A/N: I would like to thank all of my readers for abiding patiently (though
unfortunately in some cases silently) while I struggled with this chapter.
I am confident that now that I have a definite outline for the next four or
so, I will be posting more often. I hope the length of this makes up
somewhat for the delay. Thank you to my reviewers who have helped me with
both this and my other story TTT (Totally Twisted Talents), which will be
posted sometime within the next week or so. Again, I'm sorry for the delay.
Real life can be a bitch sometimes. For my reviewers:
Shadow Fox: I'm glad you like it so far. I hope that you do read more.
Lori: I'm sorry, but it would be completely unfair to my readers if I let them glimpse what I have in store for them. Therefore, I can't answer your question. However, I hope you continue to read anyway.
DragonFireAngelVWP: Thank you for the review. I don't mind that it was short. Actually, it was longer than almost all others, so don't feel bad.
Eegurl: I have been trying to stay true, but the fact that I don't own any of them kind of interferes with that. Of course, that's why I constantly bug my terrific beta reader, Naseem. She can catch that kind of mistake before I post. Thank you for the review. I'm sorry that it has been about a month since I posted. Thanks for reminding me. You, along with my other reviewers, are sometimes my only motivation to write.
Giova: Sorry I didn't post this on Whispers, but I was anxious to post. Thank you for your continued support of my work. It really means a lot to me when a person reviews more than once. It signifies that I have not been losing readers, and that someone actually cares. By the way, the length of this chapter is for you (well, you and my beta reader, who has been hounding me for the last month).
For my beta reader: Chapter 7
Hogwart's hallways were always drafty, purposefully made so in the hopes that it would discourage would-be wanderers from being up past curfew. Thankfully, most of them took the subtle hint. Only the incorrigible troublemakers, the determined, or the stupid cared to roam about the castle at night. Or perhaps that was the stupid, determined, and incorrigible troublemakers? Either way, it was damnably cold.
Luckily, Hermione was an intelligent and resourceful young witch. Ever since late night wanderings had become routine, she'd taken to casting a warming spell. Conveniently, it was keyed specifically to her and not the environment. Most other temperature-altering spells affected the wizard or witch's surroundings, not the person. These were dangerous for a couple reasons. One, they contributed to global warming. Two, they were a dead give-away to any semi-astute observer.
Something stopped her in her tracks, literally. That was puzzling; after many hours perfecting her technique of walking while reading, she rarely collided with another person, even in a crowded hallway.
"Miss Granger, it would be most advantageous if you were to watch where you were going." The cold, harsh voice of Professor Snape intruded upon her thoughts. "The point of patrolling is to be observant," he continued bitingly.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I'll be more careful in the future," Hermione replied. In reality, she wanted to say that it was his fault as well, since collisions required two people. She was careful to keep the snide remark guarded, though. There was no point in further irritating the man; ever since the meeting two days ago, he had become almost unbearable. No one had thought it possible, but he was much worse.
Her civility brought a suspicious scowl to his face, and he snapped at her.
"Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Carry on." He briskly turned away and vanished into the shadows.
Only slightly disturbed by his manner, Hermione continued to walk down the twisting corridors, mind once again captured by her little dilemma. She suddenly realized something.
This was not Snape's night for patrol.
The staff, including Head Boy and Girl, had a rotating schedule for what was jokingly called the third shift. There were always at least two members on duty each night, so it was not as demanding as it might have been. Her regular partner was Flitwick.
So why was Snape prowling the halls tonight? There wasn't any motivation that she could discern. Unless, of course, he just suffered from insomnia. With a slight mental shrug, she moved on.
The minutes slowly dragged by while Hermione wandered the hallways, body alert for the slightest movement or noise. None. It was extremely quiet and empty almost to the point of complete void.
Meanwhile, her mind was double-checking the ingredients needed for the No Ha Mirado potion. The last ingredients had to be added at precisely midnight on the next new moon, the main symbol for invisibility. If they were added even a minute late, the potion was useless and she would have to wait until the next month to brew it again. These more rare components were not to be found in the Forbidden Forest, thus the obvious place was to look in Snape's stores. She knew he had them; she had taken more than just a cursory glance around while filching materials for the Polyjuice Potion in her second year. However, the question was how she would get them.
Finally, one o'clock. No detentions and no point deductions. Snape would have been disappointed.
