"Miss Granger, a word," said Professor Quirrell, as the rest of the class rushed out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Strangely, his all-white, no-nonsense classroom unnerved her classmates, but Hermione quite enjoyed the lack of distractions. She, of course, didn't mind the lack of extraneous frills but could do with learning more curses and hexes in the curriculum. What good would knowing vampires were repelled by garlic do against an angry murderer?
"You must cease your investigations into the murder of Madam Pomfrey at once," said Professor Quirrell calmly.
Hermione glanced around the classroom for a certain rat. No Scabbers. Should she tell the professor what she knew? If he already knew about the murderer, there seemed little harm.
"Now Miss Granger- and please do try to think before answering- why have you been told to cease your investigation of Madam Pomfrey's killer?"
She really should have just said, 'I don't know.' or perhaps, 'the killer is Scabbers.' But Hermione yearned to show the professor how much she knew, to prove that she was the cleverest little witch he'd ever met.
Hermione tapped her wand against her lips thoughtfully. Well, the obvious answer was that Scabbers would probably just kill her if she continued to investigate. He'd also kill Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Madam Pince as well. But that couldn't have been why Headmaster Dumbledore had told her to stop, because if he'd been concerned about her safety he'd have just taken her into protective custody. So the answer to Professor Quirrell's question was that Hermione's investigation would ruin the cover up Headmaster Dumbledore had orchestrated.
But that was too easy, and Professor Quirrell had told her to think before answering. So Hermione pondered the next question, why had Headmaster Dumbledore created a cover up in the first place?
The killer knew there had been a murderer, so the cover up wasn't for the killer's benefit. It had probably been to keep the professors or perhaps for the students (or more likely the students' parents ignorant) of the crime. Actually, Headmaster Dumbledore had sealed the school which meant that there was no need to fear outside sources, which meant he needn't be afraid of parents finding out. So the cover up was meant for someone on the inside which meant it probably had to be for a professor. But why?
Ooh, this was getting ever so interesting! One of the professors must have been very bad indeed, if they could frighten even Headmaster Dumbledore. But why would Madam… (was it Pom something- tree, brie, pee- she didn't have time for this!) the nurse's murder be valuable information to the bad professor? Hermione could only think of one reason: Scabbers was some kind of servant to the bad professor, and Scabbers didn't like the bad professor and would rather stay hidden if given the choice.
It was a race! Headmaster Dumbledore had to discover the killer before the evil professor! Dumbledore had known that, so he'd done what little he could to sabotage the evil professor's investigation. But Scabbers hadn't left Ron or been apprehended. Which meant… Which meant Hermione had beaten them both! Ooh, she really was clever wasn't she? Oh how she wished she could tell Ron- but of course that would just get them both killed.
"I have given you adequate time," Professor Quirrell said testily. "What is your answer?"
Hmm…
Hermione was quite sure there was an evil professor. If it was Professor Quirrell, and she helped him find Scabbers that would be quite disastrous wouldn't it? So how could she test Professor Quirrell in a way that was innocuous enough not to be noticed (in the case that he couldn't be trusted- she'd rather not be murdered)?
"Was it Ginny or Harry who first tipped you off?" Hermione asked, watching Professor Quirrell closely. "Oh, I told them to stop. Headmaster Dumbledore even told us not to-"
"A clever layering of your real question," said Professor Quirrell, meeting her gaze. "How did I discover that Madam Pomfrey was murdered? Was it because I observed the clumsy investigation of four students or was I told by Headmaster Dumbledore himself? Does the Headmaster trust me? Of course that is a diversion as well. It was Professor Snape who gave you the wise advice to keep the murder secret."
Hermione let out a breath. Professor Quirrell was safe. "The murderer is Sc-"
Professor Quirrell sharply looked away. "This does not mean I am trustworthy Miss Granger. It simply means that I can read your mind. It is a branch of magic called legilimency. You can protect your mind with occlumency."
What? Hermione was horrified.
