Chapter 7

Professor McGonagall ushered Hermione into her office. Waving Hermione to a chair across from her desk, they both sat down.

"Tea Hermione?" she offered.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione replied. She was patting her forehead with her kerchief.

"Congratulations on your try-out Hermione. That was quite the flying exhibition. However, you gave everyone there a bit of a scare. Even Professor Snape thought it was naughty of you."

"I apologize Professor. It's just that I enjoy flying and really wanted to make the team," she said.

"I understand Hermione. But there are some things we need to discuss. I'm not entirely sure how to approach these matters, professor-to-student or woman-to-woman," Minerva said quietly.

Realization now dawned on Hermione and she blushed deeply.

Has my behavior been that bad? she thought horrified.

"Hermione dear, you are the most intelligent young witch to walk these halls in many years. I have come to think of you as a daughter of sorts, but some things have transpired lately that has myself and others wondering about some lapses in your judgement. I know that when you are in love, it seems like you have wings, that nothing can go wrong. I witnessed that on the quidditch pitch. Also, for instance, last weekend, Mr. Krum paid you a visit?" Minerva queried.

"Yes professor," she replied.

"He stayed for the weekend?"

"Yes professor."

"In your room, Hermione?"

"Yes professor."

OOPS!

"Hermione, we are not sure what to make of this. On one hand, you will be nineteen years old soon. You are a young woman, of the age of majority, and have your private room. No one is disturbed or put out. You are well ahead in your studies, and have shown a great deal of responsibility while here these past years. On the other hand, you are a still a student. Some of the staff here has questioned the propriety of having visitors of the opposite sex in rooms for extended periods of time. We don't want precedents set. Speaking woman to woman Hermione, I know how you feel, but more discretion is required. Do you understand what I'm saying?

"Yes professor."

"Very well, I'll leave you to ponder what I've said. One last thing Hermione, may I see the ring?"

"Of course Professor," she held up her hand for McGonagall to inspect it.

"Quite lovely dear, it suits you. Congraulations on your engagement. Now go and get out of that stifling outfit. It's making me hot, and I'm not even wearing it."

Over the next two weeks, Ron practiced the team hard. They didn't have as much time as he would have liked before the first match, but after five tough practices, he felt the team was ready. They were to play Hufflepuff the first match and this year they did not look to be a pushover. Oh well, it did no good to worry. Worrying helped nothing.

Yeah, and falling asleep on your broomstick during a match won't help, Ron. Hermione thought one day after practice.

Hermione finally started to show signs of the stress. In the libray one night, her head swam with thoughts of Victor, her studies and NEWTS, and quidditch. She felt like she was being pulled in all directions.

Maybe it was first match jitters.

Maybe it was NEWT jitters.

She didn't know what to make of it.

Victor jitters?

NO, that I am sure of!

She did know that it all made her brain tired. She flipped through her charms book then laid her head on the table.

I'll just rest my eyes for a minute.

Little did Hermione know Snape had just returned a book to the restricted section. Noticing Hermione had fallen asleep at the table, lightly snoring, he decided to be a sneaky bastard again. Standing behind a bookshelf, keeping eye contact with her, he pointed his wand and muttered 'Legilimens.' He didn't have to try that hard, as she was relaxed and he couldn't help catch images her aggressive mind put out. He needed an idea of what was gong on in that mind of hers. All kinds of images passed through his mind.

Happy ones: her getting her Hogwarts letter, blowing out candles on a birthday cake, cuddling with Crookshanks, being hugged by Harry.

There was amusing images: Ron casting a wind spell to make her robes fly over her head, her and Victor falling off her broom into some water, her punching Draco, a cauldron bubbling over from a mistaken potion. Hermione was grinning in her sleep.

Then there was sad images: Harry holding Cedric's dead hand, her Grandmother's funeral, seeing the basilisk seconds before she was petrified, (she whimpered a little at that one), Ron flying unconscious through the air on a giant chessboard. Hermione squirmed a little, still sleeping.

Last but not least, images of Victor. Victor kissing her, Victor kneeling over her bed holding out the ring now on her finger. Finally, an image that was seared to Snape's brain forever: Hermione on her hands and knees with Victor enthusiastically pumping her from behind.

So she wasn't just joking on the train, she does like it from behind! Snape thought.

When he saw Victor slapping her naked ass, Enough! I.did.NOT.need.to.see.that.

The sudden withdrawal from her mind caused his eyes to blur a bit and Hermione to sit up suddenly in her seat. She was sweating slightly.

"What the hell?" she asked herself quietly. She quickly gathered her things and left the library.

(author's note: was kinda short, but necessary transition chapter)