Hermione sighed and retraced her steps to her bedroom. The problem would have to wait another night.
*****
Classes dragged by at an interminable pace: a never-ending cycle of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Herbology, Potions, and Charms. Her alienation from Harry and Ron grew even more pronounced and she was forced to sit next to the prattling Lavender and Parvati. Their incessant chatter about Witch Weekly was worse, much worse, than Quidditch had ever been. Who had the most dignified pose? Who had the most illuminating smile? Who had the nicest ass? They never said the last, but that was what it all boiled down to.
And of course, Professor Trelawny and her calamitous predictions filled the other half of their brains. Hermione was nearly steaming at the ears from the constant pressure of their conversation. Day after day. Class after class.
It had only been a week and a half since the meeting and her subsequent fight with Ron, but it seemed like three years. Her time was divided into listening to those two jabber, studying for the NEWTs, brewing the No Ha Mirado potion, and rereading every diary entry she had ever written in hopes of more insight into herself. The last, surprisingly enough, was the most difficult. Every day, she would float through old memories. Some of them involved self-pitying rants about one thing or another: breaking up with Viktor, being teased, receiving lower marks than expected. Others included little escapades with Harry and Ron. All of them seemed a little juvenile. Hermione closed the book with a thud and began to slowly massage her temples. The potion's preparation was halted until the new moon, but she was still worried due to the fact that she was missing some components. Time seemed at a standstill, yet she knew that it was only a matter of days before another Dark Revel was called. The need for haste seemed to beat within her head, making her even more short-tempered than usual. Point deductions and other punishments for those she discovered committing minor infractions piled up and students complained about it when they thought she couldn't hear. Dark circles from lack of sleep appeared under her eyes and the Professors sent worried looks her way when they thought she couldn't see.
Sighing, she decided a change of scenery was in order. After placing the diary under the floorboard with the heaviest concealment charm she knew, Hermione headed out the door to the library. She was halfway there when she heard two sets of footsteps rushing behind her.
"Hermione!" Lavender's syrupy voice (used so often to seduce boys that it was now permanent) sang out. Suppressing a groan, Hermione turned around.
"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice weary.
"No, but WE can help YOU," Lavender replied sweetly. "We'd noticed that you neglected your appearance lately and we decided that we should."
"Give you a makeover!" The girls said together. This time, Hermione did groan, but they ignored her disgruntled demeanor.
"We got some great new ideas from Witch Weekly! See? The cover says that these twenty five beauty tips are guaranteed to improve your looks!" They shoved the cover in Hermione's face, pointing to a glamour queen on the front. Indeed, that was what the cover said, word for word; garishly pink words, in anticipation for the "Holidays." After all, it was February and Valentine's Day was only a few days away. Not for the first time, Hermione thanked whatever kind spirit watching that there was NOT a ball for the occasion. The headmaster had learned his lesson from the year before. She shuddered in remembrance.
Just as she was about to refuse their offer, Hermione noticed a small article title in the magazine's lower right corner: "Trying to find the real you? This technique may help."
Inwardly, she sighed. Was she really going to sink so low? Well, if she was, she may as well get on with it. After all, it might be a different issue when they asked again, and she needed to see this article. Besides, if she waited any longer, it may be too late. She shied away from that thought.
"Sure girls. I'd love to." She cringed to herself for the lie, but it was necessary.
"Great! Can we use your rooms?" Lavender asked.
"We've never been in a Head Girl's quarters before!" Parvati explained.
No! She did not want them in her rooms. They would probably trash it or snoop around and find things that they shouldn't, like Potent Love Potions; she would never hear the end of that one. Or worse, The Book.
"I've been in my rooms all week studying for exams. I'd rather go somewhere else. Please?" It was the please that got them; they were unused to Hermione asking them a favor. Her conscience tweaked her a bit, but she ignored it for once; sometimes manipulation was necessary.
"Yeah, you haven't been up to the Common Room in ages! You should see what we've done to our old room since last year!" Parvati
"Ok. I'll meet you there at eight tomorrow." That would give them enough time to be satisfied with her makeover while not enough to drive her mad.
And of course, now that she dreaded tomorrow, it would come too soon, she thought wryly. The universe is perverse only because humans live in it.
*****
"No! Absolutely not."
