your *diary* after all that *homework* gets done!"
Despite the fact that she had revealed my diary to one and all, I felt I deserved it and couldn't pretend to fume or glare at her. There were now a lot of snickers from the room, in favour of Ginny.
She turned on her heel dramatically and started for the girls' dormitories, suddenly facing me again in the doorway as everyone was beginning to buzz about the row. "Hermy-own Krum didn't sound too good to my ears to begin with!" she added in a scathing shout.
She disappeared, and just as I had hoped (hoped, but hadn't looked forward to, mind you), the second she left the room began to fill with talk over the scene. Several people glanced at me pityingly, but most were as disgusted with me as I was with myself, many admiring Ginny's spunk loudly enough for me to hear.
"Good thing the twins' sister told her off. Always though Hermione Granger was too proud of her wonderful marks and dating Krum for her own good…"
"That was some telling off! I've been wanting to tell Hermione all that for ages…"
"Did Krum really dump her? Because of *Ginny* Weasley?…"
"I know." This girl giggled. "Thought it would be Ron, if anybody!"
"Didn't know little Ginny Weasley had that in her, y'know?"
"… Hermione Granger's just angry she wasn't made prefect, you know…"
"Someone give the Weasley girl a medal… that was great…"
I bent my head over my Ancient Runes as far as I could crane it. My face was burning and I felt close to tears.
"*Ahem*," a throat cleared from above me. Ron.
I glanced up. "What is it?"
"What the bloody *hell* did you do that to my *sister* for, you git!"
I had a feeling that "trying to save her life" wasn't going to work right now.
"If you're going to yell at me, that's one thing!" Ron continued furiously. "You lay *off* Ginny, that's *my* sister, and no way are you *ever* going to humiliate her in front of Gryffindor in front of *me*, you –"
"Watch your mouth!" I replied out of habit.
Ron stared at me, too rage-filled (and shocked) to say anything.
"Well, Weasley," I said coldly, scooping up my books and standing, "*I* never noticed before now that you were so fond of her. *I* recall hearing 'Go away, Ginny' and 'Ginny, stop bothering me'. Interesting that you're taking such an interest in her now, isn't it?"
Ron gaped and found his voice. "This is a lot different! Ginny's my sister and you can't tell her off like that!"
"I just did." I tried to sidestep him. He stepped on my foot. I muffled a small cry of pain and he glared at me.
"Funny," he said in a low voice, "I don't see the Hermione Granger I know."
"Well, your eyesight concerning me has always been a little off," I replied viciously. "Took you a while to realize I was a person… a little more to realize my brain could be put to uses… a few years to see I could take care of myself… even longer to see I was a girl… a little slow on the uptake, aren't you?"
He glowered.
"Listen, don't growl at me like a brokenhearted puppy," I said coolly. "If you want to ask me out, just do it and don't snap at me because you can't work up the courage!"
I said this a bit loudly as well, and again a good deal of Gryffindor turned to us, looking frankly amazed.
"G'night, Weasley."
I can't believe that. Ron and Ginny looked so hurt… "I don't see the Hermione Granger I know." Well, I'm not too sure where she is either.
12 December
My roommates are out on a mission to kill me. Well, I know at least two of them don't intend to – that is, Parvati and Lavender.
"Oh, 'Mione," they half-croon. *Mione*? Since when have I been *Mione*?! "Did Viktor Krum really break up with you? That's *awful*…" But I can deal with that. It's when they start putting down Ginny that I get angry! How Ginny was* always* a little bratty baby tagalong, and how they told me *long* ago to tell her to "buzz off"… sometimes I forget tat I'm supposed to be angry with her and almost start defending her before I remember. It's hard to keep my mouth shut.
Not that Ginny gets no defence. For one, a good portion of the school is applauding her – and glowering and spilling inkstands on purpose in regard to me. As for Parvati and Lavender – well, I suppose Sara Blustovadk isn't completely useless.
"Ginny is *not* a twerp!" she interjected hotly while hearing Parvati and Lavender go on. Which would have been very fine if she had kept it at that. But *no* – she continued: "*I* think" – who asked her? – "that Hermione owes Ginny a real apology. That was mean, Ginny's one of the best friends she could ever have and she tells her off because of what a *boy*, the great wonderful *Viktor*, says." Her grey-blue eyes flashed indignity and she stormed off.
