A/N: Once again, I appreciate the reviews! Those that have pointed out potential holes in the plot, etc. will be satisfied! A warning, though--I have absolutely no idea where this story is going. So, if you have any good ideas, do leave them in one of your reviews. They just might pop up later! :)
~~~~~~~~~
The intruder stood stock still, then whipped around to face Hermione in righteous indignation. Of course, she wasn't sure what emotion he was displaying, as his ghostly face was mutilated beyond recognition. It looked as though his flesh had melted, cascading down his cheeks and making his fierce eyes seem sunken and even more intimidating. Unwilling to lower her wand, Hermione stood her ground, her hand trembling slightly.
"Your chambers?" he asked incredulously. "In case you didn't realize, these chambers have been mine since my days as Potions Master here at Hogwarts!" He floated towards Hermione in an attempt to instill even greater fear into her. "I have been haunting these chambers since before the birth of Albus Dumbledore!"
Unable to think of a reply, Hermione simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged, still holding her wand in an iron grip. Her fellow... resident, she supposed... seemed willing to continue the staring contest indefinitely. It was going to be up to her to break the impasse.
"Well," she sighed, "I have to live somewhere..."
"Oh, so you find it proper to intrude upon me?"
"It's not as if Dumbledore gave me a choice!"
"That explains everything--the silly man, thinking he can foist babysitting charges on a long-retired and much-respected former faculty member of Hogwarts--"
"I hardly need a babysitter, you stuffy old codger--"
"How DARE you speak to Barnabas Jones in such a manner?" Hermione stopped short, her eyes widening as though she was a child meeting Santa Claus.
"You're Barnabas Jones?" she asked ecstatically. "Well, that explains everything! I've read all about you in 'Hogwarts: A History'! You're the inventor of the Enervating Potion!"
At that, the flattered ghost paused, a silvery blush creeping across his ravaged features. Hermione sighed with relief as his demeanor softened.
"Ah, yes, that potion was the death of me! A bit too much acid, you know..." He paused, a hopeful expression on his face."So, you've heard of me?" Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "And you've read all of 'Hogwarts: A History'?" Another nod. "Quite impressive, young lady. And might I ask how a talented youngster such as yourself ended up down here in the dungeons? Not to brag, but even the Bloody Baron himself is afraid to traverse these hallways!"
"Well, Professor Jones--"
"Oh, call me Barnabas! And you are...?"
Hermione proceeded to tell Barnabas her twisted tale, and was glad to see him respond with considerable interest. Unfortunately, she had to trudge through a lot of backstory, as he apparently hadn't ventured out of the dungeons in years.
"So, you have to study everything on your own?" he asked concernedly.
"Well, yes, but I'm attending the lectures and I'm sure I'll be fine--"
"Young lady, as incredible as your talents may be, Potions is a delicate subject that requires skilled instruction."
"But there's not much I can do about that!" Hermione snapped, then looked up at Barnabas' lopsided grin. "Unless..." the ghost nodded excitedly. Hermione chose this particular moment to realize what time it was.
"Oh no! Barnabas, I'll talk to you later tonight! I have to meet with Dumbledore..." With that, she disappeared and made a mad (but quiet) dash up to the Headmaster's office.
"Acid pops!" she whispered in the gargoyle's ear, jumping out of the way as he sprung aside. Skittering up the stairs, Hermione was mildly irritated to see Dumbledore sitting at his desk, as relaxed and unruffled as ever.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," he smiled as she reappeared and helped herself to a seat in one of the armchairs. "I trust you have by now met our dear Barnabas?" Hermione's eyes jolted to meet the Headmaster's knowing ones. She found herself mildly irritated once again--how did Dumbledore manage to think of everything?
"Oh," he grinned, "it comes from years of practice." Hermione immediately took more care to guard her thoughts, receiving an amused "Good girl!" from the Headmaster.
"So, Miss Granger, do you have any other concerns to share with me?"
"Um, yes... Professor Snape almost caught me today, and I was thinking there might be a more effective way to--"
"Have no worries, dear," he grinned. "You should find that the floo network linking your chambers to my office has been reactivated. Sorry to disappoint you, but you aren't connected to any other location in the wizarding world--couldn't afford any mishaps, now could we?" Hermione sighed. He really did think of everything, but she loathed all things relating to floo. Her thoughts were interrupted by his next question, "Anything else, dear?"
