Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are much like puppets, and though I do not consider myself their creator, for I did not toil long, hard hours sewing and stuffing cotton into their little bodies, I did purchase them and I now own them not in the legal sense, but in the affection sense that lets me write little stories about them. Yes, that's right... I am their puppet master!!!
Author's Note: I apologize for that ridiculously and hideously long disclaimer. It wasn't even funny. Anyway, here I am again with yet another fold in the blanket of my precious little story.
Chapter 3: Terrors of High School
When she was first home, Hermione handled the situation well, speaking kindly to her parents, though not openly. She was polite with relatives and suffered through the museums and movies her parents made her see as a part of their vacation. However, a month into summer, Hermione had fallen into depression, relying solely on the letters she received from Harry, Ron, and Ginny to get through her days. She had turned completely from her parents and would not talk to them despite all their pains, so they had eventually stopped trying. The letters grew fewer until she would receive only one every few weeks, and those were usually half-hearted, going through pleasantries and concealing all the adventures and enjoyment they were truly having.
Her parents worried incessantly, taking her to endless psychiatrists and therapists, all saying that she simply missed her friends, so that finally they could seek no more help for her. When the one-week-until-school mark hit, Mrs. Granger made her way up the staircase to her daughter's room, opening the door nervously to see Hermione lying face-down on her bed, her head hanging off, reading a thick book on the floor. Hermione did not look like the well-kept girl she had raised. She had not showered in at least a week, resulting in greasy, wild hair spread over her back and a baggy t-shirt emitting a body odor throughout the room like a nuclear bomb- destroying everything in sight.
"Hermione...dear?" her mother said softly, pushing the door shut behind her and ignoring the overwhelming stink.
Hermione raised her head and looked at her mother for a moment, then returned to her book.
"Hermione, school starts in a week, and I thought you should start getting ready."
Hermione nodded absently, turning the page, still absorbed in her book. She couldn't care less what her mother was saying.
"Hermione!" Mrs. Granger shouted, becoming more frustrated by the nanosecond.
Hermione lifted her head and swung up into a sitting-position on her bed.
"You will take a shower and come with me to pick out some clothes, and then we will get some supplies.
Hermione shrugged and walked past her mother into the bathroom, taking as much time in the shower as she could bear without turning into a human raisin. She then ambled about into a pair of black sweat pants and a tight, red, zip-up sweatshirt with a hood. She followed her mom out to the car and nodded off to sleep on their fifteen-minute drive to the department store.
"Hermione!" her mother hollered, Hermione waking with a jump.
As they entered the store, Hermione had a real dilemma. She knew she could not keep her silent routine up for long, but still didn't really want to get into any deep conversation with her mother. A flow of communication was all that was needed. She continued along those lines until her mother drove her from her thoughts with an armful of outfits into a dressing room. She liked most of the clothing, and it was at the fourth shirt that she uttered her first words for months.
"My boobs are too big," she said calmly, her mother standing behind her looking into the mirror. It was true; the white tank top was far too tight for the breasts that seemed to have inflated a whole cup-size over the summer. Her mother's jaw dropped and she seemed to lose feeling in her legs.
"Are you serious?!" she screamed ecstatically, "you don't speak for two months and all you can come up with is a complaint of your busting bosom!"
"What?" Hermione asked, chuckling at her mother's reaction.
"It's just so weird," was all her mother could come up with.
Naturally, Mrs. Granger tried to probe other information out of her, but whenever it struck something along the lines of Hogwarts or magic or any of her friends, she clammed up and shut her mouth again. Hermione could handle talking about clothes and her womanly endowments, but talking about Harry and Ron was going too far too fast.
The day ended on a happy note, one of words if anything and Hermione felt slightly more confident at starting a new year in a muggle school.
The first day was horrific. She had classes that entailed mathematics and literature again- things that she had not dwelled seriously on for six years, things that she would never need in her future-which still revolved around the magical world.
Her first class was particularly painful... physical education!!! They ran the one-mile, just to test everyone's speed and endurance on the first day. She was of the middle quality- she certainly wouldn't be a track star, but she at least wasn't one of those trailing in the back, heaving in anguish after the first lap. It wasn't the actual running, but rather the fellow runners and the coaches cheering them on.