"But Hermione, with your face, a bobbed haircut would look soooo cute on you!" Parvati
"Just trust us, 'Mione," She grimaced; she hated that nickname.
"I said no. You can paint my fingernails, you can paint my toes. You can paint my face, hell you can paint my nose. But you most definitely CANNOT do anything permanent. I can wash off all of this clown's makeup but I can't automatically grow my hair," Well, that last wasn't entirely true, but they didn't need to know that.
"Please?" They persisted.
"No," She resisted.
A small row ensued and Hermione left. On her way out of Gryffindor Tower, she nearly collided with Harry and Ron while they were entering. Ron sneered and brushed past her.
"I'll be there in a minute, Ron," Harry said.
"But." Ron protested.
"Just because you two can't settle your differences doesn't mean that I can't talk with both of you," Harry's tone allowed no argument. Ron continued up the stairs.
"Hermione-shite! What happened to your face?" She gave him a withering look.
"As if you needed to ask. The Dynamic Divinations Duo decided to improve upon my looks."
"Oh. Well. Anyway, I've been trying to work him around but he still dwells on your earlier comment."
"Thanks for the help, but you don't really have to do this."
"No problem. You did the same for me in fourth year, remember? Well, I have to get going. Ron promised me the pleasure of getting beat in chess again. And, um, don't forget to do a cleansing spell before you go out into the halls." She gave him a lopsided smile and left.
*****
The only problem with being devious was that in this particular instance there was no one with whom to share her ingenuity. While a copying and reduction spell couldn't be placed on the same level as inventing the wheel, Hermione still felt proud of herself. Thus, subterfuge was never her strong point; she usually felt compelled to tell the truth either because of her conscience or because of a need for acknowledgement. Normally the latter.
Hermione set the magazine on the desk by her bed and walked into the bathroom to wash her face. No matter how many times she used the cleansing spell, she still felt the need to use water to rinse off. The spells seemed too much like the anti-bacterial lotion that airplane bathrooms supplied; she never felt clean. A Muggle thought, perhaps, but valid nonetheless.
After drying her face on a towel (the only white thing in her entire quarters), Hermione turned back to the desk, picked up the magazine, and flipped to the article's page.
Braced for the typical multiple-choice survey of inane questions based completely on stereotypes, she was surprised to find a lengthy article based on meditation.
If anyone had walked in at that moment, they would have found a strange sight: Hermione Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts, not studying. The regular classical music was still playing softly in the background, the girl was still sitting at her desk, she was still wearing her thinking slippers (not the usual cap), and she was still reading; but, horror of horrors, she was reading a magazine. Now, the infraction could have been forgiven if she had been reading Popular Potions or ET: Expert Transfiguration. But no, she was reading Witch Weekly, the Cosmopolitan of the wizarding world.
Said observer would probably have fainted dead away upon finding Hermione Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts, reading such gossiping garbage. Well, that was why she had wards.
Closing the magazine thoughtfully, she slid to the carpet and crossed her legs as indicated in the diagram. She changed the music to that of the ocean rocking against the shore and began the slow process of meditation.
"Your arm is heavy. Your arm is heavy. How does it feel when your arm is heavy?"
At first, she felt completely ridiculous of repeating this unusual mantra, but after a while her arm really began to feel weighted. Amazed, she accidentally shocked herself out of the meditative process.
Oh my god, it works! After a few more trials, Hermione felt secure enough to go to the next step. She picked up the magazine again and read some more. Confused a bit, but directions fixed in her head, she settled onto the floor to begin the next task.
*****
The sensation of flying was so intense, almost tangible. She drifted in a warm sea of oblivion, unaware that she was even alive. A sense of belonging enveloped her, even though she didn't know what she was, who she was, where she was, or why she was. She only knew that it had a feeling of complete rightness.
She floated in the deepest recesses of her mind. Memories glided by her, a glimpse of red here, a snippet of music there, the smell of lilacs, the chill of a green fire.
Wait! Green fire? There was no such thing.
Of course. Her Muggle self retreated, leaving her with magic, powerful and awesome. A rush of understanding swept through her as the memories returned. She was at last able to recall what needed to be done.
*****
Hermione's eyes opened. She felt incredibly tired, as though she could not have moved even had she wished to. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her left calf, making it jolt in surprise. Pins and needles began to run up both her legs as they awoke. A bright smile crossed her face; she was successful.
