I was even more bored than usual o.0 so I randomly decided to randomly write some random speculation of Hermione's. Probably one shot unless someone convinces me to continue.
Think about the number of atoms there are in the universe. If you were to count them all and somehow manage to stuff them all into a giant sock, the fact remains that I do not own Harry Potter.
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The House-Elf Liberation Front
'Hermione's obsessed with house-elves,' Ron muttered
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'Slave labour. That's what made this dinner. Slave labour.'
I glanced down at the tablecloth, only to wish I had been more careful. The pumpkin juice was invading the spotless napery and withering glances were being shot my way. Cringing, I ducked my head down but soon realized, with a groan, that my uneaten Yorkshire pudding was unwittingly beckoning me. Steeling my resolve, I looked up ahead at the teacher's table where Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation. I started when Dumbledore turned his whiskery face to me, and smiling slightly, graced me with an imperceptible wink. My indignation must have shown, as Ron poked me with the end of his knife, 'Oh, c'mon, 'Er-my-knee.' Typical of him to read me so wrong.
I gathered my wits about me before throwing Ron an affronted face. It must have worked, as he promptly turned back to his pudding and resumed his binging, although I did hear him muttering something about Professor McGonagall. I assume he was likening my expression to that of the professor's, especially the one she wore in second year when Ron's broken wand caused havoc in Transfiguration. I distinctly remember that Howler Mrs Weasley sent him, especially the effects. It's as if Ron doesn't nearly go red enough.
All the while, Ron and Harry had been stuffing themselves silly. Eating a hippogriff is an understatement. It's more like eating the giant squid. It wasn't very long afterwards that I smelt the treacle tart. God, it was so inviting … but I just couldn't let Ron get to me. It was hard though; I could practically see the wafts of scent in front of my face, calling to me. Yes, calling, that too. Banishing the thoughts from my mind, I started determinedly forwards, and just as luck would have it, Dumbledore stood up.
The only words I actually heard from his entire speech were, 'Now that we are all fed and watered,' and he must have heard my snort, what with that unnerving little wink he sent my way. I admit, I was completely lost in my own thoughts and Fred's (or was it George's) outburst threw me to Madagascar. The ensuing discussion about the Triwizard Tournament had me curiously uneasy, given the past events I had read about. I noticed Harry's strange silence; after all, you would have thought he and Ron would be discussing illegal ways to enter within two seconds after being dismissed. Some things are expected after four years of friendship.
It seemed as though my presence was not so welcome with the boys as we headed back to the common room. The twins lost no time in speculating aloud about an Ageing potion, and as they were so deep in conversation, I didn't think of injecting all I knew about Age lines. Especially ones that Dumbledore drew himself. Goodness, they must think Dumbledore a fool. On second thoughts, you would have hoped that they had learnt to listen to me long ago, because I'm always right.
And I know I'm right about house-elves too.
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Yaddy yaddy hoo. This is NOT my style. For some reason, it's the literary stuff like metaphors and alliteration that I CAN write. Informal speculation? Nah, not me. Still, doesn't hurt to try, eh? R&R, criticism welcome but please be nice :D
As always, no flames.
daiquiri