Professor Quirrell smiled thinly. "If I were the Dark Lord your carelessness would have been very bad indeed. For you see Severus Snape was once a high ranking death eater. You would have cast doubt onto Severus's loyalties, reducing his value as a spy. And if you were to go to Albus Dumbledore and foil the Dark Lord's plans, then you would find yourself the target of his wrath. As it is, I must confess to being a coward. I do not want to be involved in the investigation of Poppy Pomfrey. I am no strong occlumens myself, and if the Dark Lord were to meet my gaze I would find myself the center of his attention. If I were to gossip to a professor under his control, I would find myself the center of his attention. If I left too many clues of my involvement, I would find myself the center of his attention. And being the center of the Dark Lord's attention is something I'd rather like to avoid."
"Headmaster Dumbledore would protect you!" Hermione squeaked.
Professor Quirrell sighed. "I see. You did not live through the last war, so such things are not obvious to you. I was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I did not openly oppose the Dark Lord, as many brave wizards did. I was nowhere near as talented as James Potter or Frank Longbottom and yet here I stand, while they are buried in the ground."
"That's nothing to be proud of," Hermione said angrily.
"I'm not proud of my actions in the war," Professor Quirrell said, although he actually did sound quite pleased with himself. "While James and Frank probably were, for all the good their pride did them. Chivalry has little place in Defense Against the Dark Arts I'm afraid."
Hermione twitched. "You're horrible! The Dark- Voldemort was evil! He had to be stopped! He murdered muggles for fun and he wanted to put muggleborns in concentration cam-"
"Oh," said Professor Quirrell, raising an eyebrow. "How curious. I did not know that you- a Slytherin halfblood- cared so greatly about muggleborn equality. I apologize for my remarks- I hadn't realized they would be so personal. Oh and before you leave Miss Granger, I'd like to share two facts that you may find helpful. Firstly, legilimency requires eye contact. Secondly, there was a taboo curse placed on Lord Voldemort's name during the First Wizarding War. Saying Voldemort carelessly does not prove your bravery, it simply reveals your ignorance and muggle heritage."
"Thank you professor," Hermione managed, and ran out of the classroom.
She was almost certain that Professor Quirrell was Lord Voldemort. He'd been threatening her, trying to keep her from telling Headmaster Dumbledore about Scabbers. But…
What if he wasn't? What if he really was just trying to be helpful? If she told Dumbledore about Scabbers, and Voldemort remained in the school she'd be a very dead little witch.
Or what if Professor Quirrell was only one of Lord Voldemort's many servants in the school? Then even if Headmaster Dumbledore got rid of Professor Quirrell she'd still end up dead.
It seemed the prudent thing to do would be to follow Professor Quirrell's advice, and keep herself out of it. Besides, Hermione reasoned, it's not like Ron would even be that impressed if she just tattled anyways. She'd let Headmaster Dumbledore handle the investigation, even if it meant that… Hermione's lip wobbled. She wasn't gonna get an award was she? How unfair, how unjust, such a terrible thing had never occurred to anyone anywhere ever!
XOXOXOX
"...And nobody really respects the keeper, the average quidditch fan just wants to see scoring and big hits," Ron told Hermione and Harry wisely, adorably excited, as he explained the nonsensical magical sport of quidditch. Although to be fair, Hermione found all sports to be terribly droll, magical or otherwise. "But not me. I want to be a keeper. Everyone else on the pitch is out for glory- and the keeper ruins everyone's fun- isn't that brilliant! I've been practicing in preparation for tomorrow's flying lesson all my life- I once almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom- and lately I've been doing hand exercises to shore up my keeping," Ron boasted. He jumped onto the Gryffindor Common Table.
A roll came speeding out of nowhere. Ron caught it in an impressive display of dexterity. "See Harry, the roll is like the quaffle, and I'm the keeper." He took a bite out of his roll, and nodded at Ginny, cutely oblivious to the fact that every student in the Great Hall was staring at him. "I may not be as smart as Mum or Dad or Bill or Charlie or Percy," Ron took a breath, "or Fred or George or you, but I'm gonna lead Gryffindor to a House Cup someday, just you wait and see Gin."
"I get it," Ginny snapped. "Would you sit down! You're making a total prat of yourself. Why are you always like this? Sometimes it's embarrassing just being related to you."
Ron noticed for the first time that everyone was staring at him, and blushed harder than a cute, little cherry tomato.
"That was a good catch ickle Ronniekins," called Ron's older brother Fred, from across the hall.
"Care to try another?" Asked George, squeezing a roll.