*****
Lightning flashed, thunder crashed. Another cauldron down the drain. Students cowered, Snape glowered "Mr. Longbottom, please explain!"
However, Neville was incapable of speech. The majority of the botched potion had splattered on him. He was lying prostrate on the ground, unmoving. Silence descended on the room as Snape strode over to Neville's body. He peered at the potion to note its color and viscosity as it dripped slowly from the table. Then he bent to check the boy's pulse.
"He's alive," the Professor stated in a flat voice. "Unfortunately," he added with a sneer. He turned and addressed Hermione.
"Miss Granger, ensure that Mr. Longbottom is taken to the hospital wing. The rest of you leave. I have to clean up this idiot's blunders." There was a general sigh of relief. Potions class was let out early again. "I expect a three foot long essay on today's potion: its ingredients, their properties, and what this foolish Gryffindor might have done to obtain such a.result." A groan from the students. "Very well then. Four feet. Ah yes, and twenty points from Gryffindor on Mr. Longbottom's behalf. Class dismissed."
"Mobilicorpus," a swish and flick and Neville's body floated behind her as Hermione walked up to Madam Pomfrey's office.
*****
"His heart rate is stable and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. I can't do any more for him until Professor Snape arrives with his analysis of the potion. Without knowing the potion and the normal mishaps involved, I can't do much for the boy." Madam Pomfrey admitted to defeat. Hermione was about to comfort her when Snape's harsh, sarcastic voice came from across the room.
"You'll find, Madam, that 'normal' mistakes do not pertain to Mr. Longbottom," he said with a sneer. "He has a unique ability of finding new methods of failing."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Snape cut her off.
"The only instance where he is able to succeed is when someone is whispering answers in his ear, as you well know, Miss Granger." Her eyes flashed with anger, and she was about to do the incredibly stupid by telling him off, when Madam Pomfrey intervened.
"Since you're here, Professor Snape, can we continue with the analysis?" Snape glared at Hermione.
"You're dismissed."
"But, sir, I could help."
"You have a paper to write on the very subject we are about to discuss, Miss Granger. I wouldn't want you to feel the temptation of using the suggestions you hear in this room, rather than thinking of them on your own. You're dismissed."
With a barely concealed snarl, Hermione turned on her heel and left. Once outside the hospital wing, she headed towards the dungeons.
Shadow Fox: I'm glad you like it so far. I hope that you do read more.
Lori: I'm sorry, but it would be completely unfair to my readers if I let them glimpse what I have in store for them. Therefore, I can't answer your question. However, I hope you continue to read anyway.
DragonFireAngelVWP: Thank you for the review. I don't mind that it was short. Actually, it was longer than almost all others, so don't feel bad.
Eegurl: I have been trying to stay true, but the fact that I don't own any of them kind of interferes with that. Of course, that's why I constantly bug my terrific beta reader, Naseem. She can catch that kind of mistake before I post. Thank you for the review. I'm sorry that it has been about a month since I posted. Thanks for reminding me. You, along with my other reviewers, are sometimes my only motivation to write.
Giova: Sorry I didn't post this on Whispers, but I was anxious to post. Thank you for your continued support of my work. It really means a lot to me when a person reviews more than once. It signifies that I have not been losing readers, and that someone actually cares. By the way, the length of this chapter is for you (well, you and my beta reader, who has been hounding me for the last month).
For my beta reader: Chapter 7
Hogwart's hallways were always drafty, purposefully made so in the hopes that it would discourage would-be wanderers from being up past curfew. Thankfully, most of them took the subtle hint. Only the incorrigible troublemakers, the determined, or the stupid cared to roam about the castle at night. Or perhaps that was the stupid, determined, and incorrigible troublemakers? Either way, it was damnably cold.
Luckily, Hermione was an intelligent and resourceful young witch. Ever since late night wanderings had become routine, she'd taken to casting a warming spell. Conveniently, it was keyed specifically to her and not the environment. Most other temperature-altering spells affected the wizard or witch's surroundings, not the person. These were dangerous for a couple reasons. One, they contributed to global warming. Two, they were a dead give-away to any semi-astute observer.
Something stopped her in her tracks, literally. That was puzzling; after many hours perfecting her technique of walking while reading, she rarely collided with another person, even in a crowded hallway.
