THE SECRET ADMIRER
Chapter 1 – Valentine's Day
'Wake up, wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!!!!! WAKE UP OR YOU'RE GOING TO FAIL YOUR NEWTS AND THEN WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH YOUR (censored) LIFE YOU LAZY –'
Seventeen-year old Hermione Granger woke up with a start as her pillow, charmed with instructions to wake her up at precisely six o'clock, screeched shrilly into her ear. Hurriedly, she grabbed her wand from her bedside table and tapped the pillow to shut up the racket. Her dorm mates, understandably, weren't exactly fond of her pillow-alarm. On the rare occasions in which Hermione had slept through the somewhat noisy alarm (an occasion which would only take place if she had happened to stay up to four o'clock am to finish some assignment she had enthusiastically decided to complete two weeks before it was due), they had been very vocal in their protestations.
Hermione lay back on her soft, warm and comfortable bed for a moment more, relishing the peace and quiet, before sitting up reluctantly. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stumbled out of her grand four-poster bed, blinking owlishly as she made her way towards the bathroom where a dash of cruelly cold water across her face woke her up more than effectively. She hurriedly cleaned herself up and changed into her school robes, and then grabbed her bag of books, quills and notes before making her way downstairs into the Gryffindor Common Room.
After all, it was imperative that she study before breakfast for the Potions test to be held just before lunch, and so it was that at the unholy hour of half past six in the morning, while most of the school still slumbered like unconscious trolls, she sat down on one of the sofas to study.
Pulling out the notes she had made last week, Hermione snorted with slight laughter as she re-read them. The topic the test was based on was somewhat amusing considering the circumstances: roses. Honestly, one would think Professor Snape had a very twisted sense of humour in giving them a test on Valentine's Day on roses. True, roses did have many useful properties in potions, and was a fairly important topic in the NEWTs syllabus, but forcing an analytical view through a taxing examination situation on Valentine's Day, no less, was not something the romantics in the class would be happy about.
She grinned, imagining her greasy-haired Potions Master holding a long-stemmed crimson rose, and couldn't help giggling out loud. But the hilarity of the situation died abruptly, when she realised exactly what it was she was laughing about.
It was Valentine's Day.
Hermione's face darkened and she quickly checked her diary with rapidly fading hope. She grimaced. There was no denying it. The date was the fourteenth of February, in the year nineteen-ninety-seven. It was Valentine's Day.
She had to make her escape quick. Hermione stuffed her notes back into her bag, and bolted through the portrait.
In less than ten minutes' time, Hermione was sitting in a secretive little chamber she had discovered early last year. The chamber was small, with a desk and chair on which she had placed her work. She wondered exactly what it was that had led her to chose this little spot of silence this morning. Yes, it was quiet, small and handy, but it also had a small, tiny window which overlooked the interiors of the Great Hall. Maybe it was some need to be sadistically cruel to herself.
The Hall was empty now, though, and she looked down at her notes, concentrating. There were pages and pages written in her tiny, neat handwriting, with notes on the properties of rose petals, thorns, stems, pollen, leaves, and various potions recipes they were supposed to learn. She knew it all, of course, but it was necessary to revise to be certain of good marks in the test (ie., a hundred percent or above), and so she began, occasionally taking bites from a peanut-butter sandwich she had acquired from the kitchens on her way to this sanctuary. She had no intention of starving, but she also had no intention of going anywhere near the Great Hall during breakfast on the fourteenth of February.
To put it bluntly, Hermione hated Valentine's Day. Or more accurately, she dreaded it … feared it.
After all, she had never received so much as a Valentine's Day card in her life, and Valentine's Day was a big thing at Hogwarts, a co-ed boarding school. Everyone made a big deal about it. It was very important, especially to the girls. Valentine's Day in her second year had been the biggest celebration, with Gilderoy Lockhart's pink concoction, but every year Valentine's Day always involved frenzied owls delivering messages, cards, and gifts. The florists in Hogsmeade did good business in the lead up to Valentine's Day.
Everybody got Valentines, be it from girlfriends, boyfriends, friends, admirers …
Hermione had never received a Valentine. She was in her final year at Hogwarts, and although she had hopefully sat through previous Valentine's Days, she had resigned herself to never receiving a Valentine in her life. For heaven's sakes, in her fifth year, she had received not a Valentine, but a pragmatic letter from Rita Skeeter to arrange details about clearing Harry's name through the media, while in her sixth year, Valentine's Day had been spent chasing Death Eaters through the Forbidden Forest in the lead up to the final battle with Voldemort. Not exactly what you'd call romantic.