"Get your fat ass moving, you over-grown platypuses," a four-foot skeleton screamed at the students, holding her clipboard with a death-grip.
"If you're still on the track in five minutes, mark my words, you will be out there all day," a giant of a man roared between high-pitched whistles.
And finally, "If you can't run this mile in seven minutes, you deserve nothing better than to be beaten to a bloody pulp and gutted like a fish!" the last, tall, lanky man bellowed inches away from the runners' faces.
After the psychological trauma of physical education came in-classroom classes, none much better. All were either so hot they resembled a sauna, or so cold only Santa would feel comfortable. Though all the classes put together did not hold a candle to the pure stupidity and irritation held by the students themselves.
Hermione felt completely stuck-up when she thought of her opinions of her fellow classmates, but then again, is it really a superiority complex when you actually are better than everyone else?
The girls, for instance, were all absolute pixies, with no decency whatsoever. Not a one of them could hold an honest conversation without having to reapply some portion of lip-gloss or bring to attention the "absolutely yummy bum" as one put it, of any number of "yummy" male classmates.
It made Hermione ill. Almost literally at one point.
However, as bad as the ditzy blondes were, they were really nothing in comparison with the boys. There were two categories: the good-looking and the not good-looking. The good-looking were those with an absurd vanity that would make Narcissus himself look like modesty incarnate; they could say anything, do anything (or anyone, as it turned out), without the slightest feeling of remorse or punishment. The not so good-looking boys were about as bad, but on an entirely different scale. They were the ignorant hicks who, because they could not attain satisfactory interaction with their female counterpart, had resorted to experiments involving those of the same sex... and drugs. They were the boys who, if they ever came to school, it was to show just how stoned they had gotten the previous night.
In a nutshell, it was pure, unadulterated hell and Hermione felt as if the all-consuming flames were slowly eating her alive.
After two weeks, the pain of school had numbed and Hermione went about it with the same attitude as any obligation- the easiest, most pain-free way to get it done, and on one particular Thursday morning, she was doing just that.
She arrived at her second class, just after physical education, to two eager looking sisters with bright blonde hair standing at the door to her World History class.
"Hi!" they both yelped hysterically.
"Hello..." Hermione said, edging past them to her back-row desk, dumping her pile of books on the floor.
"My name's Fay," one of the girls said, extending a hand, to which Hermione met half-heartedly.
"Hello, Fay."
"I'm Fanny!" the slightly taller one said proudly.
"Hi... Fanny." Hermione had a difficult time keeping a straight face while referring to her peer with the same name she commonly used to describe her buttocks. "So, you two are new?" she hated the social part of her brain that was kicking in, but as she didn't want to appear unfriendly, she continued to smile and converse the way a normal teenager should.
They stated affirmatively and seated themselves beside Hermione, chatting through the class, mostly to themselves, but with Hermione as an unwilling audience.
By lunch, Hermione and Fanny had somehow lost Fay and were quietly looking for her with their sack lunches dangling dangerously from their grasp. When Hermione turned a corner, her lunch met its untimely demise, plummeting unexpectedly to the concrete ground below.
Hermione stood in total and utter shock, mouth open and eyes wide, at the sight that met Fanny and she. Malfoy... yes, that same Draco Malfoy that she had tried to stamp from her memory the moment she met... was sitting on a bench attacking Fay with his tongue, while she lay innocently on his knee.
"Fay!" Fanny screamed, at almost the exact moment that Hermione screamed:
"Malfoy!"
Both raised their heads, Fay struggling to her feet, while Malfoy shook his hair from his eyes and sat back coolly.
"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Hermione squealed as she made her way to the young wizard, pushing the twins out of the way.
"It's one of my favorite hang-out spots while the rest of the school's at Hogsmeade."
Hermione groaned at the recollection of the village outside of Hogwarts.
"Cool it, Missy," Malfoy said smoothly, "I don't want you getting sick again."
Hermione reddened at the way Malfoy and she had last met.
"Can you be civil for even one moment?" Hermione spat out in disgust, "You are the first I've seen of the magical world in three months, and you could at least have the decency to realize that and let me wallow in my golden memories of it... none of which include you," she said as he perked up.