"Miss Granger, it would be most advantageous if you were to watch where you were going." The cold, harsh voice of Professor Snape intruded upon her thoughts. "The point of patrolling is to be observant," he continued bitingly.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I'll be more careful in the future," Hermione replied. In reality, she wanted to say that it was his fault as well, since collisions required two people. She was careful to keep the snide remark guarded, though. There was no point in further irritating the man; ever since the meeting two days ago, he had become almost unbearable. No one had thought it possible, but he was much worse.
Her civility brought a suspicious scowl to his face, and he snapped at her.
"Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Carry on." He briskly turned away and vanished into the shadows.
Only slightly disturbed by his manner, Hermione continued to walk down the twisting corridors, mind once again captured by her little dilemma. She suddenly realized something.
This was not Snape's night for patrol.
The staff, including Head Boy and Girl, had a rotating schedule for what was jokingly called the third shift. There were always at least two members on duty each night, so it was not as demanding as it might have been. Her regular partner was Flitwick.
So why was Snape prowling the halls tonight? There wasn't any motivation that she could discern. Unless, of course, he just suffered from insomnia. With a slight mental shrug, she moved on.
The minutes slowly dragged by while Hermione wandered the hallways, body alert for the slightest movement or noise. None. It was extremely quiet and empty almost to the point of complete void.
Meanwhile, her mind was double-checking the ingredients needed for the No Ha Mirado potion. The last ingredients had to be added at precisely midnight on the next new moon, the main symbol for invisibility. If they were added even a minute late, the potion was useless and she would have to wait until the next month to brew it again. These more rare components were not to be found in the Forbidden Forest, thus the obvious place was to look in Snape's stores. She knew he had them; she had taken more than just a cursory glance around while filching materials for the Polyjuice Potion in her second year. However, the question was how she would get them.
Finally, one o'clock. No detentions and no point deductions. Snape would have been disappointed.
Hermione sighed and retraced her steps to her bedroom. The problem would have to wait another night.
*****
Classes dragged by at an interminable pace: a never-ending cycle of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Herbology, Potions, and Charms. Her alienation from Harry and Ron grew even more pronounced and she was forced to sit next to the prattling Lavender and Parvati. Their incessant chatter about Witch Weekly was worse, much worse, than Quidditch had ever been. Who had the most dignified pose? Who had the most illuminating smile? Who had the nicest ass? They never said the last, but that was what it all boiled down to.
And of course, Professor Trelawny and her calamitous predictions filled the other half of their brains. Hermione was nearly steaming at the ears from the constant pressure of their conversation. Day after day. Class after class.
It had only been a week and a half since the meeting and her subsequent fight with Ron, but it seemed like three years. Her time was divided into listening to those two jabber, studying for the NEWTs, brewing the No Ha Mirado potion, and rereading every diary entry she had ever written in hopes of more insight into herself. The last, surprisingly enough, was the most difficult. Every day, she would float through old memories. Some of them involved self-pitying rants about one thing or another: breaking up with Viktor, being teased, receiving lower marks than expected. Others included little escapades with Harry and Ron. All of them seemed a little juvenile. Hermione closed the book with a thud and began to slowly massage her temples. The potion's preparation was halted until the new moon, but she was still worried due to the fact that she was missing some components. Time seemed at a standstill, yet she knew that it was only a matter of days before another Dark Revel was called. The need for haste seemed to beat within her head, making her even more short-tempered than usual. Point deductions and other punishments for those she discovered committing minor infractions piled up and students complained about it when they thought she couldn't hear. Dark circles from lack of sleep appeared under her eyes and the Professors sent worried looks her way when they thought she couldn't see.
Sighing, she decided a change of scenery was in order. After placing the diary under the floorboard with the heaviest concealment charm she knew, Hermione headed out the door to the library. She was halfway there when she heard two sets of footsteps rushing behind her.
"Hermione!" Lavender's syrupy voice (used so often to seduce boys that it was now permanent) sang out. Suppressing a groan, Hermione turned around.
"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice weary.
"No, but WE can help YOU," Lavender replied sweetly. "We'd noticed that you neglected your appearance lately and we decided that we should."
"Give you a makeover!" The girls said together. This time, Hermione did groan, but they ignored her disgruntled demeanor.
