Disclaimer: All in the Harry Potter kingdom belongs to Rowling (all rise) and not fans (you may be seated).
Chapter Eight: The Power of Women
In the late evening hours, Hermione was greeted by Buckwheat and she feared this might be the last contact she'd have for the summer with him. He swooped in near midnight, after everyone was asleep, and just after Remus had departed. She wondered how long he'd been waiting in the shadows before he could skulk in secretively to make his drop. This time she'd expected a letter and a pouch. Instead, a package was dangling from the owl's clawed grasp.
She made a face and smiled, a bit curious as to what Ms. Renou or Severus (nah— still didn't sound right) had sent her. She opened the letter and read it.
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'Dear Artist:
I thank you again for your swift and professional work.
I think this should be a cause for celebration, and while our paths may never cross in public, I wanted to send you this in appreciation of your hard efforts.
Congratulations on a job well done.'
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This time she trusted the pouch was accurate and tucked it in her trunk.
In the box Hermione pulled out a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey, wrapped in green cellophane and a small silver sash. 'Way to keep clues about your anonymity a secret Snape!'
She shook her head and laughed. It was time for a small celebratory drink. 'Couldn't hurt, could it?'
' Two months isolated in this room penning a work for someone who would never know, planning to foil the Dark lord in God knows what manner… Yeah. A drink is definitely in order.'
Hermione cleaned a leftover glass in her sink and wiped it out. She opened the bottle carefully and … 'Phew! The fumes! Good grief! You could clean cauldrons with that! And Neville's cauldrons at that!'
She poured an inch and stopped. She figured that would be quite enough to knock her on her bum. She sipped carefully, imagining she was sharing a nightcap with Snape… and choked… magnificently. After the hacking stopped, her eyes watering, nose smarting a bit.... she could feel the vapor action… she took small sips of the whiskey and ended up with the same result. A coughing, hacking fit.
She was sure Madam Rosmerta would shoot her for doing what she was about to, but maybe her parents were onto something with mixed drinks. She crept silently downstairs to retrieve ice and cold water. When she snuck back upstairs, she tiptoed past Harry's bedroom, slipping silently into her own door.
She poured in the remaining Ogden's from her previous glass and gratefully had a much more tolerable drinking experience with no less alcohol for it. It was 'okay'. She felt glad she couldn't fully appreciate the qualities of the seriously intoxicating nature of Ogden's 150-year-old Firewhiskey. She wondered if it would be any better with tonic water and a lime or 7-Up. 'That's how Granddad used to take his.'
She woke up in a fog, but not hung over. She had squirreled away the Ogden's for some future use. 'Something industrial.' She pulled out her calligraphy supplies to practice her writing and prepared the ink to get started. Hermione must have still been a bit tired because she found herself nodding off. She needed coffee. 'Thank you again Harry, thank you, thank you. Cinnamon hazelnut here I come.'
She put away her nibs and quills, the ink and the paper— but something didn't quite look right. Her mind wasn't working properly after just waking up. She shook the cobwebs from her head as she opened her bedroom door. Then it dawned on her.
"Crookshanks no! Bad kitty!" 'Oh no…' Ink was everywhere. That stupid Kneazle-cat had gone and stuck it's paw in ink and looked at his paw (she could see it now… he did the same thing with the water in his bowl) and now was sashaying through the entire house with an advertisement for future business. 'Damn it Crooks! Come back here!'
Crookshanks had a reputation for intelligence, being part-Kneazle, but the animal responsible for sniffing out Wormtail was definitely identifying with his cat heritage today. Usually at 5 a.m. he would go crazy and zing about her room, ruffling papers and generally making a nuisance of himself until he got some attention. Today, she had no such luck.
Hermione was too late and too slow to catch him. Crookshanks had tracked black inky paw prints all over her bedroom and down the stairs like some rubber stamped madness. 'Oh gosh, gouache. Would it never end?' So many footprints everywhere left her only able to speculate as to his whereabouts. Tracks went in all directions.