"Er... no," Hermione admitted, ready to leave Dumbledore's office as quickly as possible.
"Excellent, Miss Granger. Dobby will continue to deliver your meals--he is sworn to silence, and besides, the other house elves are still a bit wary of you."
"Wary is an understatement," Hermione remarked under her breath. The elves had almost been at the point of dubbing her 'She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' by the time S.P.E.W. had come to its long-overdue demise. Dumbledore chuckled again, and dismissed Hermione for the evening.
"I expect, next time, to summon you by floo. Until then, Miss Granger." Hermione was getting up to leave when he remarked, "I suppose, since you did not seem concerned about it, that the Marauders' Map is currently in your possession?" Damn, Hermione thought, right again! Harry and Ron had left it with her for the summer--Harry still had a difficult time with things that had belonged to Sirius, and Ron was about as responsible as Professor Snape was warm and welcoming.
"Goodbye, Headmaster," Hermione murmured, and disappeared, looking forward to another conversation with Barnabas. She was quite glad to have him there--she had expected to live completely alone, as Crookshanks had perished with her mother and father. At least she would never be completely by herself for long enough periods of time to become socially dysfunctional, she thought wryly.
Hermione made it back to her chambers without incident, as Mrs. Norris was more concerned with mice until the official beginning of the school year. She knew that, though it seemed far away, the year would begin before she realized it--and she'd get to watch her friends carrying on without her. The unbidden thought twisted Hermione's heart, but, a pragmatist, she knew she had to make the best of things. Harry couldn't be protected all the time by those who had other things to do, and there had to be even more uses for Hermione. After all, who better to accomplish secret missions, who better to spy than an invisible dead person?
Perhaps, Hermione thought, Professor Snape would be the answer to that question. But even he needed help sometimes--she'd seen him looking deathly pale in class the day after a meeting with Voldemort. She grinned--perhaps it was convenient that she lived in the dungeons after all.
That night, she took her elegy from underneath her pillow. The envelope and sheet of paper on which the poem was inscribed were still immaculate, but Hermione wore the edges down ever so slightly as she read the poem over and over again, mulling over the delicate turns of phrase, and thinking about Professor Snape.
~~~~~~~~~
The intruder stood stock still, then whipped around to face Hermione in righteous indignation. Of course, she wasn't sure what emotion he was displaying, as his ghostly face was mutilated beyond recognition. It looked as though his flesh had melted, cascading down his cheeks and making his fierce eyes seem sunken and even more intimidating. Unwilling to lower her wand, Hermione stood her ground, her hand trembling slightly.
"Your chambers?" he asked incredulously. "In case you didn't realize, these chambers have been mine since my days as Potions Master here at Hogwarts!" He floated towards Hermione in an attempt to instill even greater fear into her. "I have been haunting these chambers since before the birth of Albus Dumbledore!"
Unable to think of a reply, Hermione simply raised an eyebrow and shrugged, still holding her wand in an iron grip. Her fellow... resident, she supposed... seemed willing to continue the staring contest indefinitely. It was going to be up to her to break the impasse.
"Well," she sighed, "I have to live somewhere..."
"Oh, so you find it proper to intrude upon me?"
"It's not as if Dumbledore gave me a choice!"
"That explains everything--the silly man, thinking he can foist babysitting charges on a long-retired and much-respected former faculty member of Hogwarts--"
"I hardly need a babysitter, you stuffy old codger--"
"How DARE you speak to Barnabas Jones in such a manner?" Hermione stopped short, her eyes widening as though she was a child meeting Santa Claus.
"You're Barnabas Jones?" she asked ecstatically. "Well, that explains everything! I've read all about you in 'Hogwarts: A History'! You're the inventor of the Enervating Potion!"
At that, the flattered ghost paused, a silvery blush creeping across his ravaged features. Hermione sighed with relief as his demeanor softened.
"Ah, yes, that potion was the death of me! A bit too much acid, you know..." He paused, a hopeful expression on his face."So, you've heard of me?" Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "And you've read all of 'Hogwarts: A History'?" Another nod. "Quite impressive, young lady. And might I ask how a talented youngster such as yourself ended up down here in the dungeons? Not to brag, but even the Bloody Baron himself is afraid to traverse these hallways!"