"We got some great new ideas from Witch Weekly! See? The cover says that these twenty five beauty tips are guaranteed to improve your looks!" They shoved the cover in Hermione's face, pointing to a glamour queen on the front. Indeed, that was what the cover said, word for word; garishly pink words, in anticipation for the "Holidays." After all, it was February and Valentine's Day was only a few days away. Not for the first time, Hermione thanked whatever kind spirit watching that there was NOT a ball for the occasion. The headmaster had learned his lesson from the year before. She shuddered in remembrance.
Just as she was about to refuse their offer, Hermione noticed a small article title in the magazine's lower right corner: "Trying to find the real you? This technique may help."
Inwardly, she sighed. Was she really going to sink so low? Well, if she was, she may as well get on with it. After all, it might be a different issue when they asked again, and she needed to see this article. Besides, if she waited any longer, it may be too late. She shied away from that thought.
"Sure girls. I'd love to." She cringed to herself for the lie, but it was necessary.
"Great! Can we use your rooms?" Lavender asked.
"We've never been in a Head Girl's quarters before!" Parvati explained.
No! She did not want them in her rooms. They would probably trash it or snoop around and find things that they shouldn't, like Potent Love Potions; she would never hear the end of that one. Or worse, The Book.
"I've been in my rooms all week studying for exams. I'd rather go somewhere else. Please?" It was the please that got them; they were unused to Hermione asking them a favor. Her conscience tweaked her a bit, but she ignored it for once; sometimes manipulation was necessary.
"Yeah, you haven't been up to the Common Room in ages! You should see what we've done to our old room since last year!" Parvati
"Ok. I'll meet you there at eight tomorrow." That would give them enough time to be satisfied with her makeover while not enough to drive her mad.
And of course, now that she dreaded tomorrow, it would come too soon, she thought wryly. The universe is perverse only because humans live in it.
*****
"No! Absolutely not."
"But Hermione, with your face, a bobbed haircut would look soooo cute on you!" Parvati
"Just trust us, 'Mione," She grimaced; she hated that nickname.
"I said no. You can paint my fingernails, you can paint my toes. You can paint my face, hell you can paint my nose. But you most definitely CANNOT do anything permanent. I can wash off all of this clown's makeup but I can't automatically grow my hair," Well, that last wasn't entirely true, but they didn't need to know that.
"Please?" They persisted.
"No," She resisted.
A small row ensued and Hermione left. On her way out of Gryffindor Tower, she nearly collided with Harry and Ron while they were entering. Ron sneered and brushed past her.
"I'll be there in a minute, Ron," Harry said.
"But." Ron protested.
"Just because you two can't settle your differences doesn't mean that I can't talk with both of you," Harry's tone allowed no argument. Ron continued up the stairs.
"Hermione-shite! What happened to your face?" She gave him a withering look.
"As if you needed to ask. The Dynamic Divinations Duo decided to improve upon my looks."
"Oh. Well. Anyway, I've been trying to work him around but he still dwells on your earlier comment."
"Thanks for the help, but you don't really have to do this."
"No problem. You did the same for me in fourth year, remember? Well, I have to get going. Ron promised me the pleasure of getting beat in chess again. And, um, don't forget to do a cleansing spell before you go out into the halls." She gave him a lopsided smile and left.
*****
The only problem with being devious was that in this particular instance there was no one with whom to share her ingenuity. While a copying and reduction spell couldn't be placed on the same level as inventing the wheel, Hermione still felt proud of herself. Thus, subterfuge was never her strong point; she usually felt compelled to tell the truth either because of her conscience or because of a need for acknowledgement. Normally the latter.
Hermione set the magazine on the desk by her bed and walked into the bathroom to wash her face. No matter how many times she used the cleansing spell, she still felt the need to use water to rinse off. The spells seemed too much like the anti-bacterial lotion that airplane bathrooms supplied; she never felt clean. A Muggle thought, perhaps, but valid nonetheless.
After drying her face on a towel (the only white thing in her entire quarters), Hermione turned back to the desk, picked up the magazine, and flipped to the article's page.
Braced for the typical multiple-choice survey of inane questions based completely on stereotypes, she was surprised to find a lengthy article based on meditation.