While I could have killed her on the spot, at least it caused them to lay off Ginny. "What's with Sara, she's usually so nice…" Lavender said, but she kept quiet after that.
Harry is also furious with me. He's given me the cold shoulder all day and glared at me all during Herbology. Ron isn't half so subtle and talks none too discreetly about me – in my hearing. And it hurts, very badly… even though that's what I've been trying to make them do in the first place.
The one comfort, however, is that like I planned this is all over school and that Ron and Harry are very obvious about this. Ginny – and the other two – are safe from the Society for Purity.
13 December
Did I mention the teachers are none too thrilled with me as well? (How goes gossip get this far, anyway? Is it those annoying portraits, or…?) Prof. McGonagall kept glancing at me yesterday like I had two heads. Very comforting. The work has been stepping down a little as well… everyone is ready for the holiday, I suppose. I've already signed up to go home. Ron and Harry and Ginny glared at me like poison, but I already vowed earlier to finally spend a Christmas at home! Of course, I can't tell them that… outside of Gryffindor, the Society might see. Inside the Tower, everyone is breathing down our necks watching. It will be such a relief to go home… I absolutely cannot wait another day. Well, I suppose I will, but I won't be happy about it. I want to get away from the feeling of paranoia of watching for someone with a knife, and away from the constant mutterings at me in the corridors, and the hissing in the Tower, and Ginny, who is walking around like a hurt little puppy. I just hope that Mum and Dad don't realize something's wrong. Parents are funny like that – have a habit of butting into your private life all the time.
14 December
Am I ever in trouble now. This clipping is from the *Witch Weekly* –
Bulgarian Star Seeker Single Again
Vrasta Vultures phenomenal young Seeker Viktor Krum has disappointed long-time fans by dating a young (quite young) British Hogwarts Gryffindor fifth-year, Hermione Granger, who is reportedly incredibly intelligent to make up for lack of looks.
Female fans will be heartened to know, however, that the infamous "Vicky" has recently cut ties with Miss Granger and is very single.
"Awesome," was the way one copper-haired, high-cheekboned witch phrased it. "Whenever I see Vicky Krum I just want to give him a big hug, a nice hot stew, and figure out how to make him smile."
Oh my goodness, I am in for it now. Why didn't I think of that? I had forgotten that Viktor was the Viktor Krum. He was just… Viktor. But I can't really dump him without being in the tabloid for star-struck witches; I had forgotten.
What if Viktor reads this?
Oh, forget that –
What about* when* Viktor reads this?
I will have a lot of explaining to do. I've already thought… just deny it, and say it wasn't me who said that… but, well… not even the fact that everyone in Gryffindor can confirm it… it's just that it would be lying. I can't lie to Viktor; I respect him a lot – respect him. And, well, perhaps Mum was right. It's sort of nice to not feel as if I'm completely committed to one person. It's a nice feeling of freedom to know that I can accept a date from Bobby Renshaw without quickly reminding him that I'm "going steady". Not that any boy around here is asking me out for a while, unless they're, say, Slytherin – oh, spare me – but it's just nice to know that if someone, like A/N: "Ron" was scribbled out Jerome is going to look at me admiringly, that I can give him a teasing grin. Goodness knows I don't want to be like some girls who are terrible flirts – but restraining myself because I'm "with" someone in Bulgaria…
Of course, I'm talking prematurely. Who knows? This might even escape Viktor's ears. But to tell the truth, last week I had to hunt up a picture of him to remember what shape his eyes were.
15 December
Hogsmeade isn't half as fun with no one to share it with. In fact, it's not much fun at all. I wouldn't even have gone if I hadn't needed to get Mum and Dad and the darling… sort of… cousins something for Christmas. I don't think getting Ron and Ginny and Harry and Neville and Parvati and Lavender anything will support my "bad-girl-standing-alone" act.
