16 September 1998
Hermione didn't remember the last time she had researched something out of pure academic interest, for a class essay. It was always going over tomes to see who Nicolas Flamel was, to know how one could survive under water for long time periods, or the best ways to destroy pieces of someone's soul that the certain someone had shredded purposively in the first place. Now look at her, sitting in the library, at the same table as Gregory Goyle, to write an account of the Goblin rebellion from their perspective. A rebellion that had taken place three centuries earlier and did not currently endanger any of her best friends. It was positively adorable, Hermione thought dully.
She didn't want another War, obviously. But she would have liked some adventures - tiny ones that didn't kill anyone, or entail the risk of mad-women wielding the Cruciatus curse, but still allowed her to do something. Maybe something enough to rile up Filch, something with the potential to earn her detention. Hermione liked reading, she did, but unlike her parents and Mrs Weasely who thought that Harry and Ron distracted her from her studies, she knew that being with them ensured a steep learning curve for her. Think about it this way - how difficult can it be to answer a question on the Polyjuice potion in fifth year if she had brewed one in her second? Or tackle Protean charms in her NEWTS when she had used them in successfully in her fifth year? What is a bigger motivator to learn how to cast a Patronus - earning OWLs, or saving herself from Dementors that were intent on plaguing her best friend? Of course the fact that said best friend had learnt to cast a Patronus two years before she did was an added push.
Forget about adventures. Even helping, well pushing, Ron and Harry to study had made her learn better. Effectively, she ended up going through her books at least four times - once when she read them during the summer, later when she read alongwith the class and twice when she sat to correct the boys' work. Harry's fertile imagination kept her on her toes every time she proof-read his essays for History of Magic. And Ron always had the weirdest doubts which she knew were unfounded right away ('Can we imperio animals? Can Harry imperio Nagini to swallow You-Know-Who whole?') but which still made her rack her brains to solve. And it was made more challenging by the boys banding together and throwing inane counter-questions ('What if Harry imperios in Parseltongue'?) that made her laugh, but also made her look up the etymology of incantations and work on inventing her own spells.
Now hardly anybody came to her for help. The largest contingent of people who came to repeat their seventh year was from Ravenclaw - and they refused to consult Hermione on homework as a matter of principle. Ernie from Hufflepuff had no such ego issues but he was so long winded in asking a question, that Hermione often forgot the point of the question by the time he would finish prattling on. Gryffindors, unless they were pliable to her bullying (which they weren't), refused to study so early in the term.
Even Ginny, her friend, paid no heed. They always had such a nice relationship during the summers, when they shared a room, and Hermione finally found an actual female friend who cared about mostly the same things as Hermione, who was perceptive and fun, and who Hermione didn't have to filter herself around. But Ginny was so unlike Ron, all headstrong and self-sufficient. When Hermione tried to tell her nicely, that the thrice a week schedule of Quidditch practice would interfere with her school-work, Ginny had stared at her disbelievingly.
"But I am captain, Hermione".
"Yes, so it's in your power to schedule your practices according to your convenience, you know", Hermione had countered.
"Last year we weren't sure if we would be able to play Quidditch ever again. I am not letting this go", Ginny had shot back with finality.
No unsure waffling. No (false) promises of compensating by putting in more hours studying during the weekend. Just plain refusal.
Hermione sighed. The sound seemed to break Goyle's concentration as he looked up from his parchment and stared at her blankly - apparently a hobby with him, this year, now that he was all friendless and leader-less. Only two Slytherins in their class were back - Goyle himself and Malfoy - both being court-mandated to do so. The two death eaters (or evil gits, in any case, as Hermione wasn't sure if Goyle had taken the Dark mark) had adopted opposing approaches to deal with their school mates. Malfoy was now rarely seen outside the Slytherin common room, and kept his head down during mealtimes and classes. He also seemed to go out of his way to avoid Hermione specifically, whether in class or when they passed each other in the corridors, which was perfectly fine by her. She didn't exactly miss the bigoted name calling. Goyle on the other hand, was everywhere.