She prayed Molly was downstairs, or even Remus… 'But please, oh please, let it not be…'
"Miss Granger? Are you looking for a cat?" Snape said this in clipped tones and she found herself trapped in some horrible nightmare. Suddenly she was back in class, wearing pajamas in place of school robes and any moment she would look up to see herself naked during a test she hadn't studied for.
Oh crap.
"Um, yes sir." 'Crookshanks, I'm going to kill you.'
"I believe your offensive animal is lurking underneath that sofa."
"Thank you, sir."
Snape thought she looked a bit amusing, on the floor, in as much of a stalking position as that feline menace. Hermione was on her hands and knees using cat tactics in a human body to catch the elusive animal. If only Minerva were here.
She looked under the couch as modestly as she could, but there was no ladylike way to do it. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty…." Her own eyes met gold narrow ones and the ginger demon darted out, leaving a mess of fur and grayish paw prints in his wake. Her eyes followed the trail he left and…
'Oh no. You didn't.'
Crookshanks, like many cats, did not necessarily find himself taking the direct route. Or even a route that requires use of a floor or other flat surface. When Crookshanks ran, his limbs peeled out in a flurry of tire-screeching, tail-waving, rubber-burning motion and everything in his wake felt it. And Snape had been in his wake.
Hermione willed herself not to giggle. But she couldn't stop herself. This was getting too stupid. She noticed the remains of black paw prints left on Snape's robes toward the hem. She laughed and he was startled, then annoyed at her behavior.
She fell in a fit of giggles on the floor and pointed at the edge of his cloak, no words to express what was so funny. It was black on black, but she could still see it. 'At least it would blend in.' She couldn't stop laughing.
'And he couldn't take points.' She laughed even harder, clutching her side.
She needed this.
"Are you quite through?" Snape hissed through clenched teeth.
Hermione finally simmered down and let out a few 'hoos' as she tried to catch her breath.
She had managed to finally capture Crookshanks' interest with her spell of sniggering. She scooped up her cat holding the guilty blackened paws up with her right hand, cradling the body of the wriggling monster with her left, and whisked him upstairs to wash his feet.
Ink and cats do not go together. She had the scratches to prove it.
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The remainder of the summer flew by with frequent visits by Ron and Ginny. She was permitted to attend a few more church services, once it had been deemed safe for her to go.
Hermione also spent a good deal of time reading her relatively new book. She found herself surprised she hadn't picked it up earlier after paying so much for it.
'The power of women is so often mentioned in modern society, but only in the sense of equality for women and other feminist statements. What has been lost is the knowledge of what to do with our innate natural feminine magics.
We, my sisters, have lost our stories.
The Muggle world lost a great deal with the advent of sterile bottles and formula in place of breastfeeding. They sadly turned to the belief that sterile was better and shortly lost their knowledge, so often passed from mother to daughter about one of the finest gifts a mother could give her child. Only in the last generation is the non-magical community struggling to regain the ground they lost in the benefits of breastfeeding. And they lost it because they stopped telling their stories. They lost their power.
That's how women have passed along knowledge for centuries, through the sacred voices of intelligent women, mother to daughter, friend to friend. Secrets told through everyday life, instead of waiting for that opportune moment. And like the Muggles, we have done the same thing.
When did we stop telling our stories? When did we lose our power?
Historically, especially in prominent pure-blooded wizarding families, many wizards kept their wives under their thumbs, ruling each piece of information which came into their household. Women weren't permitted to work outside the home, and social contacts were limited and carefully scrutinized. Female mysticism was feared greatly and men were afraid. I might add, appropriately so. This was a concept with oddly seemed to carry over from the Muggle community during the Great War. It is a shame that even then most of us did not know our collective strength. The power of women.'
Hermione took a deep breath and knew at the very least she would feel very empowered by a book whose introduction so far had not offered any hints qualifying or quantifying the magic of women.
The Power of Childbirth…
Hermione read quickly, not seeing things that interested her terribly. She was surprised to see quite a few interesting homeopathic healing remedies for post-partum women. Little known techniques also lost over time, modern medicine had shifted responsibility for birthing from midwifes to educated medi-wizards. In the beginning she read, those physicians were almost always men.