But I knew exactly what to get for Mum and headed straight for Gladrags Wizardwear. I got a magically enchanted shawl that's always warm but looks completely Muggle. It's a deep red with darker red paid and gold and navy fringe, very soft and comfortable. I considered getting one for myself, even, but it was a little pricey for two. Not having any ideas for Andrew and Lissie, I wandered off the main road to the residential areas of the village. I had read about a playground in Hogsmeade. (Fancy! A real wizarding playground! Another "first"!)
Although, magic children really aren't that different than Muggle. Except that their toys are a bit more, well, frankly, dangerous. I seriously wanted to get Andrew one of those jump ropes that kept skipping by themselves as the children jumped, speeding up and slowing down abruptly. I wouldn't have minded seeing Andrew smacked on the head. Okay, that was mean. But, well, let's face it, he more than deserves it. In the end, watching them got boring, and cold, and I decided to buy them (regular) jump ropes when I got home and could visit Markie's. I miss Markie; it'll be nice to see him. And really, watching kids jump rope isn't all that entertaining.
I kept walking and started working out ideas for *Fiddle Girl*. That thing's got to end sooner or later. I'm thinking that perhaps I'm going the wrong way with Gareth showing her the way back to Uncle Hennery. Perhaps that should be Nan. There's some sort of poetic justice in that. But there has to be a sort of resolution with Jinni and Gareth, there just has to be.
There are some very nice back and side streets in Hogsmeade. All these neat little cottage in wavy little rows, looking a bit untidier and more natural than Muggle homes. But while I was trying to enjoy it, I noticed something. At one bend I had passed a boy several years older than me was waiting with an Appleby Arrows pennant on. Many Appleby Arrows pennants. I mean, a bunch of pennants. But he also had a threatening half- scowl, and I grew nervous. I stiffened as I walked by, not meeting his eye. As I rounded the bend, I saw his make a hand motion in the direction behind me.
I grew worried. What if he was signaling someone? My fears were confirmed at another corner, where another boy, just slightly smaller (still so much older he could beat me to a pulp) bearing the same amount of Appleby Arrow propaganda. I walked past, eyes averted, trying to walk confidently while I grew more nervous. He had a wand in his pocket.
I rounded that bend when through the chain wire fence I saw none other than Sara Blustovadk walk from a different direction that I had to the corner and realized she had eyed up the whole situation. She stopped by the boy and grinned dazzlingly.
"Hello," I heard her say, "Sara Blustovadk, adamant hater of the Wilbourne Wasps. Nice pennants you got there; get them at a game?"
I kept walking, not knowing whether to be relived or not. She had saved me from whatever the Arrows fans were plotting, but then – *I was in debt to Sara Blustovadk*.
No, I wasn't, I reasoned, I hadn't asked for it. Well, perhaps I owed her a thanks, but little more, and I did so when I reached Hogsmeade's main road. I waited for a few minutes and she arrived, not looking too thrilled or angry or sad. Just thoughtful. I tried to look like I hadn't been waiting.
"Sara," I said a little stiffly, "thanks."
Sara, curse her, played innocent. "What for, Hermione?"
I resisted the impulse to scowl. "For holding up that boy back there."
"Oh, Adam, you mean? The one I was talking to?"
Now I did scowl slightly. "Yes, you know. The one who was signaled to follow me."
She raised an eyebrow witheringly. "Now, how do you know I wasn't just stopping to talk with him about the Arrows?"
Fine. I didn't have to take that. If she were going to play games, then I'd quit. I turned away.
I heard a sigh, and then a tap on the shoulder. I turned again stonily.
"You're welcome. I don't think you have to thank me, but you're welcome. Just stop thinking everything revolves around you, it doesn't always."
I glared, a little uneasily. Do I act that way, or was that just Blustovadk being a prat again? In any case, I don't feel very safe any longer. I remember with a touch of embarrassment while riding in one of the carriages back to the castle that I had Snape's chain. Still, not being able to walk around a small village without being stalked was pretty bad. I wondered if that had anything to do with the Society for Purity when I remembered that a few others, like Natalie McDonald, had also been a bit separated from the crowd – other Muggle-borns. There has to be something we can do, but I have no clue what.
