Chapter Seven

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Poor Little Me

The events of the morning didn't help to ease Hermione's confusion. People found excuses to pass by Ginny's desk and drop notes. The new girl accepted each with a shy smile and, when no one was looking, tucked it into her pencil case without reading it.

Hermione sat back in disbelief. Her classmates, people she had known forever, were suddenly strangers. Ginny, too, was a puzzlement. At Hogsmeade she had been open and talkative. Here, in the classroom, she was a different person, shy, almost withdrawn.

During the last class of the day, Professor McGonagall asked Ginny to read a passage from a guide to transfiguration. It was the first time since her arrival that she had been called on. An expectant silence fell over the class as though it were an audience waiting for the show to begin.

The colour drained from Ginny's face as she got to her feet. Biting her lower lip, she adjusted the book in her hands.

"Ginny?" Professor McGonagall said at last.

Ginny started. "Yes, Professor McGonagall?" she said softly.

"Have you lost the place?"

Dropping her gaze to the book, Ginny shook her head slightly and took a deep breath. Then, in a small, halting voice, she began to read.

Hagrid came rushing in.

"There's a hippogriff loose on the grounds, but he's a bit flustered, so - "

Suddenly, a hippogriff's curious head peeked through the window. Some of the students screamed, and a few scrambled out of their chairs. Ginny's whole body relaxed, but she let out a small squeal as well.

"Order!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "We will go through the emergency procedure while Hagrid gets the hippogriff under control. Line up by rows."

The people who hadn't stood up already hopped out of their chairs.

"Quickly. Quietly," the teacher reminded them. She threw open the door and marched out, leading the way to the nearest exit.

Behind her, people jockeyed for positions close to Ginny, but Harry, who was behind her, held his ground.

By the time the class had found its place in the entrance hall, Hermione was at the end of the line. She shivered in the cool air feeling left out and lonely.

Professor McGonagall began a head count while they waited for the signal to return to their classroom.

"This is the sloppiest line I have ever seen," she said curtly. "I can't tell who is here and who is not." She waved her hands, palms parallel, as though she were straightening a stack of papers. "Let's line up according to height."

That kind of line was the professor's favourite. Hermione liked it, too. It meant that Harry was always right behind her. Smiling, she slid in between him and Ginny.

"Ginny's taller than you, Hermione," Pansy said from her place near the front of the line.

Hermione pulled a face. Why couldn't Pansy mind her own business? "She is not!"

Everybody stepped out of line and stood back to measure.

"Professor," Pansy persisted, "isn't Ginny taller than Hermione?"

Several yards away, conferring with another teacher, Professor McGonagall didn't respond.

Millicent put a hand on each girl's shoulder. "Turn around, you two."

Hermione stiffened. "I will not turn around," she objected. But she did.

When Millicent was satisfied that both girls were standing correctly, back to back, heels down, she bridged their heads with an open palm. "Ginny's taller," she announced.

Hermione's hand flew to her head. Ginny did seem taller by a fraction – too small a fraction to justify a change. Hermione belonged near Harry. It was her place. It had been her place since first year.

"Her hair's higher than mine," Hermione said. "That's the only difference."

Pansy shook her head. "It has nothing to do with hair," she said.

Hermione looked to Harry, certain he'd back her up.

Avoiding Hermione's eyes, he confirmed, "Ginny's taller."

"Told you," Millicent said and pushed Ginny into line.

Ginny whispered, "Sorry," into Hermione's ear, but that didn't change the fact that she was now between Hermione and Harry.

o-o-o-o-o

Back in the classroom, Professor McGonagall lectured on the seriousness of emergency procedures. "We were the worst class," she said. "Slowest. Noisiest. Most disorderly. Totally unacceptable." She made the rest of the class line up by rows again. "You're getting older," she admonished them. "You must set a good example." She led them outside and back in, repeating the entire process until she was satisfied with their behaviour. By the time she released them, there was little time for lunch.

On the way back to the common room, Harry joked, "She's so worried about an emergency, she'll starve us to death."

"It was all Hermione's fault that we had to go through all that," Padma put in.

A hot rush of anger flooded Hermione. "My fault? How was it my fault?"

"If you'd just let Ginny in line behind you without making a big scene about it," Padma said.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in disbelief. She tried to defend herself, but all that came out was a series of sputter.

She looked to Harry to rescue her, but he had dashed on ahead to join Seamus and Dean.

Parvati, who had stopped at the girls' room, caught up to the group as they sat down on the couch. "How'd you like reading?" she asked, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

Seamus chortled. "I never thought she'd get through the first sentence."

"She didn't!" Parvati said. "That's what I mean."

"Do you suppose…?" Seamus shook her head as if to clear away the thought.

But Seamus scooped it up. "She can read," she said. "It's part of her act."

Nevile's round face crinkled with the effort of understanding. "What act?"

"Her poor-little-me act, that's what act."

There was a long silence while everyone thought about that.

Finally, Nevile said, "I don't get it."

"She wants the boys to think she's helpless," Seamus said.

"Why would she want to do that?" asked Nevile.

"So they'll help her, why else?"

A light went on in Nevile's eyes. "You mean she was… pretending she couldn't read?"

"Right," said Seamus.

"Why would anybody do that?" asked Parvati.

"Boys like dumb girls," said Padma.

Parvati wasn't convinced. "What'd you think, Hermione?"

Hermione's rapid change of emotion – from anger at Ron to disappointment with Harry – so absorbed her that she wasn't aware of the shift in the conversation. At the sound of her name, she murmured, "Why's everybody blaming me?"

Padma said, "Nobody's blaming you. Who said anything about blaming you?"

"You did, Padma, that's who." With tears stinging her eyes, Hermione headed for the girls' room.

Parvati came in at her heels. Her cheeks were flushed and she had a wild look in her eyes. "I can't believe what just happened!" she said.

Hermione brushed away her tears with the back of her hand and smiled at her friend. She should've known Parvati wouldn't let her down. Next to Harry, Parvati was her best friend. She was always sensitive to people's feelings. Hermione felt bad that she had been so quick to lump her with the others.

"Draco held the door for me!" Parvati danced in a circle. "We were coming out of the classroom and he ran ahead to hold the door for me! And he actually smiled at me! Can you believe it!" She rushed to the mirrors over the sinks and puffed up her cheeks. "My face is too round."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. She stared at Parvati, her tears forgotten.

"Maybe if I change my hair," Parvati said, catching Hermione's reflected eyes. "What do you think, Hermione?"

Parvati's sleek, black hair was soft and curly around her face. Swallowing hard, Hermione said, "I like your hair."

Turning, Parvati laughed. "I don't mean that! About Draco! Do you have any… feelings – any psychic feelings – about Draco and me? Do you think he… likes me?" She lowered her voice as though to keep the walls from hearing.

"No," Hermione answered. "I don't have any feelings about that. I don't have any feelings about anything."

Hermione suddenly remembered the time, before she went to Hogwarts, when she moved house. It occurred to her that the third year was like her old house: a place she had once lived in comfortably. Now, however, some stranger had moved in and begun to remodel it. And Hermione didn't know how to feel or what to do.