Hermione felt a pang of sadness as a young woman, accepting in her heart what had been lost. And she thought again about what she would have to lose. To keep her safe.
'There has to be another way.'
She read on until sleep overtook her and was wakened by the sound of Harry at her door.
"Are you still alive?" He teased playfully, pushing open the door.
Hermione pulled herself up to lean against the headboard, book still open against her chest, with matted bed-hair as a crown.
Harry laughed. She looked at him strangely, then caught her reflection in the mirror and frowned.
"HEY!" She chastised, and threw her heavy feather pillow at him and it hit it's mark with a satisfying 'ow!' He laughed and stopped his teasing immediately.
As she gathered herself together straightening her clothes and coverlet, he wandered over to the book she'd been reading.
"What's this?" He cocked his head to one side, skimming the lines.
"Um… The Power of Women… feminist stuff."
Hermione went to the mirror to recover her hair from its mangled state by twisting it tightly on the back of her head. Harry looked up from her rather mature reading choice, and seemed to size her up, watching her preen a bit, surprising her with his next comment.
"You're really beautiful Hermione, you know that?" Harry observed as if seeing her for the first time. She looked so much older than they did.
She spun on her heel, "I beg your pardon?"
"I mean, do you have any interests other than books? I can't believe you're not dating… I mean, are you dating? I mean, since Victor…"
This was about a bizarre a discussion as she could ever imagine having with her long-term friend-boy.
"Umm… no. I guess I've just not found anyone," my age, "…worth taking an interest in." 'Harry, you'd kill me if I told who interested me.'
"That's a shame. You know, Ron…" he suggested.
"Yeah, I know Harry. It totally wouldn't work. We decided that already." She sighed.
"Well, it's not NEWTs year, y'know,? And I think you should get out more, instead of holing yourself up in the library all the time." He said seriously.
"I can't believe you are lecturing me about recreation. It's not exactly like you have such a light load on your shoulders." She regretted her comment as soon as it left her lips. Harry never forgot, and it was unkind of her to remind him.
"Hermione it's 'the summer' and almost all I've seen you do is work from behind that closed door," he pointed. "It's unnatural."
"What do you suggest?"
"I thought you'd never ask!" He exclaimed, and Hermione knew he was up to something. The rest of his words came in an excited flurry, and he was begging her to come too. "Remus told me he'd take us to the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch for practice! Ron and Ginny will be there too. It'll be fun."
"I don't know Harry, brooms just aren't my thing…"
"You are NOT staying here anymore Hermione. Come with us."
"My flying isn't that… and Quidditch well…" Her cheeks pinked a bit in embarrassment. Harry and Ginny and Ron were the Quidditch hounds not her.
"This isn't about Quidditch. I'll help you with your flying. It's won't be that bad," she glared at him fearfully. "I promise."
She finally gave in and abandoned her 'light reading' for the blue skies of Hogwarts.
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Remedial Quidditch lessons with Harry were a bit embarrassing at first. When she arrived, Ron and Ginny caught on to the objective and offered their help too. But it was hard enough with one teacher instead of three, so the red-haired siblings flew off leaving Harry to it.
"First, mount your broom. Feel okay?"
She nodded, still nervous, even though her feet were still firmly planted on the ground. Her hands were sweaty and she wiped them on her shorts.
"Now kick off from the ground with a sharp push of your feet," Harry explained. "Like this." Up he went, a few feet off the ground.
She joined him in the air, a bit shaky and unsettled, leaning forward on her broom to balance herself. It would've lurched forward but Harry was steadying her broom with his hand by holding the handle firmly. She felt like she was walking a tightrope with no net.
"Sit back now. Sit up straight. Don't worry Hermione. I won't let you fall," he reassured her.
After a few tries and some deep breaths, Hermione was once again flying slowly… albeit a snail's pace… around the Quidditch pitch. She couldn't bear the blurring of the ground, and Harry kept asking her to look straight ahead instead of reminding herself of distance between her and the blessed earth.
It wasn't right to defy gravity this way. 'I don't need no stinkin' broom.' Hermione couldn't wait for her license to Apparate.