15 December, later
There was a meeting of the CC tonight. Awkwardness galore, with me carefully avoiding Harry. This was made more difficult by the fact that Sirius and Lupin weren't there. I had been counting on that distraction. Lisa and Chelsea were still talking to me… if a little strained. The Slytherins are interested, but don't really care about anyone slighting Ginny, and Chelsea's never really fit the mold of "evil Slytherin" to begin with. So she just sort of said "hi" casually and chatted vaguely about Quidditch, eyes intense as she watched the level two senior members come in and comment shrewdly on them. She fits her House in some ways:
"Well, Johansson isn't late for once, there's a first… someone please tell Page that no one is forcing him to come to this and he can just go… maybe Payne will, I'm betting… just where is Lupin, he's usually one of the first here… oh, look. Poor Ms. Hansen's *nail* broke…" (Okay, I admit to snickering at that one.) "… we'll have to send her condolence cards… say, Harry and Ernie are talking. Imagine that. Wasn't Ernie all over him a few years ago, saying he was the Heir of Slytherin?"
I glanced over at the two; Harry was grinning while Ernie animatedly acted out a bit of dialogue.
Chelsea shook her head in amazement. "Well! Some people can forgive and forget, I suppose. I never could. Harry's really funny that way, though. It's odd, having him as a classmate. Especially after –" she glanced sideways at me " – no, Hermione, not because of his fame and what happened. Not quite. I just mean, well, you're Muggle-born. Lisa could tell you. All during our childhoods, our parents have been telling us when we do something wrong: 'Do you think Harry Potter would do that?' It was just amazing to come here and find out that he was a normal kid. I suppose I should have known, but…" She trailed off and shrugged. "Right, Lisa?"
"Oh, you bet. I don't think I had it as bad, because my parents knew his slightly, but it was incredible when he lost all those points in our first year. I owled Mum straight away, something along the line of 'So there'!"
I giggled, but felt a little cheated. I had read so many things on Harry, but never did any books mention things like what went on in the home. And I looked again at Harry and felt immediately jealous of Ernie. The "my-family-goes-back-so-and-so-generations-as-"purebloods" Ernie. I suppose *he* doesn't realize what it's like to have to hurt your friends to protect them.
Lisa carefully avoided any mention of the fight… but she sounded more strained than Chelsea. I think she was a little put off, and she made double sure not to mention anything related to Quidditch, the *Daily Prophet*, boyfriends, or Weasleys. It was most embarrassing with Grace Zambia, though.
Oh! I wanted to write quick and get to work on my History of Magic essay, but I have got to mention Grace Zambia, who managed to attend the CC meeting.
Zambia was late and completely unapologetic for it. She swept in like a bat, eyes looking around disdainfully before delicately pulling up a chair. As Ernie pointed out, the room seemed to chill a bit with her entrance. She moderately tall and thin, with dark hair that came past her shoulders, glinting silver at the edges, hiding her face. Although when you see her face, not only is it olive, it looks a little like a bird's. A bad- tempered bird that needs to eat more, that is. Her mouth was set tightly and she listened more than she talked; she spent her time staring around at each and every one of us, fixing her eyes on us in turn and making us nervous, jumpy, and uncomfortable. When she did talk, it was like her hands were on reigns – she controlled every pitch, syllable, and breath to it's fullest capabilities of disagreeableness, playing her voice like a instrument – a musical saw at a deathday party is the closest one I can find to it.
"So this is Granger," she said, when Mrs. Gondola introduced her to the junior level one. "The one flirting with the Quidditch stars… I suppose they can't see her face with their eyes so bloody."
The Nurses, Page, and Bell tittered, and it didn't make me feel much better when Miss Payne gave her trouble throughout the meeting. I was mortified.
"So that's why no one likes her," Chelsea decided after the meeting in a low undertone. "Why'd she glare at Payne like poison?"
"Because nearly everyone else does?" Lisa guessed.
She had quite a point. And now I really want to finish this essay and start to pack – holiday starts tomorrow. I can't wait to go home and get away from Hogwarts for a while. Then I can worry about everything later.
