Disclaimer: If I had three wishes, one of them might be to own Harry Potter. But, alas, no. (Harry Potter, a million dollars and Ewan McGregor for the weekend).
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Chapter Two
Well, that's interesting, I thought to myself. Apparently I'm a six .
Hours later I sat in the same bland room on the same itchy bed, trying to forget my troubles by burying my face in a book. Honestly, vodka would be so much quicker.
Or at least, that was how it seemed at the outset. The first chapter was so dull, all about the numbers associated with the consonants in one's name being one's true identity. If only the cure for my inner demons was as easy as finding 5+1!
But as the book moved along, it seemed more and more interesting. Chapter six was all about how certain combinations of names can actually help to shape a child's personality. Which may explain why Parvati and Padma Patil, despite being identical twins, are so completely different. Then, in chapter twenty, it explained the magical history of the letters, how certain spells had to have specific names so that the numbers associated with them didn't counteract the purpose.
"A six," I read eagerly, " is most commonly a meticulous, responsible witch or wizard who enjoys asking questions much more than answering them. He or she usually posesses parental characteristics and may be protective of loved ones, but any threat will be met with the six's infamous anger and startling power."
I paused, considering it carefully. Meticulous, yes; protective, yes; responsible ... usually. But powerful? It seemed as if all of my skill and cleverness when it came to magic was just that – cleverness. "I don't think that I'm very powerful," I said aloud.
"I have to say that I disagree, Miss Granger. Even the brightest of witches can still fool themselves in times of need."
I jumped at the sound of a slightly amused old man in the doorway. He was dressed in a blue robe only slightly darker than his sparkling, hooded eyes, and his long white beard nearly touched the floor when he bowed his head by way of greeting.
I looked at him curiously for a moment. "Er – hello, Professor Dumbledore!" What was he doing here?
Oh, right. Explaining the 'circumstances.' How long ago was it that my father had said that? Merlin, what time was it?
"Professor, you wouldn't happen to know the time, would you?" I asked with a furrowed brow.
"Slightly after five o'clock," Dumbledore, smiling. "I see you've got a book on numerology? One of my favorite subjects, I must admit ... theory according to spell colour is particularly interesting..."
"Professor?"
"Oh, yes, of course." Dumbledore drew himself together a bit, managing to look both off-kinder and perfectly capable at the same time. A surprisingly wise senile grandfather figure, so to speak. "Miss Granger, as you may or may not be aware, you are currently residing in a Department of Accidental Magic laboratory. You were taken here last night after a slight incident in a home on the edge of Sussex, at the home of a young woman named Casey Firebrick. Does that name sound familiar?"
I nodded. "She's – a friend of mine. A muggle," I offered quickly.
Dumbledore nodded as well, looking me directly in the eye. "It seems that while you were at Miss Firebrick's home, a rather underhanded ... engagement was in process," he said delicately. "The ministry was notified when a strong amount of magic was detected at this location. However, because the particular spell – a simple stunning spell – had such an unusual signature, a small army of investigators was sent. Eyewitnesses, namely a certain Samuel Roberts, witnessed you aiming a bolt of white light from your palm. These officials found you in a damaged state, suffering from both a concussion and a magical influx. You are here, Miss Granger, because ... you imploded."
He looked quite amused about it.
I, on the other hand, had no idea what was so funny. Memories of the night were triggered by that damn boy's name. Yes, boy, because Sam certainly wasn't a sophisticated young man I saw fooling around with Nicki last night, that fucking wanker! How dare he?
"He had the nerve to wake up and stick around for questioning?" I asked incredulously. Dumbledore looked at me with a more serious demeanor.
"With wands involved, Miss Granger, he hardly had the choice."
I grinned.
Dumbledore's eyes glittered, bright and shining from the reflection of the oddly fluorescent light around us. "What still remains to be recounted, however, is your perception of what has happened," he prompted.
I sighed, thinking that at least he'd gotten to the point. The story flowed out of my mouth in a monotone, like a steadily dripping faucet. Facts and observations sputtered out in unexpected places, as well as the realization that someone must have stopped the bursted taps in the bathroom immediately after I passed out to prevent me from drowning. Every exploit sounded so much worse than the actual experience as I sat there, relating them all to my headmaster, the man who holds my academic career – hell, my life as I know it – in the palm of his hand. Awkward doesn't cover it. The silence that followed my little monologue was horribly long, I remember.
Dumbledore simply smiled at me. His eyes twinkled, infuriatingly. Damn that kindly old bastard! I put on my best 'I'm-confused-and-worried, please-answer-me' face and stared at him with big eyes.
He chuckled!
At me!
Is that a good thing?
Those blue eyes met mine steadily, and I was happy to see no trace of disappointment in them. No, that was definitely relief I saw.
Dumbledore opened his mouth slowly. "It would be difficult to convey the amount of anxiety of which you have relieved me," he said simply.
"Sir?"
"You see, Hermione, I had originally believed that you were attacked, possibly even possessed by Lord Voldemort," – I fought back a cringe that I had picked up oh-so-quickly as a Muggleborn – "And this new knowledge has quelled my fears. It seems that you simply exercised a unique form of spellcraft."
"That shot of light was a spell?" I asked eagerly, already thinking of what to name it. "What did I do?"
"Accidental magic, Hermione. It seems that you directed emotion at Mr. Samuel Roberts, specifically regret," Dumbledore explained. "The poor young man was hit with such a powerful dose of guilt over what he had done that he insisted to stay and help after you had become unconscious. He is now in another ward, and does not remember the incident but wishes to meet you as soon as possible."
For clarification, I stated, "I forced an emotion on him." How about naming it the 'Sam-Roberts-Is-A-Lying-Tosser' Charm? I mused.
"Exactly."
"Isn't that illegal?" I asked, worried as another realization hit me. Being in trouble with the police was nothing. Azkaban prison was another matter altogether.
Seeming once again to read my mind, Dumbledore sighed. "You are not in trouble, Miss Granger," he said, and I let out a breath of air. "It is true that it is technically illegal to interfere with anyone's free will, but the emotional state remains a grey area, both legally and morally. The trouble is that this amount of force on a muggle cannot be traced because it was not performed with a wand. Your record will remain clean," he finished.
"I'm free?"
"You are free, Miss Granger. Now if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Enjoy your reading," he bowed, "and good day." And with that, the headmaster swept from the room, taking my worries with him.
Within ten minutes I was immersed in my book again, totally without notice to the real world – and the squeak of footsteps that pattered slowly away from my door. It wasn't until much later that I recognized the feeling of those eyes on me as someone not entirely helpful. Someone who seemed quite curious about me, in fact.
And what Ron sometimes said was true. Lucius Malfoy was always at the Ministry.
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a/n: I'm not exactly sure as to whether or not this constitutes a cliffie. But whatever.
To my reviewers: would you like your prizes addressed individually now, or as a 'special treat' later in the story? I'm game either way. I love gift shopping. wink, wink! Carrot cake all around! It's my favorite.
Anyways, I know this was boring. I'm way too into theory and such, I just could not resist making the brainiac powerful, as well. Remember, kids: knowledge is power! And don't buy drugs – you can always mooch for free!
Kidding.
Sometimes you can't even mooch.
Kidding! Kidding, I swear, that's it...
Sigh.
Anyway, keep in mind that this is my first fanfic. Reviews are WELCOME in all forms. Even sonnets. Thanks in advance!
Love and chocolates,
Cameo