"Don't worry your cute little head about the entire school watching," advised Fred.
"Supreme Keeper Ronniekins," finished George.
Ron looked around again, and nervously took another step back. His foot smushed into a plate of pancakes. Ron grew even redder.
George's expression softened, and he lobbed Ron the roll. Ron muffed it, and the roll plopped into a bowl of sticky, brown syrup.
The entire Great Hall burst into laughter. Ron stiffly jumped off the table, and sat between Harry and Ginny muttering darkly to himself. He piled some pancakes onto his plate, and shoveled them moodily into his mouth, admirably ignoring the mocking laughter all around him.
Hermione wanted to hex those awful Twins to next year for humiliating her darling Ron! Or perhaps slip them one of the terrible potions she'd been reading about. But no, she didn't want Scabber to know about the cunning mitigation measures she'd been studying.
To their credit the Twins walked up to Ron. "Well you made a bit of an arse of yourself just now," said Fred cheerfully.
"Go away," said Ron.
"But if you really want to be a keeper you'll need to get used to it," said George.
Ron chewed his pancake, ignoring his brothers.
"Hey George, remember the time you whiffed the bludger in last year's match against Ravenclaw, and it broke your nose?" Asked Fred.
"That was you," said George, crossly.
"Or that time you accidentally sent the bludger at Ange-"
"Wait, that was me," said George, suddenly remembering.
"The point is," said Fred loftily.
"That you're going to make an arse of yourself on the pitch eventually," said George.
"That's just part of the game," said Fred.
"So you've really just got one up on everybody," said George.
The adorably gullible Ron brightened. "Really?"
The Twins shared a look. "Of course," they said together, and sauntered off guiltily.
"You hear that Ginny? I've got the right disposition for quidditch," the admirably resilient Ron said airily. "You may be better at writing essays, but I'm gonna be the one who shines on a broomstick." Ron puffed up his chest proudly.
"We'll see," said Ginny evenly.
"Oh please, you're just a girl," said Ron... stupidly. Hermione decided that every man needed to have at least a few flaws. If he was gonna be a chauvinistic pig, at least it was about something as silly as flying a broomstick. Hermione couldn't see the point, she was terribly frightened of heights of course, and apparition seemed to render the whole exercise pointles-
"Hermione will probably be rubbish at flying though." Ginny's finger was pointed firmly at Hermione's forehead. "You said I couldn't beat you in a single lesson. Well that changes tomorrow. I'm gonna fly circles around you."
Hermione huffed indignantly. Wait. Flying was pointless, she reminded herself, trying not to get swept up in the moment. Yet she found her lips curling, her skin tingling. "We'll see."
Hermione would just have to be a brilliant flier. Of course she cared not at all about Bratty Ginny Weasley's challenge. That would be childish and silly and stupid and petty. It was all to impress her darling Ronniekins, of course. Of course…
...Well, maybe she was looking forward to crushing her rival once again. Just a little. So she checked out Flying for Novices from the library, and read all about the perfect broomstick form and how to position your thumbs and such. By the end of the night, Hermione was quite sure she would outfly Ginny Weasley. Afterall, what better way was there to learn how to ride a broomstick than to read all about it?
The next afternoon, Madam Hooch had an assortment of broomsticks aligned in neat little rows. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Hermione chose a refined looking broomstick. She wondered why broomsticks specifically were chosen to fly. Why not a swiffer? Better yet, why not a bicycle or motorcycle, something with a proper seat and handlebars? Did it work through some kind of levitation enchantment, or did it pull magic out from her somehow?
"Stick your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch, "and say 'Up!'"
Up? Why up? Why not something in Latin, like the other spells? Perhaps 'autem'? Hermione realized Ginny was smirking at her, broomstick already in her hand. Hermione blushed, and said, "Up."
Her stupid broomstick rolled over lazily. "Up!" Hermione said testily. The broomstick smugly laid on the ground. "Up. Up. Up! I said 'up' you stupid broomstick."
The broomstick remained stubbornly still.
Several students snickered at her, her darling Ron amongst them- until he noticed that Malfoy was snickering as well.
Ginny hushed them irritably, and said superiorly, "Oh you lot need to be quiet. She's probably never been on a broomstick in her life. It's nothing to be embarrassed about Hermione, it's perfectly natural to struggle."