16 December
I decided to watch the last Quidditch practice in high hopes that we could prevent the other Houses, but particularly Slytherin, from winning the Cup. Most of Gryffindor came to watch, so I had to sit a bit apart, but I concentrated on the flying. I was impressed for the most part. Even Snape, overseeing the practices with all the Dark Activity (and it's also part of the Order of the Phoenix, Educational Facilities Guidelines Chapter 5 – Sports and Games – Subtitle 1: "All events and practices can and will be supervised by a trusted adult of authority."), was hard-pressed to find much to sneer at. In fact, only Sara gave him anything to pick on, but she did it with style. Her Shooting Star got temperamental on her and started jerking. I saw this at the beginning of practice but didn't say anything. Toward the end of practice she was thrown off from about fifty feet in the air. For a second, I felt horrified – she had well saved my life yesterday, and if she died now, this was my fault for not saying anything!
But George, bless him, went into a spectacular dive: "Sara – no!" He shot down like Hunter Greene's Arrow and managed to catch her. I don't know how; it went so fast, but it was pretty incredible. I really cheered George, and wasn't the only one. All of us in the stands were.
"All right, George!" Alicia grinned. "The Weasley talent's definitely in you!" Fred gave him a thump on the back and Katie gave him a kiss. "I reckon I ought to start paying you for your services. You've saved the damsel in distress how many times this year?" Sara joked weakly, still shaky from her fall.
Snape was not amused. "Are you all right, Miss Blustovadk?" he asked coldly, sounding as though he very much wished she wasn't.
"Thanks to George here, yes, sir."
"It's not safe," was Snape's only acknowledgment of her answer. "Those can't stand up to Quidditch play, those Shooting Stars. In trying to keep up with the other Chaser's Comets, you're simply endangering yourself and others. If you don't appear after Christmas with a rideable broomstick you shall be suspended from the team. Is that clear?"
The Gryffindor team all tried to protest, saying that it was merely Christmas anticipation that had gotten into Sara's flying. But no, Snape held firm, and while that's one way of getting her off the Quidditch team, it was also not quite… right.
16 December, later
I hate them. Don't they have anything better to do with their miserable lives? Why can't anyone stop this? I'm on the Hogwarts Express now and I keep thinking that it's going to topple over or something. They just won't leave me alone, will they?
I finished packing just about everything last night. I went to breakfast this morning, avoiding everyone with the trusty cover of a book. By the way, I've learned a lot of interesting things from extra background reading lately. I never knew half of that stuff on Wand Variations! Did you know that there's a piece of Dark Magic to make something called a "Dark Copy" off any random wand in the world? It appears to be an exact copy of the original, although its sparks are a little darker, and it works better with curses and not quite as good with regular things, unless there's evil intent. All right, all right, I suppose with times like these that's not really something to be excited about – who knows…? – but it's fascinating! Fancy being the person to discover charms and spells and entirely new enchantments likes that! I think I'd love to be an enchantment developer. That would be completely wonderful. I'm going to try and find a book on that.
But, well, back to the not-so-good thing: I went back to our dormitory and found that my things had been ransacked. My sheets had been tossed askew again, with a note pinned to them that read: "Merry Christmas". My schoolbag was slashed *again* – Flitwick's going to get suspicious about those seaming charms sooner or later. My clothes… and not just my clothes, my, you know, private wear… had been turned inside out and some of it was ripped. Ink was spilled all over the cloak for Mum. Pages had been torn out of books – both ones I own and ones on loan. My *Hogwarts: A History* was ripped, torn, scribbled upon, dog-eared, soaked, and the binding was damaged! This is it! And then there was another of those rude notes:
Mudblood – (can't they find an more original greeting?)
You're taking an awful long time to pack. Suppose we shouldn't expect a Mudblood to be clever enough to figure out how to do that. You are staying home, aren't you? Books aren't the only things we can damage.
-- The Society for Purity
P.S. Interesting choice of underwear.
How *dare* they!
Complete and utter gits, that's what. Ron's terming is quite handy.