She'd never even received a friendly Valentine, simply because Harry and Ron thought she wasn't interested in that kind of thing.
Hermione often wondered if there was something wrong with her to cause this lack of interest in her romantically. Why didn't she turn heads? Okay, she wasn't exactly the most gorgeous creature on earth, but she wasn't ugly. There were many other girls far less attractive than her who had received Valentines before. Even Millicent Bulstroude had received a singing Valentine last year from Vincent Crabbe.
Time spent speculating when she drifted off in classes (admittedly not often), or when lazing in the baking hot sun in the holidays with her older, Muggle cousin Electra, produced several theories as to exactly why.
Maybe she was too smart, and intimidated members of the opposite sex. 'You could pretend to be less smart, look less worried in class,' Electra had suggested. No way. Marks were more important. 'Talk less.' As if. 'Act ditz-ier.' Was Electra insane?
'Your outfits don't really attract attention,' her cousin had remarked, trying to be tactful when staring into Hermione's wardrobe. Hermione had automatically protested. It was difficult to wear attractive outfits in school, considering regulations. She was a Prefect and had to follow the rules. Besides, Hermione just found "attractive" clothing plain uncomfortable at times.
'Make-up,' Electra mused, scrutinising Hermione closely. Hermione scrunched up her face at once. Ick. Naturally, her strong-willed cousin refused to take that as an answer and carefully applied all manner of what Hermione termed "gunk" onto her face. Hermione had looked good, she had to admit, but the idea of wearing that all day was unbearable, so no!
'Your hair,' Electra noted pointedly. She took a straightening iron to Hermione's hair, but Hermione felt that it looked unnatural. Besides, she didn't have time to spend straightening her hair every day. She had to study.
And so the theories continued. They became even more far-fetched.
One afternoon, Electra had arrived at the beach with Hermione, excitedly waving a newspaper clipping.
'What is it?' Hermione had asked.
'Pheromones! Maybe your body's not releasing enough pheromones!' Electra exclaimed. She shoved the clipping into Hermione's hands. 'You know, sex hormones. This article's on plants that release pheromone-like substances –'
'I'm not a plant!'
'– to attract insects –'
'I don't want to attract insects!'
'– and humans have the same substances. I think it's picked up unconsciously by smell or something,' Electra said, sounding completely serious.
'And what do you propose I do about it?' Hermione demanded. 'Not, of course, that I intend to do anything about it,' she had added hastily.
The answer had arrived at Christmas as a present from Electra. A small bottle of perfume, the container boasting "increased sexual attractions" with a secret ingredient of pheromone-like substances.
It hadn't worked, naturally. She had sprayed on some of the "sensual, alluring scent with a hint of spring, summer, sandalwood, citrus, jasmine," or something along those lines, and had wandered around the school receiving absolutely no extra attention. Unless you counted Harry and Ron's reactions.
'You smell funny,' Ron said, looking at her in a weird way.
'Did you blow something up in your extra Potions class?' Harry enquired.
Not exactly tactful, but Hermione privately agreed with their assessment of the "perfume." Unfortunately, to her extreme embarrassment, they hadn't been the only ones who'd noticed. Of all the other people in the school, he had found it necessary to notice.
Draco Malfoy.
She had had to push past him in a tight spot in the library, when he'd sniffed the air around them and looked ready to fall about laughing.
'Granger,' he had drawled.
'What is it, Malfoy?' Hermione spat, dreading the worst. Naturally, it came.
'I wouldn't really wear that if I were you,' he said, grinning maliciously, clearly identifying the fact that she was wearing some strange fragrance. 'Doesn't suit you really,' he added with a condescending smile, as though she were beneath it. Hermione resolved to wear that "perfume" every day after that, but the sight of the bottle and the accompanying memory of the distasteful scent eventually forced her to give up and store the little bottle of proclaimed wonders away.
But really! That was rude. But that was to be expected from him. Bastard.
Hermione detested Draco Malfoy. She had done so ever since the moment she had first laid eyes on him. Well, maybe not. To be perfectly honest she couldn't really remember when she had first seen him, but that was besides the point. Okay, she had detested him ever since she had first seen his nastiness to Harry and Ron, who had been fellow Gryffindors even when they weren't exactly friends. His cruel behaviour had taken little time to extend to her with her Muggle-born 'mud' blood, and only served to increase her dislike of the blond.