If anyone had walked in at that moment, they would have found a strange sight: Hermione Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts, not studying. The regular classical music was still playing softly in the background, the girl was still sitting at her desk, she was still wearing her thinking slippers (not the usual cap), and she was still reading; but, horror of horrors, she was reading a magazine. Now, the infraction could have been forgiven if she had been reading Popular Potions or ET: Expert Transfiguration. But no, she was reading Witch Weekly, the Cosmopolitan of the wizarding world.
Said observer would probably have fainted dead away upon finding Hermione Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts, reading such gossiping garbage. Well, that was why she had wards.
Closing the magazine thoughtfully, she slid to the carpet and crossed her legs as indicated in the diagram. She changed the music to that of the ocean rocking against the shore and began the slow process of meditation.
"Your arm is heavy. Your arm is heavy. How does it feel when your arm is heavy?"
At first, she felt completely ridiculous of repeating this unusual mantra, but after a while her arm really began to feel weighted. Amazed, she accidentally shocked herself out of the meditative process.
Oh my god, it works! After a few more trials, Hermione felt secure enough to go to the next step. She picked up the magazine again and read some more. Confused a bit, but directions fixed in her head, she settled onto the floor to begin the next task.
*****
The sensation of flying was so intense, almost tangible. She drifted in a warm sea of oblivion, unaware that she was even alive. A sense of belonging enveloped her, even though she didn't know what she was, who she was, where she was, or why she was. She only knew that it had a feeling of complete rightness.
She floated in the deepest recesses of her mind. Memories glided by her, a glimpse of red here, a snippet of music there, the smell of lilacs, the chill of a green fire.
Wait! Green fire? There was no such thing.
Of course. Her Muggle self retreated, leaving her with magic, powerful and awesome. A rush of understanding swept through her as the memories returned. She was at last able to recall what needed to be done.
*****
Hermione's eyes opened. She felt incredibly tired, as though she could not have moved even had she wished to. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her left calf, making it jolt in surprise. Pins and needles began to run up both her legs as they awoke. A bright smile crossed her face; she was successful.
*****
Lightning flashed, thunder crashed. Another cauldron down the drain. Students cowered, Snape glowered "Mr. Longbottom, please explain!"
However, Neville was incapable of speech. The majority of the botched potion had splattered on him. He was lying prostrate on the ground, unmoving. Silence descended on the room as Snape strode over to Neville's body. He peered at the potion to note its color and viscosity as it dripped slowly from the table. Then he bent to check the boy's pulse.
"He's alive," the Professor stated in a flat voice. "Unfortunately," he added with a sneer. He turned and addressed Hermione.
"Miss Granger, ensure that Mr. Longbottom is taken to the hospital wing. The rest of you leave. I have to clean up this idiot's blunders." There was a general sigh of relief. Potions class was let out early again. "I expect a three foot long essay on today's potion: its ingredients, their properties, and what this foolish Gryffindor might have done to obtain such a.result." A groan from the students. "Very well then. Four feet. Ah yes, and twenty points from Gryffindor on Mr. Longbottom's behalf. Class dismissed."
"Mobilicorpus," a swish and flick and Neville's body floated behind her as Hermione walked up to Madam Pomfrey's office.
*****
"His heart rate is stable and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. I can't do any more for him until Professor Snape arrives with his analysis of the potion. Without knowing the potion and the normal mishaps involved, I can't do much for the boy." Madam Pomfrey admitted to defeat. Hermione was about to comfort her when Snape's harsh, sarcastic voice came from across the room.
"You'll find, Madam, that 'normal' mistakes do not pertain to Mr. Longbottom," he said with a sneer. "He has a unique ability of finding new methods of failing."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Snape cut her off.
"The only instance where he is able to succeed is when someone is whispering answers in his ear, as you well know, Miss Granger." Her eyes flashed with anger, and she was about to do the incredibly stupid by telling him off, when Madam Pomfrey intervened.
"Since you're here, Professor Snape, can we continue with the analysis?" Snape glared at Hermione.
"You're dismissed."
"But, sir, I could help."
"You have a paper to write on the very subject we are about to discuss, Miss Granger. I wouldn't want you to feel the temptation of using the suggestions you hear in this room, rather than thinking of them on your own. You're dismissed."
With a barely concealed snarl, Hermione turned on her heel and left. Once outside the hospital wing, she headed towards the dungeons.