Ron. *Ron.* He's on the train, too, all the Weasleys are. Can you believe? They're leaving for Christmas, and *not* taking Harry! What's with that? Poor Harry, he'd really enjoy a Christmas at the Burrow! I tried to ask about it, but, well, not only do I have to "lay low", they're not talking to me. I think – and I hope dearly – that there's something immediately important that they couldn't put off that they can't take anyone out of family for. Now I feel dreadful. Harry's all alone for Christmas at school. And practically no Gryffindors are there. All the families want their children home, with all the concern about the Dark Activity. Except Sara. She's staying, too. I swear, I will *scream* if I come back and they're all chummy. How much can one girl stand? No! That would be… urgh! I almost wish I could stay now. But not only did I *vow* – a Hermione Vow – I doubt he wants my company right now. And I don't want the Society for Purity to get any ideas.
Back to the Society. There's one thing that really puzzles me and really worries me. How'd they get in the Gryffindor Tower? I've thought and thought and thought. The only person to get in who wasn't a – current – Gryffindor and not a McGonagall was Sirius. But Neville's been really careful as of late on those passwords. I don't think I've ever forgotten the Howler. And Neville… he tries, he really does, and every year he gets a little less… careless. Oh, that's not the word, he's not careless at all, but "dim" just sounds rude. And he's not. He's actually fairly bright. He's just not… schoolish.
But back to the point: There's a *traitor* in Gryffindor. Now just who on earth could that be? They're in with the Society, obviously… who revealed the password?
And that's it. That's *it*. I'm going to work on *Fiddle Girl* for now, and I'm not going to worry about the Society for Purity. This is a holiday. I don't want to worry Mum and Dad. Sometimes parents need to be protected against themselves. I'm going to hum Christmas carols and finally give poor Jinni a nice day. I'm going to enjoy the snowy scenery and read *Innovations of the Lesser-Known Hufflepuff*. I'm not going to feel guilty about Harry or anyone else. I am *helping* them. I'm going to daydream about what presents I'm going to get and worry about nothing more pressing than on how to deal with the yearly Putting Up With The Cousins Miller.
16 December, later
Okay, so I lied.
17 December
Oh, I might be turning into a witch, but I don't think I'll ever lose the feeling of comfort I get lying on the bed in my own nice, familiar childhood room in Oxford. Never. There's something wonderfully calming about looking about your bedroom and knowing precisely where there's a tiny paint stain on the wall, or where in the corner the wallpaper doesn't quite match, or at that horrid picture of the person with the long hair and guitar with his wolf and parrot that Mum *insists* hangs in your room ("That was painted by my friend Otto; he'll be famous one day!") or that photo of the Beatles in the doorway that *Dad* insists is not to go ("Every young girl wants a picture of the Beatles in her room!"). And even that stupid little smiling tooth alarm clock! And the knowledge that your windows both face the west, so you can watch every sunset, and the exact view from each. Whew. I love familiar things. I want to be famous and do something splendid one day, but I also want an annoying replica of an overgrown tooth to wake me up while I do it.
I hugged Mum and Dad so tight when I got off the train that I think they had to catch their breath. Unsympathetically I didn't let go for a long moment, trying very hard not to cry.
"She wants something, Beth," Dad said warningly.
"Oh, Dad!" Can't he ever take anything seriously? Thank goodness he doesn't!
"No, don't give me 'oh dad'. What is it? You want to invite a boy from school over from the holidays? I don't think your Viktor will put up with me double-crossing him and giving him the Scotland Yard for a solid hour again."
I sighed, my sheer joy fading slightly as I remembered my Viktor worries. "Dad, he's not my Viktor."
"Hope it's not the other way around," he said worriedly.
"Alex," Mum scolded sternly.
"Money, then. Hitting me for money again." Dad sighed exaggeratedly.
"No! Let's get my things, okay?"
Mum glanced at him sardonically. "Or can't you handle that?"
I grinned. But as we went to collect my suitcase, Cassandra Nott of Slytherin spotted me.
"Watch out, Mudblood," she hissed. "Merry Christmas."
"The same to you, Cassandra," I said coolly.
Dad asked me if that was a "friend of mine, the Slytherin in the CC?" as we grabbed a trolley.
"No, just a classmate. Sort of," I replied sardonically, quickly changing the subject. "When are Andrew and Lissie coming over?"
Mum caught my wariness, and her eyes twinkled. "Oh, I'm not sure," she said offhandedly.
I froze, remembering the last time I heard those words.