Hermione burned with embarrassment. Harry Potter hadn't had any trouble getting his broom to respond to his command. Of course, he had probably chosen a less defective broom.
She glared at her uncooperative broom, she could not believe it was humiliating her in public. She picked it up, putting on a show of sheepish good humor, "I suppose this will be more challenging than I thought." Subtly, she whispered furiously into the defective broom's thistles, "If you humiliate me like this again, I will transfigure you into a mop."
It wasn't kind, threatening an incompetent broomstick like that (It was common knowledge that every broomstick's greatest fear was becoming a mop and being dunked in mucky water for the rest of its life), but it was clearly going through a rebellious phase and needed proper discipline.
Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms, correcting most of the students' grips and postures, to keep them from sliding off one end. Hermione required as many corrections as the other muggleborn students - quite a few. Her darling Ron's form was perfect of course, as was her good friend Harry Potter's. Unfortunately so was Malfoy's, and most infuriating of all, Ginny's.
Ginny didn't smirk or boast or put Hermione down. "I've just practiced a little more than you," Ginny said pompously.
Hermione seethed.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle - three - two - one," Madam Hooch blew her whistle.
Hermione kicked up off the ground. She rose a little and fell back down. Unless she was quite mistaken, she'd just done a little hop with a broomstick between her legs. There had been no flying. Hermione tried again and got the same result. She tried jumping higher. She fell back down. She must look like a little muggle girl, trying and failing to fly with a broom between her legs.
Ginny Weasley on the other hand, was levitating effortlessly, looking down on Hermione with a satisfied expression.
Hermione grit her teeth. Flying on broomsticks was stupid! It was a silly little fantasy for people juvenile enough to like sports. Who needed it when you could apparate instantly anyways? It was all for vanity. Why did Hogwarts even bother teaching it? Probably just so that all the pureblooded dunces could feel good about someth-
Ron was hovering a few feet off the ground, surveying the rest of the class with an expression of pure joy. And while he didn't look nearly as comfortable or natural as the other fliers- Ginny, Harry, and Malfoy- he was managing sustained flight all the same.
Ginny touched back down, and strode to Hermione. "Don't feel bad," said Ginny insufferably. "It wasn't really a fair competition, I've been flying for ages. Here, let me give you some advice." And Ginny proceeded to give Hermione several helpful tips, earning Slytherin a few points from Madam Hooch. Ginny bubbled with joy at the instructor's approval.
Hermione couldn't believe that anybody could be such a know-it-all.
"Oy mate, come back down," Ron shouted, as the petty prankster, Stupid Neville Longbottom (who had somehow managed to burn a hole through his cauldron in Potions) broke free from him and Harry. Hermione rolled her eyes. If there was one person she disliked in Hogwarts, it was Neville- she just couldn't stand people who wouldn't let things go.
"I… I don't think I can," said Stupid Neville miserably, his broom rising higher and higher. Something about his voice made Hermione doubt that this was another one of his immature pleas for attention.
"Idiot boy! Fly down right now," Madam Hooch said irritably.
Stupid Neville just rose higher and higher. As Hermione had suspected, flying on broomsticks was pure foolishness. Hermione promised herself she would never ever do such a thing, and thanked Neville for his stupidity which had brought her back to her senses. Hence, she was no longer bothered by Ginny's superior knowledge and ability in broomstickery. Not at all. Although a part of her still wished the little brat would burn in a fire.
Neville had risen above the castle's highest spire. Hermione bit her lip. Would a fall from such a height be lethal? Oh, she really should have told Neville to jump after it had become apparent he didn't know how to get back down. She may not like him, but she hardly wanted him to die. But now it was too late. She... she didn't know what to do. Hermione trembled.
Things took a turn for the worse. Neville started to panic. His broom began to buck uncontrollably, like an angry bull at the rodeo. Oh… Oh no, Stupid Neville really was going to fall wasn't he?
Hermione wrung her hands with worry. She wanted to do something, but all she could do was watch. That was all anyone did.
