The Rape of the Lock

Chapter 2: A Challende for Your Addled Minds

Just a Reminder-- this story is rated 'R'.

& I love you.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Hermione found her new classes enjoyable in spite of herself. She had been unfortunately unable to make a schedule without Snape's History of Potions in it somewhere, but to her surprise it quickly became something she looked forward to. Hermione was an avid fan of history of any sort, and without Harry in the class, and with members of all four houses present, Snape wasn't so mean. Not that he was giving out sweets or anything, but he wasn't taking points from her for blinking anymore, which she considered a plus.

However, Malfoy, who had been steadily climbing in class rank, was openly academically challenging her in class, and Snape did nothing to stop it. So far she had managed to come out on top, but she saw him gaining knowledge quickly, especially in anything having to do with potions. Malfoy had decided that he was going to be a potions master, so he sat in potions classes almost all day with Snape, and was learning the subject faster than Hermione.

On the first day of October, Professor Snape began the class with an announcement. "It is my unfortunate lack of luck to be burdened with sponsorship of a challenge for your addled minds."

Hermione perked up.

"A few of you miscreants will be selected to take part in a school-wide academic contest we're calling the Cogito. The winner will earn honor for his or her house, and exemption from mid-terms."

Everyone started tittering excitedly, while Hermione was momentarily depressed. She had been looking forward to mid-terms! She had already memorized loads of--

"Silence! I'm not finished yet! It will begin in four weeks, and last until the finals in two weeks before holiday. You are all expected to submit to testing for selection, which will commence shortly. However, not today, today we will be studying the fifth century, when Baron Gutermuth devised an amusing little potion which causes the victim to actually fall into an undetectable suggestive state. Today we call it Amicus Non-Dormiens Juice . . ."

The class was subdued at the mention of 'testing,' while Hermione's tide of excitement only rose. A contest, finally a contest I could do well in! Not like quidditch or chess! Of course, it was only a momentary escape from the real word, but she'd take her breaks where she could get them.

She looked over out the window. Malfoy caught her eye, and she quickly looked back at her book.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Draco instinctively turned away just as Hermione had when their eyes met. He looked at his book, stared really, not actually reading. Why did they even need to have this contest? It was obvious that Granger would win. Even over him. He shuddered at the thought.

Lost in angry reverie, Draco was left staring at his book in a now empty classroom. He was startled by Professor Snape. "Can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Um, no Sir." Draco, caught wrong-footed, thought for a moment while collecting his books. "Well, actually, maybe, Sir."

"Continue," the professor prompted.

"It's about the Cogito." After all, Draco thought, Professor Snape had mentioned honor for the winner's house. This gave him a perfect lead to tell Draco a secret, to help him win.

"Yes. Unpleasant for me to be in the position of aiding Gryffindor to yet another victory."

"Sir?"

"I'm sure you are aware of Miss Granger's, ahem, academic status, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes, but --" This wasn't going properly at all.

"And you can imagine my disappointment that my own house, in six years, has not provided it's own intellectual, ahem, counterweight." Professor Snape's eyes gleamed.

Oh, this is great, thought Malfoy. He knew the professor would probably be vague; as sponsor of the event he couldn't be seen or heard giving help to any of the students specially. But what he had just told Draco didn't sound too much like a hidden message. Well, it was slightly reminiscent of a veiled insult. "Gee, Draco," the professor meant, "You're too dumb to beat a mudblood. Imagine my disappointment."

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Staring at the letter in her hands, Hermione felt strangely disconnected from the world. This was not her life, these were not her hands, whose letter was this? But it was addressed Hermione Granger, care of Hogwarts, and she read it in confusion and childish anger over and over again.

Hermione, Your father and I want you to know that we love you very much, and that our decision has nothing to do with you. We've decided that the best thing would be for us to separate, it's just becoming too difficult. I think, after your last summer with us, you might agree. However, I know you'll still be terribly upset, and there's nothing wrong with that. We've been told that you have wonderful friends in the students as well as the professors at school, and I hope you can take comfort in them. Love, Mom

Terribly upset? Home was the last thing she had to cling to, that would still be there after graduation inflicted its horrors upon her. Yes, she was terribly upset. She began to cry. Terribly, terribly, terribly upset.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Draco walked back to his dormitory, still upset about his encounter with Professor Snape. Honestly! It wasn't his fault he wasn't all brainy like Granger. And the professor could have at least have given him a clue-- Draco's eyes narrowed. What exactly had he said? 'my own house, in six years, has not provided it's own intellectual counterweight.'

Maybe Professor Snape had helped him out after all.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Hermione, alone in her dormitory, was lost in thought. She had the bed curtains pulled around her, and she sat holding her knees to her chin.

"Nothing terribly bad has happened," she whispered to herself. "Yet." She fought to keep composure, to find the part within herself who wanted to do the homework that was spread on the bed around her. But all she found were things that scared her-- numbness here, a blank spot there, a panic . . . and more than anything, she felt alone.

"Ho, Hermione," Harry called unsurely, at the door to her dorm. "All right if I come in?"

Hermione scolded herself silently, wiping away childish tears. "Of course, Harry."

"You didn't come to supper." Harry looked at her, puzzled. "We wondered where you'd gone."

Hermione looked at the clock. Five minutes ago, it had only been three o' clock! But it was six-thirty now. She stared at the clock, feeling betrayed.

"Hermione, is this about Ron?" Harry sat down on the bed next to her, and looked at her with concern.

She looked at him carefully, mournfully, as if she knew he would die in a few moments. Or as if she would. "Ron? Oh, no. Not Ron." She studied her hands. They seemed far away. She was amazed that they still moved the way she wanted them to. She smirked a little. "Why? Is he still on about me?"

Harry kept looking at her like she had grown a second, or maybe a third head. "Are you all right?"

"No. Are you?"

"What? Of course."

"Of course? Harry, what will you do after these few months are over? When you don't have Dumbledore and Hagrid and McGonagall and Ron and me and Hogwarts to save you from your family? From You-Know-Who?" Hermione made an annoyed sound, her frustration escaping her throat without forming words.

Harry stood, shocked. Frankly, he had spent the past six years trying to avoid one near-death situation after another. There hadn't ever been time for him to ponder tomorrow, beyond whether he would spend it alive or dead.

"You're little, Harry. You think you're six feet tall and play quidditch and keep in shape, but Harry, you're so small. It's going to eat you alive."

"Hermione, are you seeing things? Has something told you something?"

"Nobody needs to tell me anything. I can see for myself. Such a clever witch, I think you'll agree."

"Hermione, what's going on?"

"Ron said always, Harry. Tell him . . . tell him he's wrong, please." Before Harry could speak again, she got up off the bed and went towards the door. "I'm hungry, I'm going to see what can be done about that."

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Ron and Harry sat in the common room late that night, unable to sleep.

"She said to tell you that you said always, and that you were wrong," Harry said blankly. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Ron thought for a moment. "No. I don't think so."

"What do you think about this Cogito thing?" Harry tried to change the subject. It was obvious that Ron still doted on Hermione, which was making Harry uncomfortable.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Seems weird that they just thought of it this year, though. Only for the seventh years, and you're a seventh year. Most of the oddness gravitates around you."

"Maybe. I think I should get involved in it. At the least to keep an eye on Hermione. For some reason I don't think Voldemort's involved in some little reincarnation of 'It's Academic.'"

Ron looked at him, puzzled at the cultural reference.

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