Time Defyer
Chapter V: Skipping
1977
"Mudblood, mudblood, muddy muddy mudblood!" screeched the ghoul.
The short, squat, bell-hatted creature floating in midair was unmistakable. Hermione wasn't quite sure why she had half-expected him to look different, but nevertheless she was. This random musing flew out the window in a matter of milliseconds, however, when she registered what he had been chanting. She knew she was overreacting—there must be many Muggle-borns in Hogwarts—but she still couldn't stop the trickle of dread down her spine.
"P-Peeves, shut up!" she hissed fearfully. Whether he knew her or not, she still didn't want more attention drawn to her.
Like she had undesirably predicted, Peeves paid no mind to her pleas. In fact, he seemed to feed off them. "Mudblood, mudblood, muddy muddy mudblood!" The howling, if possible, was even louder.
The evil glint in his eyes seemed more sinister than she remembered. Was she just imagining it? Oh dear, Hermione thought frantically, slightly upset with herself that she was letting her paranoia get the better of her, what if he really does know who I am? What if someone else knows?
"Oh, it's Miss Rachelle Wilson skipping class! Ha-ha, ha-ha, Muddy Mudblood Wilson out of class!"
Hermione literally breathed a sigh of relief. Though it was a little disconcerting that someone in the school looked enough like her that Peeves was mistaken, she was grateful for this Rachelle existing nonetheless.
"Peeves, it's…it's not what you think," she said slowly, wincing at her nonexistent talent for lying. "I'm not really out of class. You see, I—"
"STUDENT IN THE HALLWAY!" he screeched in interruption to no one in particular.
Swearing under her breath—this was not the way she intended this to go—she darted behind a nearby statue, thanking the stars for the convenience. She waited for the inevitable yelling to ensue, and, a moment later, her expectation was granted. Hearing the very familiar voice, she was overcome with the intent to go at least say hello to her favorite teacher, but stopped herself.
"PEEVES!" Professor McGonagall shouted over Peeves's continued taunts (thankfully for Hermione, he was in his mode now where he didn't care about a particular student, but rather just making as much noise as he could). "Stop wreaking havoc this instant! Students are trying to work!"
"MUDBLOOD, MUDDY MUDDY MUDBLOOD!"
Hermione peeked around her hiding place and saw the telltale flaring of McGonagall's nostrils and her mouth forming a thinner line; she knew a blowup was about to occur. "PEEVES, STOP THIS NONSENSE OR SO HELP ME, I WILL CALL THE BLOODY BARON!" Her seething hiss was worse than downright yelling, and finally Peeves succumbed, flying away down the hallway. McGonagall straightened her hat, took a deep breath, and reentered her classroom, shutting the door with a snap.
Hermione, almost chuckling at how much déjà vu (or would it be verra?) she was feeling. She interpreted the wriggling in her stomach as homesickness…well, timesickness as it were. Looking both ways down the corridor and seeing no one, she stepped out from behind the statue, strategizing which way would lead her to the part of the castle that she'd think most interesting from twenty years in the past.
Making her decision, she briskly started off to the left, but no sooner had she taken three steps when she literally ran into someone; someone whose chest felt like a brick wall. She braced herself for the pain that would come from falling on the flagstone, but it never came. Her eyes opened warily, and she came face to face with Sirius Black, who was donning his apparently customary smirk. She impatiently raised an eyebrow and, finally realizing what she meant, he set her upright.
"Hello, Sirius," Hermione said quietly, once she'd stepped back from him. She looked longingly down the hallway to where she knew her destination was. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I really—"
Effectually interrupting, he started circling her as he talked, "Now what would a Hogwarts newbie like you be wandering these dangerous halls in the middle of class?" he questioned, sounding overly interrogative.
Hermione sighed. "I could ask you the same question," she retorted, pursing her lips at his characterization of her being a 'newbie.'
He didn't falter, not even for a second. "Oh, you know, duty calls," he replied airily.
Yeah, Hermione thought sarcastically, I'm sure playing a prank on an unsuspecting first year counts as your 'duty.' "Duty for what, exactly?" she prodded, though with a strong suspicion as to the nature.
He stopped his pacing and crossed his arms, an impish smile on his face. "Guess."
"Sirius, I really don't have time for this. I'm sorry," she said, moving to edge past him.
As her luck would have it, he didn't allow her passage. She groaned, and made a mental note to berate Harry—he'd obviously had the romanticized view of Sirius as being an amazing, charming, fantastic man…he'd left out the infuriating bit that Hermione was now witnessing.
"Aw, come on," Sirius said beseechingly, gripping her upper arm firmly. It was actually starting to hurt a little. She fixed him with a glare. "Look, I just wanted to see if we could have a small chat, just the two of us. I don't think you got a very good impression of the four of us earlier today, and I figured I should try to fix that."
"Oh did you?" she asked, now pretending to be disinterested. Truth be told, her thirst for knowledge fired up again at the possibility to know more about the Marauders, however annoying they may be. Still, she looked shrewdly at him. "What happened to your class that I am sure you're supposed to be in? And how exactly did you know precisely where I was? Or would I be right in assuming I just happened to be a convenient person to talk to while you ditched?"