"Gee, Granger," Malfoy said, mocking interesting, "I thought the only time you spoke that passionately was when the topic of conversation included puny menservants who couldn't care less about your help."
Hermione was fuming in rage. How could she have been so happy to see him?
"Shove it, Malfoy!" she socked his arm hard.
"Hmmm," he sighed, "I thought we'd already discussed my thoughts on that rendezvous."
Hermione smacked her forehead, creating a loud thwacking noise.
"Why do I even attempt conversation?"
"Or retaliation for that matter?" Malfoy stood carelessly and crossed his arms over his chest, "You're really not much good at either."
He turned and walked away smoothly, his stride remarkably suave. As Hermione's eyes subconsciously rested on the back of the wizard's pants, the wheels and gears of her mind were turning restlessly.
"Wait!" she shouted, Malfoy turning abruptly, and she joined him, grabbing his arms. "Malfoy, I need you."
"Granger," Malfoy jerked Hermione forward, "this is so sudden."
Hermione pulled away, smacking Malfoy convulsively.
"No," she said, maintaining her cool, "I was thinking as you were walking away and something came to me."
"Do I even want to ask where this is going?" his left eyebrow was raised suspiciously.
"You are my only ticket back to the magical world." She smiled, as if that explained everything.
Malfoy shook his head for a moment, unable to even think of what she had said. "What?" he stammered, "Care to elaborate?"
"Oh," Hermione straightened and put her game face on, "You're Head Boy, right?"
Malfoy nodded slowly.
"With your own chambers, it would be easy to hide me for the school year, sneak me food and books so that I can keep up on the studies..."
"Why don't you recruit your little boyfriend to do it?" Malfoy looked a little disturbed at her seriousness of the plan.
"It would be too obvious. People wouldn't even think to look in your rooms if I went missing and even if they asked, and you said no, they wouldn't push it. They'll look in Harry and Ron and Ginny's room for months, thinking that they're hiding me. They would never even consider you, due to our relationship's reputation."
"What relationship?"
"The nonexistent one we've been striving for for the past six years."
Malfoy nodded, the idea shaping in his mind. Deep in his heart, he wouldn't mind helping Hermione out a bit, even if it was against every moral and lesson he had ever been taught, but the part in his brain that was still Lucius' son told him that he had to have a motive- he couldn't just help her.
"What's in it for me?" he asked, managing the most evil look he could muster.
A little intimidated, Hermione conquered her fears and said the first thing that came to mind, "I could work for you."
His eyebrows clustered confusedly.
"You don't need help with homework, but I could tidy your room, or keep your things in order, or...or anything else you would need." She had not managed the effect she intended.
"You fail to realize that we have an entire house elves staff at Hogwarts designed for those purposes. You have yet to convince me."
"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "Listen, I know the Hogwarts grounds better than most people, probably better than you even," she didn't know this was true, but heck, it was worth a try, "and if you ever needed anything or needed things checked out, I could take care of it."
"That would defeat the purpose of your hiding."
Hermione held her face in her hands and could feel her throat start to swell. No, she told herself, do not cry in front of Malfoy.
"I don't know what to tell you," she tried again, rebelling against her will and letting the tears fill her eyes, "but I have to be back there. I have to be at Hogwarts- I'm drowning here and I know that you don't care, but it's the only way I can think of to save myself..." she turned from him, ashamed of her tears.
He took her arms, more tenderly than she expected, and brought her close to him, turning her and holding her to his chest. Her face nestled perfectly into his neck and she could smell the masculine scent of his hair. She closed her eyes and stopped the tears while the strong Slytherine held her, not knowing himself why.
"Alright, Granger," he said, his arms tightening slightly around her body, "I'll do it, but you've got to remember that you owe me."
Hermione pulled away and looked him in the eyes, those gray eyes that were so sincere.
"Are you sure?" she breathed.
He nodded and took her arm, leading her back to the street away from the muggle school.
End Note: Yay, it's getting a plot! Well, I suppose you can expect it to be a bit juicier now that the story's rolling. Oh, and for all of you who share the pain I feel in PE, that segment was just for you.