He sat directly in her line of vision during meals. When he was early to class, he shared her bench. And he was forever in the library, at first sitting somewhere close by, though never at the same table. Then Hermione had realised that nobody wanted to sit with him; using Unforgivables against most of the student body would probably dent one's popularity. Since Goyle didn't have enough intelligence to construct an actual sentence, this also meant that if she sat at his table, she could work undisturbed. So for the past week, Hermione and Goyle had been sharing a table. He seemed to be working hard most of the time. Really, Hermione would have been quite proud of him if he hadn't been using the rest of the time to stare creepily at her.
"Can I help you?" she asked harshly.
He looked down immediately. Hermione rolled her eyes. Had he thought he was being subtle in his staring? She shook her head, and proceeded to gather her books and notes to go back to the Common Room. Sure it was noisy in there, but they mostly left her alone if she frowned hard enough in the general direction of her house-mates. Maybe she could do some light reading; she wasn't concentrating on her essay here, anyway.
"How to stop fiendfyre?" Goyle spoke up suddenly, as Hermione made to get up from her chair. His voice made her sit back down immediately.
Goyle was now staring at her blankly again, unblinking.
"I don't know. It's better never to start it, it's dangerous", she replied.
He nodded.
"But you can probably find the right book somewhere in the Restricted section", she said, simultaneously remembering Crabbe and the dangers of equipping idiots with incomplete knowledge. "Not that Pince, Madam Pince," she corrected herself, "will let you in", she ended curtly.
Goyle nodded again. Hermione's curiosity got the better of her at that point.
"What are you working on?" she enquired, leaning forward to try and read the heading on the parchment he had been laboriously working on.
He turned it around so she could see. After squinting a little, Hermione made out that it was a half-written (and badly at that) essay titled "Dark Curses and Why You Should Never Use Them".
"Make-up classes", Goyle offered, as Hermione winced at the multiple spelling mistakes, and at least four factual errors that she had already gleaned from a cursory perusal.
She had heard about the classes. It was a special curriculum this year targeted at specific students - most of who were children of Death eaters or death eaters themselves - as in the case of Malfoy and Goyle. McGonagall had brought in Guest faculty to provide lectures revolving around Defence against the Dark Arts, Muggle studies, History of Magic and Wizarding Ethics to undo the propaganda that they had likely been exposed to at home. Hermione thought it should have been open to all students - you didn't have to be death eater spawn to be prejudiced - but logistics and cost issues had allowed only for limited student intake.
"I have to go", she told him, reluctantly pushing the essay back to him, all the while itching to take a red-inked quill and scratching out his mistakes.
He blinked once, then went back to scribbling on the parchment.
As expected, the Common Room was brimming over with students. The first years sat by the fireplace playing a noisy game of Exploding Snap. Half of the fourth and fifth years were gathered around right in the centre cheering on two of their classmates playing a particularly vicious game of rapid chess. Hermione knew it was a set bought from Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes as the black bishop was slaughtering an opposing pawn while discussing the latter's female relatives in colourful language. Another bunch of students she did not recognise were hovering over the transistor, trying to listen to the highlights of a Germany versus France Quidditch match. Hermione scanned the room to see if a corner was available for her to snuggle in with her books, and spotted Ginny waving at her. She smiled back and walked to her armchair where Ginny and her classmate Ritchie Coote sat practising non-verbal spells.
"You are not doing it right", Hermione pointed out at once, recognising that Coote had been just saying the levitating spell softly instead of doing it non-verbally.
Ginny grimaced at that and shook her head slightly at her. Hermione sighed inwardly, remembering Ron's bad attitude back in first year when she had tried to help him with the regular version of the same spell. So she shut up and settled herself in the last chair in the corner.
Coote continued trying to levitate the feather, though since he wasn't saying the spell softly anymore, he was having even less success and growing increasingly frustrated. Ginny was doing better but Hermione guessed from her scrunched up expression that she was repeatedly saying the spell in her head, instead of calmly visualising.
"You know, there are these breathing exercises you can learn that help to focus the mind. Neville…", Hermione started again, stopping abruptly when she realised that Ginny was now glaring at her, her concentration obviously having been broken with the interruption.
"Sorry", Hermione muttered, "I was writing to Neville and left the letter in the library. I will just go and get it", she finished. With that she got up again and returned to her regular sanctuary.