Except for Harry Potter. He leapt onto his broom, lifted off, and flew up like a bullet to Neville. Ron was right behind him, but flew less well, barely able to point himself in the right direction. Harry was next to Neville in a flash, and reached out, and caught the chubby boy just as he was launched off his broom. But the catch almost jarred Harry from his own broom, and flipped him upside down. Harry held onto Neville with both hands, his legs wrapped around his broom handle. But Harry could no longer control his flight, and the duo hurdled right at the castle wall. Ginny grabbed Harry's broom, and pulled with all her might, helping them swerve from the castle wall. But the three of them were falling fast. Malfoy of all people, caught them, and pulled them up out of their tailspin. Harry lost his grip on Neville then, whose fall was cushioned when he landed in a heap on top of the heroic Ron who'd just barely managed to fly under him.
Harry, Ginny, and Malfoy flew gracefully down to the ground. Harry and Ginny ran to check on Ron and Neville.
"Did you see how I flew?" Asked Malfoy proudly, to nobody in particular, as Hermione hurried past him. "I wasn't gonna let Potter have all the fun. They'll have to let me on the Slytherin team after that bit of flying."
Thankfully, Ron seemed to be alright, although according to Madam Hooch Neville had broken his wrist.
"Just flying around is boring," Malfoy drawled, nodding at Harry and Ginny. "Us three have more than proved that we can hold our own in the air. Forcing someone of my talent through such remedial lessons would be a crime. I want a quaffle. Potter, Weasley, we can toss it around. Get some early quidditch practice in. Although perhaps not that one," said Malfoy, sneering at Ron. "That one could use some more practice. He can barely fly."
How dare he, Hermione huffed, for all the trios fancy flying it had been Ron's keeping which had saved Neville in the end.
Madam Hooch handed Malfoy a big ball that was apparently a quaffle. "C'mon Potter," said Malfoy, mounting his broom. "I may not like you, but you're decent on a broom. If we look good enough, we may just make the house team."
"I'm not playing without Ron," said Harry stiffly.
"Me neither," said Ginny.
Malfoy scowled. "Fine. I suppose he can play keeper. You don't have to be able to fly to play keeper," spat Malfoy, the average quidditch fan. "C'mon ickle Ronniekins, let's go toss the quaffle. Since your little sister- the one with some actual talent- insists."
"Don't you call him that," Ginny said angrily, jumping off her broom, wand sparking.
"Enough," Ron bellowed. "Neville's wrist is broken. I'm gonna take him to the Hospital Ward, so you lot don't need to argue about me anyways. Oh and Malfoy," Ron's expression soured, like he'd been sucking on a lemon. "Thanks for saving my sister. I owe you one."
"What are you on about Weasley? I did no such- Wait." Malfoy seemed stunned. "Wait… I… I saved… I saved a Weasley?" Malfoy paled, horrified, and he muttered darkly to himself something that sounded an awful lot like, "Father mustn't find out about this."
Lessons resumed after that. Hermione wasn't eager to play around with broomsticks, and after some half-hearted attempts, gave up on the endeavor altogether. Instead she watched Harry, Malfoy, and Ginny toss around the quaffle.
All three of them were graceful, spectacularly at ease in the sky in a way Hermione would never be able to emulate. As if that made them so great! Apparition was the superior method of transportation anyways, so even if maybe- probably- Ginny, that insufferable know-it-all, was better than her at one insignificant little…
Had she, Hermione Granger, just called someone else an insufferable know-it-all? Had she just made light of a magical ability and called it useless? Had she just pretended that she wouldn't love to hurdle through the sky as gracefully as a falcon?
But it is useless, an awful part of Hermione insisted stubbornly. Apparition renders flight useless anyways. I'm only being logical.
So then why was half the class looking up at Harry, Ginny, and Draco in envy? Even a few older students had appeared, and were looking up at the trio in awe. Even Scabbers was looking up at the trio- his beady black eyes glistening with what almost looked like nostalgia.
Hermione started in surprise. Ron was alone. Separated from the killer.
And so, Hermione- the longtime academic elite- did something she'd never done before.
She dealt with feelings of inadequacy. Oh, and she also played hooky to class, she'd never done that either.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Anyone have any guesses as to why Hermione hates Neville? If you enjoyed the chapter, please read the next one when it comes out! And now onto the review:
Iwik - I'm really glad you like Neville! He was probably my favorite character when I first read the books. Thanks for the review!