"In fact, we made an important decision regarding your darling cousins," Dad continued solemnly.
"Oh, stop torturing the girl," Mum snapped lovingly. "Hermione, Aunt Jan and I decided to have Christmas separate this year."
"I won't be seeing Andrew and Lissie this year?" I gasped joyfully. "Ye --! Er, sorry. That's your niece and nephew, I forgot."
Mum pretended to sternly raise an eyebrow, but she, too, was grinning. "I hope you intend to send them a nice Christmas card."
Trust me, that was no problem at all. I did so cheerfully. ("Hoping your holiday is as nice as mine…") Dad hissed to me that Andrew and Lissie would have driven the Roberts crazy.
"Blessed be 'Manda and Tom," he finished seriously. "You'll be good for them, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, I was thinking of booby trapping the guestroom and chewing with my mouth open."
"That's my Hermione." Dad was getting on my nerves. He kept implying that I was too subdued. Honestly. I'm *fine*. I'm sure not telling everything that went on the last term, but I am fine. Right? But I'm home again, and for now that's all that matters.
19 December
Mum and Dad were nice enough to wait until I got home to do heavy Christmas decorating. (I think they're trying to bribe me into going home for holiday more often.) We went to Markie's lot to choose a Christmas tree and get the DC (Mum thinks that means "Darling Cousins" but it's really "Demon Children".) I was thrilled to see Markie. Oh! Markie has a girlfriend, Millierna.
It was Millierna who was at the cashier and when we said we'd like to speak to our friend Markie, she grinned and blushed. When I said: "Merry Christmas, Markie!" she grinned and blushed. Whenever anyone said "Markie", she grinned and blushed. It was hilarious, and I didn't dare glance at Dad for fear I couldn't keep a straight face. But she's pretty, with deep fawn brown hair and a perfect figure and nice enough. If Markie likes her, who was I to say anything?
There were only a few trees and most in varying degrees of scragliness, but we choose a small dark fir that looked rather stately even for its diminutive height and had great fun decorating it. We also purchased a good many greens from Markie (Millierna: grin, blush) and strung them on the mantel place. Then Dad announced we should leave the rest to Mum when she got an enthused glint in her eye while staring at the banister.
He needn't have worried; Mum merely strung it with glittering holly- and-berry garland. But I soon found it was an excuse to cross-examine me. "Hermione? Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"You're very quiet."
I shrugged. "I usually am."
"Anything wrong?" Dad looked like Madam Pomfrey, eyes searching mine.
"No," I said, trying not to sound annoyed.
"If you want to go back to your school –"
"Dad – no!" I burst.
I'll be happy when the Roberts come tomorrow. Then he can't pester me as mine.
21 December
Oh, I am glad the Roberts came. Amanda and Thomas are wonderful and very nice. Dad picked them up from the station yesterday, and they're great. Amanda is taller, with thick curly hair cut boyishly and fine clear- cut features. Tom is slightly shorter, very funny and laid-back. They're also musical (what's with musical acquaintances as of late?). Amanda adores the Kinks. She is absolutely dead gone on them. Tom plays guitar and has agreed that he could show me a few things, since it's my first chance to make good on the vow of learning to play an instrument. He gets a funny reverent tone when talking of vintage instruments, particularly guitars, which Amanda regards loftily. On the other hand, he tolerates her Kinks fixation in much the same manner. They're very funny. I admire them because even though they've just lost "Dolly" (Tom's father) they're very upbeat and determined to be good guests.
24 December
You know, it's funny, but I almost miss Andrew and Lissie. I feel as if it's been a long time I've been able to talk to anyone near my age… Lisa and Chelsea are about all. And even Amanda and Thomas don't like going outside very long. They'll throw a few snowballs, but that's about it. Dad says it's too cold and too wet; Mum says she's too busy. I tramp about in the woods a bit, but usually come back in after a while.
Tom was good as his word, though, and we've begun guitar lessons. He says that with luck, and hearing from Mum and Dad how diligent I was, that I would be able to reach the third string by the time he had to go. Thomas can play all six strings fairly easily, but he says he's met a lot of people who are better than him.
"Can you play 'You Really Got Me' yet?" Amanda demands.