She hadn't taken Quidditch since her first year, the only year that the 'exercise' class in punishment was made mandatory for all students. Harry was a natural and Ginny had been practicing since she was a child. Ron's flying was pretty decent too since his addition to the Gryffindor team. The three of them were unbeatable.
She found herself envying her girlfriend's confidence a bit as she watched her fly. She looked at the joyful look on Ginny face, and noticed her hair whipping behind her as she sprinted across the long field. Hermione studied her form and posture, unconsciously imitating it.
Hermione was unprepared at her broom shot forward. Even for a Cleansweep it was fast, and her form was blur that even Wood could be proud of.
"AAHHHHHHH!!!!!" She screamed repeatedly, her shrieks echoing throughout the stadium as if she'd used the 'sonorous' charm.
Harry raced after her as Ron and Ginny laughed. She couldn't stop, but it wasn't fun and Harry promised to help her.
"Pull up!" Harry screamed.
She did, but a bit too overzealously; so intent she was on coming to a stop. She immediately realized her mistake as the broom shot upward to the heavens. She now hung in a vertical position, desperately clutching the wood, her hands sweatier by the minute, legs wrapped around the broom in a vice grip, but her bum was sliding off toward the bundle of twigs. She was starting to drag…
"Great Merlin!" Ron exclaimed. Now he and Ginny were both in a panic.
She pushed back against the broom and then spun 180 degrees hurtling toward the ground faster and faster. There was her reminder of how far she'd traveled and the dreaded closing distance from the sand. She almost remembered seeing clouds. 'Shit.'
She could hear screaming below her but it didn't register yet…
Then she heard Harry repeating the same phrases over and over… "Pull up slowly… pull up! Hermione! Pull up!"
Her body slid forward and she pulled back again, not so hard this time. She couldn't tell immediately, so dizzy from her experience, but she was horizontal, and she did not have a sense of up or down. She had slowed incredibly, but her stomach still felt like it was flying a bit ahead of her. Harry zipped to her side, but before he could reach her, her hips lost their balance and she slid off the pole, her hands slipping from their desperate grasp of the wet handle. She fell twenty feet to the unforgiving sand below.
Hermione woke up in the infirmary with a splitting headache and thankfully only a few minor aches and pains.
She looked at Harry and fixed him with an icy gaze. "Books are just fine recreation, thank you."
He looked apologetically at her. Ron and Ginny were there too, happy that their friend was okay, thanks to the healing abilities of the resident medi-witch.
"Thank you Madam Pomfrey. I'm surprised nothing was broken." Hermione said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
"You did break bones, dear. But I fixed them in a heartbeat. Not to worry, you can stand on your leg now, though it might be a bit sore, mind you."
She tested her weight bearing status and found that she unexpectedly felt fine enough. 'I love the ground, love the ground…'
"I'm really sorry Hermione, I thought you were fine…" Harry said.
"What possessed you to go so fast?" Ron asked stupidly.
"Ron! I didn't do it on purpose! God!"
After Poppy reluctantly released her, they argued all the way down to the Great Hall where she ran into Snape.
"Miss Granger? Are you alright?" Snape asked silkily with a bit of acidic quality.
"Yes, sir. Fine now."
"For a moment there, I thought maybe someone had jinxed your broom." He drew each painful word out. That was low, even for him.
Her face reddened. He had found out about her little spell under the bleachers; she thought it had been him who was responsible for Harry's violent ride his first year.
"No sir, it was fine."
"So you did that on purpose? Miss Granger, please stop trying to hurt herself," he said not convincing them of his sincerity. "First poisoning by ink, now death defying stunts? At this rate Minerva's star Gryffindor will never make it to fall term."
Remus interrupted before Hermione could say something she'd regret and they returned to Headquarters.
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Pansy lay in the enormous four poster bed on top of ornate heavy floral coverlet, staring straight up at the ceiling. She wondered to herself if this really was the right thing to do—teaming up with a girl she detested. But, Granger had been polite, even civil with her. And she knew she was pretty fair, probably honest almost to a fault (though Pansy didn't really trust anyone to that degree).
