Hermione Granger was so wrapped up in her books at breakfast, that she almost didn't notice the owl swooping over her food. She was busy studying - nearly as hard as Draco Malfoy was, Zambini wagered - although Draco was too proud to be caught studying in the Great Hall, he was certainly eating as quickly as he could, his knife and fork making neat, nearly dainty cuts.
Although, with that business yesterday, Draco would have been covered had he looked up at Granger as the owl swooped down - he just glanced up briefly. With fewer constraints, Zambini leaned back and watched the show. And what a show it was! Ron and Harry - the Troublesome Duo - were lunging for the owl, who was circling Hermione's head (both boys knew better than to touch her).
After three shakes of a lamb's tail, Hermione looked up at the breeze, and found the owl buffeting her with its wings. "Thank you" she said shortly, grabbing the letter. "Sal A Mander" Harry whispered, followed by a hearty laugh, "Hermione, that's not even your mail!"
"Give it!" Ron Weasley lunged at the letter, as Hermione deftly tucked it into her herbology book (she had been reviewing the songweeds again, as they might be useful in Potions. One never put anything critical in a potions book, as one might spill something on it).
"Don't be silly, Harry" Hermione said with a smile - still reading, even as she lifted the book to look into Harry's eyes. "Owls won't deliver mail to the wrong person."
"Your name's ...?" Harry sputtered, looking as baffled as Greg did at the mention of maths.
"It's a nickname, sillikins." Hermione said, stnading swiftly and leaping lightly over the bench, before retreating from view. Probably headed towards the library, Zambini thought.
As I listen to the rhythm of the waves on the water
I feel an itch rising, a fierce fire burning and building in me
Like a grain of sand trapped in an oyster
Someday when a fisherman finds me
He'll crack me open, and discover a pearl
Broken and bleeding, I'll fly overboard
And you'll make a fine necklace
The finest black pearl.
Hermione Granger shook her head, looking at the odd bit of verse - self-contradictory, strange and accurate at the same time. It was a riddle, but one that didn't shout at her to solve it immediately. If everyone else in the entire school was betting - well, Hermione, for one, was content to let the secret lie fallow. Perhaps it would multiply - like mushrooms kept from the sun. Or perhaps it would grow, turn weighty, even crystallize. But to turn the harsh light of day on a secret that seemed to shine with strange colors the world had never seen? It seemed wrong somehow. Hermione Granger knew it was uncharacteristic of her - she loved unravelling mysteries, but as she thought of it a bit more (her legs swinging off her chair), she understood. This was a mystery like an unraveling sweater. Pull too quickly and it would simply snarl - and then you'd never get it straight!
[a/n: sometimes it's the poetry, sometimes it's the fighting. This story is difficult for me, so write me a review to remind me that people read it
Old Poem: (New Poem Is Above)
Humility's a virtue I'll never understand.
You remind me of a grain of sand -
stuck inside a plump oyster.
Irritating, itching, aggravating...
From every grain of sand by happenstance thrown
into an oyster turns to a pearl grown
from affliction to elegance,
from jot to weighty jewel.
Speaker - see in these humble, mirror-like words
your portrait reflected anew.
May you comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable-
And to Hades any that might gainsay you!
.]