Stupid Malfoy! Swaggering around Hogwarts as though he owned it, a confident smirk firmly settled on his pale face. It truly infuriated her.
After the showdown last year which had resulted in the death of Voldemort and the deaths, or life imprisonment, of all associated evil, Lucius Malfoy, who had previously escaped Azkaban, had been thrown unceremoniously into jail. His wife, Narcissa, and his son, Draco, had been declared not guilty, and Narcissa Malfoy had been given control of her husband's estate until her son's twenty-first birthday.
How Malfoy had been declared not guilty left Hermione, Harry and Ron completely baffled. Malfoy was clearly a supporter of his father's sentiments, and yet, like his father before him, he had the cunning to avoid entrapment and appear innocent. No evidence could be given to claim otherwise. To the world, he now presented a respectable, even saintly face. Dutiful son, good marks in class, donations to charitable organisations (which, incidentally, his own father had done before him), popular (especially among the female population), Quidditch captain, Prefect, and a polite face in his lessons.
Of course, the Gryffindor trio were convinced that underneath nothing was different. He still hated them. They still hated him.
He continued to insult them at every corner, although with a great deal more subtlety than before. It would not, after all, be terribly clever to openly pick fights with Harry Potter, the hero of the war against Voldemort. Hermione, personally, was sure that Draco wanted revenge. How could he not, when they had been the reason his father was banished for all time?
'Distillation of the scent of the rare magical black rose must be done with impeccable care or can cause extreme trouble to the brewer …'
Hermione interrupted her studies to pull out a quill and ink to make additional notes, and as she did so, happened to glance out of the tiny window that led to the Great Hall. Of course, one glance into the Hall was enough to make her forget about studying, as her eyes were riveted by the sight of the school's many students eating breakfast and enjoying the excitement of Valentine's Day.
It seemed red, white and pink were the official colours of the day. Stuffed teddy bears holding cute little boxes of chocolates, countless cards, more bunches of flowers than necessary, harassed looking owls making deliveries from gift stores in Diagon Alley, singing Valentines (all singing out of key and creating the most terrible cacophony) … it was pretty frenzied and disorganised, yet Hermione wished inside that she were a part of it.
She could see Harry and Ron, and longed to be sitting with them, also receiving Valentines. Harry and Ron had each managed to accumulate a veritable stack of admiring cards. They were war heroes after all. Ginny, opening her numerous cards and sniffing a generous bunch of flowers from Anthony Goldstein, was deliberately ignoring Harry, who was grinning goofily across the tables at Padma Patil who had just opened his Valentine's present. Ron's face was bright red with embarrassment as he read a Valentine that could only come from Luna Lovegood, since he kept glancing furtively at her place at the Ravenclaw table, although his girlfriend, Mandy Brocklehurst was glaring daggers. Parvati and Lavender each held multiple gifts of flowers and chocolates, and Hermione was sure her face must be green with envy.
Valentine's Day was pointless, she told herself. Why should she be upset? She was above participation in such a commercial venture. Yeah right.
Hermione's eyes wandered around the hall. There was Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff smiling goofily at Hannah Abbot. Neville Longbottom had temporarily migrated to the Hufflepuff table to speak earnestly with his girlfriend, Susan Bones. At the Ravenclaw table, Lisa Turpin was making an early start into a box of chocolates she had received, sharing them with her friends, while at the Slytherin table, Hermione could see Millicent Bulstroude exchanging googly eyes with Vincent Crabbe. Pansy Parkinson, she noted, was smiling triumphantly at the pile of Valentines that she had managed to accumulate.
She could also see Draco Malfoy, leaning back against the wall (since the bench of the Slytherin House table was right up against the wall of the Great Hall), surveying the room amusedly. He also had several Valentines, probably even more than Harry and Ron had, given his lucky good looks and wealth, but he ignored them carelessly. Baddock and Nott, two other Slytherins, said something to him, and he nodded, his eyes deliberately scanning the Gryffindor table. He laughed unpleasantly at something Baddock said, idly cursing one of his Valentines with his wand to stop singing.