Pansy had postponed her summer 'homework assignment' off to the last minute. Part of her still wanted to believe this wasn't happening. But in Parkinson tradition, she was a warrior. 'To hell with wallowing and self-pity.' That was for sissy Hufflepuffs. 'Pansy was hard faced, no one messed with her,' she told herself. Not even her father.
Her stay at her Aunt Marcelle's had been less than tolerable. In order to continue staying there, she had to dress for all of her pretentious social engagements and uptight dinner functions that her wealthy relative continually threw. Pansy was expected to be pleasant, which she wasn't, and demure—hardly, and have sufficient wit to entertain guests, but not the kind she was accustomed to sharing. She knew a limerick or two.
The only relief came when Draco turned up. He was really getting quite manly, so much like his father. Draco was handsome like Lucius, but less of an asshole. Draco was fun to be around mostly. When he wasn't around his crappy lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, he actually stopped putting on an arrogant self-important show and started acting like the clever damned sexy Slytherin he was.
He was funny enough until his Dad showed up and broke up what was a promising five minute conversation on why Slytherin would be winning the Quidditch Cup this year and how they could transfigure Hagrid's dog Fang as a practical joke. The son of a bitch returned, and her fun-filled evening was over.
So here she was, seated at the credenza with quill and ink, shortly after receiving word of her OWLS and her Hogwarts letter. The letter was a welcome sight, signifying the end of a summer which threatened to take something from her she hadn't considered giving up yet. People at school thought she was a tramp, and true, she had been out with her fair share of guys, but nothing ever happened. An impatient boy had tried something once of course, but POW! No more. He would never admit it. In Slytherin tradition, no boy could admit any failure in matters of sexual experience, so of course the rumors started— and wisely, she said nothing to contradict them. That would only make things worse. Pansy had her dignity.
The list began and she worried immediately. 'How many virgins would Voldemort need?' There were 270 students at least in Hogwarts. Almost half of whom were witches. After what had happened last term, she knew many Muggleborn children might be pulled out of school for their safety. 'Stupid fools.' Hogwarts was the safest place. She couldn't wait to get there. 'Fuck. Almost 140 girls. Granger this is going to be impossible.'
She started crossing off names, starting off with the seventh years, careful not to put an 'x' by any name based on what some stupid boy said. That was most of the Slytherins. Marcus was a busy man.
As she wrote down the list of names, she felt herself struggle a bit. It gnawed at her that she knew everyone in her house almost, but not some of the third or second years well enough to know or remember their last names. And when she wrote down the names of the other girls in Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw she quickly had a running commentary in her head of the faults and shortcomings of each one, sniggering to herself. It wasn't too much fun insulting them in private, and she thought self-consciously about why she didn't know the other girls that well. How would they treat her if she wasn't in Slytherin? 'Pansy, you're a bitch.'
She knew one girl had been raped the previous year and awkwardly crossed her name off. Pansy was a little anxious when she did that, imagining she was crossing off her own name instead. She didn't want to lose her virginity that way. No one should have to. She wasn't even sure what Voldemort would use them for, but she was sure that there were worse things than rape, and if Voldemort was asking, then it wouldn't be for something as trivial as sex.
'It wasn't just her she was after…'
She resolved that this would be the only way to put this all behind them. She was going to get shagged as soon as possible and take as many girls with her as she could.
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Hermione Granger sat with a cup of chamomile tea warming her hands, completely relaxed in the couch as she listened to the piano. The keys moved by themselves, as Molly had charmed the piano to play classical music. It was in this comfortable state that made Hermione feel guilt-ridden, as she noticed a very uncomfortable Snape returning from what she suspected had been a Death Eater meeting. By the tension he held in his jaw, and his long dirty black robes flowing behind him, a bit of a limp in his step that he tried hard to disguise— it was a fair guess.
She had rushed into the kitchen to offer him tea or something to settle him, but he waved her off gruffly waiting for Dumbledore's arrival. Hermione felt left on the outside, and that he would never let her in.