Thomas shook his head patiently. "Not yet. Give me another decade."
One Kink song is called "Father Christmas", and considering the date Amanda has an excuse to play it a lot. The thing is, it sort of ruins my mood, because whenever I hear Ray Davies singing: "Give all the toys… to all the rich boys!" I keep thinking of Malfoy. Ew. Not on Christmas Eve!
But I suppose we'll have fun this evening, however. (I also think Mum's going to ban "Father Christmas" until at least Boxing Day.)
25 December
We did have fun last evening and today. We went to church yesterday afternoon at around sunset. I saw Missy Parks but I ignored her and all hissings of "freak". If she only knew I could turn her into a toad – (never mind that I wouldn't; just that I could) – and when she asked: "Read any *books* lately?" I wished I could reply nonchalantly: "Oh, yes; it's called *Ins and Outs of Levitation Charms*.
But it was nice to see some other people. Most from my old school barely recognize me; can you imagine that? (Although Missy said it was my hair that everyone vaguely recalled.) But Brenda Milroy did and demanded that we sit next to her. She kept whispering all through the service. I tried to politely shake her off, and Mum and Amanda kept glancing at mortified me looking very amused.
At least that dinner was worth it. Yes, yes, I sound like Ron, but after my diary entry yesterday, I spent the entire day running errands – to Markie's (blush and grin!), to the cellar, to the storeroom, to the cupboard, to the neighbours to borrow this or that, to the post office to send these cards… but finally, after all the chaos, it was worth it.
(House elves have to go through that on a regular basis. I feel old juices stirring up.)
But I mostly enjoyed the time afterward. There was a light snow out the window, and we only had candles and the Christmas tree lights (I find too much electricity a little irritating after Hogwarts anyway) and Mum played at the grand piano while we sang along with Christmas carols. Amanda has a nice voice. Mum's is more on pitch; but hers is richer. (I still prefer Mum, though, of course.)
We exchanged gifts the next morning, since the Roberts and I will be gone on the Epiphany. Mum got me a dress, which I squinted at suspiciously when she wasn't looking. (Just where does she want me to wear that? It's lovely, but deep green velvet is not exactly something you wear to Markie's…) Dad got me the video cassette tape of *It's A Wonderful Life* and whispered that it was a throw off, he had my "real" present set but couldn't give it to me while Manda and Tom were there, by which I concluded it's magical. The Roberts (with an apologetic manner, saying they didn't know quite what to get me) got me two gift certificates for a nice amount – one for Greene's Bookstore, and another for Tomorrow's Ladies' Clothes Rack. Mum *adored* the shawl, and we had a hearty laugh over the rubber spider Mum and I have been saving since last year for Dad.
Dad blinked. "It's…"
"Ribbit!"
It was better than I had imagined!
27 December
At the very least, it's snowing harder, and I might decide to go sledding later. For right now, we're all in the living room, and we're watching the end of *Jonathan's Christmas*. (Personally, I think it's a little sappy…) In fact, I badly want to go now, but Mum whispered that it's rude in the middle of a group film. I also sort of want to get some homework done, but that involves another forbidden activity for the moment – going to my room and locking the door. This is a bit of an inconvenience, but then again, Tom did teach me how to play two strings on the guitar, and Amanda is funny.
Furthermore, I don't want to go back to school. I almost want to give up the whole thing. *Everyone* hates me there now, and I'm just putting my parents and myself in danger. On the other hand… I'd be gone! I cannot give Malfoy that satisfaction. It would sting entirely too much. And… and I want to be an enchantments developer, and there aren't too many in the Muggle world. And I can't talk to Mum and Dad about it (well, technically I could, but I don't *want* to…)
The film is over – thank heavens – and it's getting gustier. Dad, Thomas, and Amanda are dealing out a card game while Mum takes out her novel Dad got her for Christmas. I don't know the title, hold on –
Say, something was at the window. I feel sorry for all the animals outside; it's freezing. It's called *A Year To Forget*. That sounds dead depressing to me. If you want to *forget* a year, that's pretty bad. Almost like –
Knock at the door. Like I was saying –
Oh my goodness, that's Sirius! Is he *mental*?!
A/N: Bhwawawa!