Hermione could see his face clearly – it was right in view from where she was in her small shelter, and wondered what had made him laugh. She couldn't see anything that could cause such derision at the Gryffindor table, but then again, she didn't pretend to know the inner workings of Malfoy's twisted mind. She could see that although he seemed negligent about Valentine's Day, many others weren't, and she could see many hopeful girls (especially from younger years) staring at the boy's face. The girl who had sent him the singing Valentine was sobbing in despair into a friend's shoulder because he hadn't appeared to appreciate the song. Bastard, Hermione thought silently. He didn't appreciate his situation, didn't even seem affected by it, his arrogance dominating everything. Hermione quietly resented him, and wrenched her mind back to her Potions study of roses.
A few hours later, the Potions test was over, and Hermione was walking with Harry and Ron to the Great Hall for lunch. It wasn't too bad at lunch, Hermione reflected. Most Valentines were sent in the morning, so at least now she wouldn't be surrounded by people getting Valentines and asking her if she had received any.
'I can't believe Snape,' Ron moaned. 'I think I must have failed that.' The red-head plonked himself down onto his seat miserably.
'I know,' Harry said, looking equally glum. 'I know Snape's on our side and everything, but that was not nice.'
'Not nice?' Neville practically squawked from where he sat, overhearing. 'That was evil,' he shuddered, before returning to his conversation with Colin Creevey.
Hermione just smiled tightly. She was probably the only one who managed to pass that paper, unless it was Malfoy who somehow managed to do reasonably well in all his classes. She had been the only one who had actually studied last night in the Gryffindor common room. The others had been too busy giggling (well Harry and Ron didn't really giggle) about Valentine's Day.
'Can't wait until this afternoon,' Harry said, sighing.
'Yeah,' Ron nodded.
They would be going into Hogsmeade with their girlfriends. Hermione planned to stay back and read in the library.
Still grumbling, Harry and Ron began eating, and Hermione followed suit.
'Look, Herm,' Ginny, who had seated herself next to Hermione, pointed up to one of the high, open windows in the Great Hall.
Hermione glanced up, and genuinely smiled. 'That's nice.'
It was very lovely – a pair of white doves were winging their way across the Great Hall, obviously to send a slightly late Valentine. Doves were terribly difficult to train magically, so whoever decided to use them must have been a real romantic since they were so expensive to use. But romantic as the gesture was, it was not directed to her, so Hermione directed her attentions back to her lunch, not really interested in seeing who was the recipient of such a thoughtful Valentine.
She took another sip of the pink-coloured pumpkin fizz and another bite from her heart-shaped vegetable pie. The House Elves had been feeling overly creative.
'Hermione!' Ginny's voice now was urgent.
'What?' Hermione asked, a trifle annoyed at being disturbed from her gloomy contemplations of a life of solitude, and looked up, to nearly choke on her heart-shaped vegetable pie.
The white doves were hovering in the air before her, beating their soft wings in an attempt to stay airborne.
Obviously noticing that her attention had been gained, one dove deposited an envelope on which was written 'Hermione Granger' in elegant script, while the other dropped a bouquet of twelve long-stemmed dark, velvety-red roses.
Hermione gaped.
'It's for you, Herm!' Ginny said, excitedly.
'Who's it from?' Ron asked at once.
'That's so romantic!' Lavender squealed from the other side of the long table.
'Doves and red roses,' Parvati sighed.
Hermione just continued gaping, as the doves took flight again, leaving through the windows. It seemed as though everybody at the Gryffindor table were staring at Hermione.
'Open the letter,' Ginny urged.
Hermione nodded, and mutely picked up the envelope, which was of a thick, creamy parchment. Sealed with red wax, she carefully pried it open, and extracted a card of the same thick creamy parchment, on which was written simply, and anonymously, with the same flowing script in black ink:
You're beautiful, Hermione.
*
Author's Notes: Wow! I got more review for about 300 words of Prologue than after about five chapters (about twenty-five thousand words) of my other long fic. Oh well, not complaining here. I hope you enjoy this chapter and that it's amusing enough. I don't think I'm very good at humour, it's more light-light-light humour. Light x a hundred-thousand. Anyway, that's the length I'm hoping to have all my chapters at, since I'm one of those readers who likes longish chapters. Not sure when the next chapter will be up. Hopefully soon.
Please review! Reviews are encouraging, and reviews also mean I'll update quicker! Reviews would also be very helpful because I'm not sure exactly what to do next …
Thanks to those who did review: James Jago, spiritlandez, wallflower1, iLoVeDrAcO 15, roses in bloom, BlackDwellingSoul and Stacy. You're very generous!