She looked on in pain, wondering if he would ever share with anyone the cruel suffering he had to endure to bring any information forth to the Order. It had been a while since the last meeting, and Hermione thought perhaps they had been holding their meetings elsewhere, given the sleeping arrangements of the under-age guests. 'They were pretty nosy.'
Soon members filed in, and she felt a bit surprised that no one had mentioned to Harry, Ron, or Ginny that there would be a gathering tonight. Meetings were definitely getting more secret.
Hermione had pulled Dumbledore aside and asked the Headmaster if she could join, now that she was 'technically' eighteen, but he had refused her, saying he wouldn't consider her admission until her graduation from Hogwarts. She wondered if it was also to keep her friends from prying the Order's business out of her, but she was flattering herself. He probably had a multitude of reasons for not including her. And he didn't clue her in on what those limitations were.
So, Hermione did what she could. If they wouldn't let her know what the Order needed, she would find out what she could and report back. She appointed herself secretly to the Order on a side contract. As her first assignment, she took her tea upstairs and continued to read.
Back propped up against pillows, book open in her lap, she absorbed the text. It was beautifully written, citing both historical accounts of women and the social structures that had supported their oppression and division. Also it continued with various aspects of magic in young girls, though Hermione found herself somewhat skeptical to accept all of the concepts.
For instance, Hermione never felt particularly empowered by her period, except perhaps the power to curse out the nearest person and then have the validity of her feelings diminished in some way by some uncouth insensitive individual asking if she was "on the rag."
This book referred to menstruation rather affectionately by renaming it 'moonflow'.
She read that in some rituals, Ancient Egyptians used to drink menstrual blood mixed with red wine to increase spiritual power, and that people in Greece used to spread corn mixed with menstrual blood to improve the fertility of the land.
"So great was the belief that the power of creation existed within the blood of a woman that many myths such as the Ancient Hindu version in which all life is created from the thickened blood of the Great Mother include reference to it.
The word 'ritual' comes from 'rtu' which is Sanskrit for menses. The blood from the womb which nourished the unborn child was believed to have 'mana' or 'breath of life'.
The word menstruation comes from the Greek 'menus' meaning both moon and power, and 'men' meaning month.
[In many ancient tribes] a woman's bleeding was considered a cosmic event, relating and connecting one to the moon, the lunar cycles and the tides. She was thought to be at the height of her power at this time, and for this reason was encouraged to spend time listening to her inner voice which would often offer suggestions and wisdom which would benefit the whole tribe." (Spiraldancer)
Hermione didn't know if she would honestly spend time trying to connect with an enlightened sense of self during that time of the month or not. But it was a little reassuring that she might be a bit stronger than she thought during her period, rather than weakened by it. And with all the talk about blood, she was feeling more optimistic that the book would eventually address virginity.
'Finally!'
She spotted the word 'virgin' and thought she was making headway. As she read on she saw a listing of spells and potions which could either only be brewed by virgins, or made with virgin's blood, and those plants and flowers which could only be gathered by virgins and what other conditions needed to also exist (pale moonlight or on a Solstice, et cetera…) She was surprised at the lengthy list.
Professor Snape had often offered to bring students along to gather items for his stores, but she never really put together how subtly he divided the tasks up. 'Come to think of it, he had her pick those flowers for him! So how had he known she was still a virgin anyway?!'
This was an excellent starting point for the club, and hoped it wouldn't be too long before she found out what other magic could be produced. And what dark magic could be extracted from them.
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Before the end of the summer, Harry and Hermione were served their Hogwarts letters in conjunction with the results of their OWLS and both sat at the kitchen table dumbstruck, transfixed by the sight of the letters which held their scores.
Not having permission to leave 12 Grimmauld Place, Molly Weasley set off for Diagon Alley to purchase their school items leaving behind the two preoccupied Gryffindors. Usually Hermione would be jumping in protest at not being able to go, but this was… they were grades.
Harry looked up, unmoving and saw Hermione's face. He thought she looked the same as he felt and hollered at her.
"Oh give me a break, Hermione! You studied harder than anyone! You know you're going to receive a dozen OWLS or something."