He sighed dramatically. "All right, I forfeit," he said. She graced him with a half-smile. "But seeing as how I'm sure you've guessed my original intentions for skipping, what do you say to my earlier proposition, hmm?"
Okay, perhaps he was more observing than I'd thought, Hermione mused. Either that or he knows he's ridiculously easy to read. "I still think you should go back to class," she insisted.
Sirius rolled his eyes. "You're so like Moony, spoilsport," he fumed. "Come on. My grades are superb, especially in Defense; one day won't hurt."
She felt her resolve slipping as she stared into his puppy dog-like face, though she did remind herself to slap her for this later. This, she was sure, fell under the category of 'Unnecessary Fraternizing.'
"Fine," she conceded reluctantly. "But keep in mind this is completely against my will, and if anyone asks that is what I shall tell them. Taken by force, to be specific."
"Deal," he said with a grin.
He offered her his arm, but she shook her head. "I don't think so," she said loftily. "You're much too sardonic for someone to ever think your chivalry was real."
He placed a hand to his chest and mocked pain. "Ouch. That really stung, you know," he said. She didn't believe it for a second.
Conceding again, however, Sirius gestured forward with his hand; that she did accept, ad she kept a steady pace, Sirius falling into step with her as they headed toward the Gryffindor common room. She nearly stopped in shock when she realized she hadn't the slightest clue what might come of the conversation. Not knowing was a rather new concept to her.
1996
Ron and Harry walked out of Dumbledore's office feeling much worse than they had when they entered. At least before they had been more flabbergasted and confused and curious; now, they were saddened, distraught, and angry. Normally meeting with Dumbledore was calming in one way or another, but this was simply distressing. Neither of the boys felt much like talking at the moment as they trudged up to the common room. Even the Fat Lady seemed to notice their depression.
Mumbling the password, they collapsed into the armchairs by the fireplace and stared into the orangey-red flames, as if trying to find answers there. For all the help they'd gotten so far, they cynically thought the fire would have more solutions. They vaguely heard the occasional group of Gryffindors going through the portrait hole, but, wisely, no one disrupted their mutual state of despair.
When Ron spoke at last, his voice was shakier than usual, and he cleared his throat a few times before continuing. "H-Harry?" he asked slowly.
"Yeah?" Harry replied into the grate. He didn't really feel he could look anyone in the face at the moment, let alone Ron.
"I miss her," Ron answered truthfully. Admitting his feelings, let alone those concerning Hermione, was a rather large step for him. Enough for Harry to actually meet his eyes.
"Me too, mate. Me too."
"No," Ron continued, his voice in the dazed-sounding way it does when one comes upon a revelation of sorts. "I mean I really miss her. You…well, you know how I felt. How I feel."
Harry resisted the urge to smack him on the head and let him know that everyone knew how he felt. "I'm well aware of that, Ron," he settled. And though he didn't quite trust the words he said next, he thought they mollified his redheaded friend a little. "She will be okay, Ron, that much I've got to believe in. She's Hermione for goodness's sake. As for what you said…you know what?"
"What?" Ron asked sullenly.
"I'm rather sure she feels the same way," he said with as much a smile as he could manage. He was afraid it was more of a grimace, but there wasn't much more he could do.
A corner of Ron's mouth turned up. "Really?"
"For sure," Harry replied. "I mean, you saw how she reacted when you went out with Lavender, didn't you? I've never seen her so spiteful to a person. Save for the Slytherins, but they hardly count. I promise, Ron."
Ron's mood seemed to have lifted a bit, though Harry's was just as upset as before. "Regardless, I can still be worried about her, can't I?" he asked rhetorically. "You heard what Dumbledore said…"
"Yes, I was there," Harry said.
"Well, thanks anyway for trying to cheer me up," Ron said gruffly. "And if you're up for it, I'm feeling like a trip to the Library could turn up some new results…?"
Harry felt quite the opposite and did not think they would find anything else, but, whether strictly out of unintentional masochism, Harry nodded and stood up. "Sure," he agreed with a sigh. "Let's go."
And so, with the sole thought that he'd yell at Hermione when she got back fueling him (and Ron with a very different sort of thought providing the inclination), they jogged the considerable distance to the place where Hermione often sought refuge. Hopefully, Harry wished, Ron would soon realize there wasn't anything to be found. As bad as he felt about thinking it, he almost preferred the sad but realistic Ron than the Ron who was love-struck and therefore impractical. Harry did definitely want to get Hermione back, but he didn't exactly think the Library would be where they got answers.
You may have noticed I toned down the romance in this version of the chapter. I was reading my previous one and cringing at how fangirlish I'd turned Hermione into, and I profusely apologize for the sickening nature of it. Hopefully this was better. Don't get me wrong, there will be eventual romance in the story, but I felt Hermione was being way over the top. And now I head off to edit further chapters…
Another note: in case you were wondering what "verra" means, it's a little joke in reference to "déjà vu". You see, the latter literally means "already seen," and "verra" literally means "will see." It's the future tense of voir. Just FYI.