"Well, Professor Jones--"
"Oh, call me Barnabas! And you are...?"
Hermione proceeded to tell Barnabas her twisted tale, and was glad to see him respond with considerable interest. Unfortunately, she had to trudge through a lot of backstory, as he apparently hadn't ventured out of the dungeons in years.
"So, you have to study everything on your own?" he asked concernedly.
"Well, yes, but I'm attending the lectures and I'm sure I'll be fine--"
"Young lady, as incredible as your talents may be, Potions is a delicate subject that requires skilled instruction."
"But there's not much I can do about that!" Hermione snapped, then looked up at Barnabas' lopsided grin. "Unless..." the ghost nodded excitedly. Hermione chose this particular moment to realize what time it was.
"Oh no! Barnabas, I'll talk to you later tonight! I have to meet with Dumbledore..." With that, she disappeared and made a mad (but quiet) dash up to the Headmaster's office.
"Acid pops!" she whispered in the gargoyle's ear, jumping out of the way as he sprung aside. Skittering up the stairs, Hermione was mildly irritated to see Dumbledore sitting at his desk, as relaxed and unruffled as ever.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," he smiled as she reappeared and helped herself to a seat in one of the armchairs. "I trust you have by now met our dear Barnabas?" Hermione's eyes jolted to meet the Headmaster's knowing ones. She found herself mildly irritated once again--how did Dumbledore manage to think of everything?
"Oh," he grinned, "it comes from years of practice." Hermione immediately took more care to guard her thoughts, receiving an amused "Good girl!" from the Headmaster.
"So, Miss Granger, do you have any other concerns to share with me?"
"Um, yes... Professor Snape almost caught me today, and I was thinking there might be a more effective way to--"
"Have no worries, dear," he grinned. "You should find that the floo network linking your chambers to my office has been reactivated. Sorry to disappoint you, but you aren't connected to any other location in the wizarding world--couldn't afford any mishaps, now could we?" Hermione sighed. He really did think of everything, but she loathed all things relating to floo. Her thoughts were interrupted by his next question, "Anything else, dear?"
"Er... no," Hermione admitted, ready to leave Dumbledore's office as quickly as possible.
"Excellent, Miss Granger. Dobby will continue to deliver your meals--he is sworn to silence, and besides, the other house elves are still a bit wary of you."
"Wary is an understatement," Hermione remarked under her breath. The elves had almost been at the point of dubbing her 'She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' by the time S.P.E.W. had come to its long-overdue demise. Dumbledore chuckled again, and dismissed Hermione for the evening.
"I expect, next time, to summon you by floo. Until then, Miss Granger." Hermione was getting up to leave when he remarked, "I suppose, since you did not seem concerned about it, that the Marauders' Map is currently in your possession?" Damn, Hermione thought, right again! Harry and Ron had left it with her for the summer--Harry still had a difficult time with things that had belonged to Sirius, and Ron was about as responsible as Professor Snape was warm and welcoming.
"Goodbye, Headmaster," Hermione murmured, and disappeared, looking forward to another conversation with Barnabas. She was quite glad to have him there--she had expected to live completely alone, as Crookshanks had perished with her mother and father. At least she would never be completely by herself for long enough periods of time to become socially dysfunctional, she thought wryly.
Hermione made it back to her chambers without incident, as Mrs. Norris was more concerned with mice until the official beginning of the school year. She knew that, though it seemed far away, the year would begin before she realized it--and she'd get to watch her friends carrying on without her. The unbidden thought twisted Hermione's heart, but, a pragmatist, she knew she had to make the best of things. Harry couldn't be protected all the time by those who had other things to do, and there had to be even more uses for Hermione. After all, who better to accomplish secret missions, who better to spy than an invisible dead person?
Perhaps, Hermione thought, Professor Snape would be the answer to that question. But even he needed help sometimes--she'd seen him looking deathly pale in class the day after a meeting with Voldemort. She grinned--perhaps it was convenient that she lived in the dungeons after all.
That night, she took her elegy from underneath her pillow. The envelope and sheet of paper on which the poem was inscribed were still immaculate, but Hermione wore the edges down ever so slightly as she read the poem over and over again, mulling over the delicate turns of phrase, and thinking about Professor Snape.