She shook her head and tried to bolster up the courage to break the seal. After a few more moments of silence Hermione spoke.
"Let's do it together,"she said.
"On three," Harry added nervously.
"Onetwothree!" Hermione said quickly and they tore their report cards open.
Hermione's jaw dropped and Harry cried, "I did it! I got 8 OWLS! Woo hoo!"
Staring at her look of surprise Harry inquired as to her status, "How'd you make out?"
"I-I… I got eleven." She smiled. "I got eleven!" Tears filled her eyes. She passed every one of her tests with flying colors. "Exceeds Expectations in everything, the only exceptions being my…" she let out a disappointed sigh, "—Meets in Astronomy—you know they really should let us take that over again what with the distraction of the attack on Professor McGonagall… and I got 'O's' in Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology and Arithmancy!"
"I did well enough to continue studying toward becoming an Auror… I got an Exceeds Expectations in Transfigurations and Charms. I bet Professor Snape will have a heart attack when he sees me in his Advanced Potions class…"
"Oh wow, Harry! You studied so hard for that one," Hermione praised.
"Yeah, I did a lot better without the greasy bat standing over me. How do you think Neville did?"
Hermione shot him an ugly look. 'Are you trying to make some cruel joke?'
"Hermione, that's not what I meant, I just meant in that he didn't have Snape berating him during the test, maybe he did better… than usual."
"Hey, Harry, didn't you take 9 OWLS? What did you flunk?"
He smiled. "Divination. You'd think I was making up stuff or something." They laughed.
Author's Notes:
It should go without saying that you should NOT, and I would never recommend that you ingest blood for any reason, even if it is your own. I pulled some of the above references from various websites for purposes of making this story more believable.
Breastfeeding is wonderful, though I can't say I've done it yet myself (yet—no kids). But it's not for everyone and I don't want anyone to think from the chapter that anyone who doesn't breastfeed is not a good mother. Formula these days is often a necessity, and unavoidable even for some breastfeeding women. Many thanks to La Leche league and breastfeeding consultants everywhere for resurrecting our stories and knowledge!
By the way, I must give proper credit— I found the above info at:
www.menustration.com.au/periodpages/moonflow.html Thank you Spiraldancer.
I've begun using single quotation marks around my italics. Apparently the formatting keeps getting dropped and I can't explain it. Also the poetry from the last chapter did have breaks in it at some point, but even after reloading it, it appeared as one giant stanza. I apologize.
I'm getting excited and find my thoughts wandering to scenes far beyond where we are now in the story, so I'm writing them as I go… whenever the mood strikes me. Maybe my dialogue will improve that way.
Bumbershoot: Dear BB, I swear I won't stop. I'm way past the point of addiction, and you could never talk my ear off. Yes, I too have read fics that far surpassed any expectations and stopped at the end. Rest assured I won't abandon The Twenty or The Burden of Sight.
The Klingon Mistress: Thank you for your review. I am excited to see where this will lead. Hermione is as yet undecided. This is a romance fic, so I imagine HG and SS will be deployed, but… not sure yet how she'll do that… or if she'll… "you know." Wink!
CJ Black: Thank you for your review. I'm sure some inks are toxic, and I believe many old substances contained high amounts of lead and other things. I'm sure what we use today is non-toxic. And I am curious beyond imagining at taking up the hobby myself.
Azulkan2: Thank you, and as promised, one more chapter before he comes home.
Jade: Thank you for your suggestions, and of course here we are at the book. I haven't decided how Hermione/Pansy/Ginny plan to get their mitts on the Dark One though. Soon soon you'll see the formation of their little society for the preservation of women everywhere. That's not the name of it of course. I was just trying to be cute. J
Lyress: Ha! Hope you liked the Ogden's. Quite a mature gift for someone he suspected to be a man. Thank you for the complement about the poem… it may be somewhat important in future chapters. Sorry it was lacking appropriate spacing.
GeekGoddess1: Eeeww… merging? No not quite… Girl/Woman power—yes definitely. Staying virgins… well… that won't always be so, and not as terrible as you might think. Ah, but I give away too much. You'll just have to read and see.