Alright! Two day gap between chapters. I must say that that's a record of some sort. Not. Anyway, please enjoy:
– Chapter Two: A Fresh Start –
Four years later, Hermione Granger – Head Girl extraordinaire and doting girlfriend of the Boy Who Lived (Harry Potter himself) -- strolled down one of Hogwarts' many corridors in a regal mien, with perfect posture and high nose. It was a wonderful day for learning, she predicted emphatically – despite having stormed out of Divination so long ago ((A/N: Get it? Predicted? Divination? Ha-ha, okay that wasn't as funny as I originally though it was)).
"Creevey, must I constantly have to remind you to tuck your shirt in?" she chided the sixth year while still maintaining the speed of her gait. Hermione had almost mastered the art of simultaneously reprimanding others and carrying on with life. It was practically her hobby, save for studying and saving the world from the Dark Lord. It had been a wild ride, but nothing – absolutely nothing – was going to blemish what she hoped would be her perfect last year.
"Accio dung bomb," muttered Hermione, as she retrieved the horrid gizmo from the troublesome Lysander Strife. If he had a twin, the two would present a striking caricature of the memorable Fred and George Weasley. Hermione didn't stall or look back, even if she heard him call her a prig. As Head Girl, she was constantly on the receiving end of a lot of sass from younger students – but it was all detailed in the job description, was it not?
Feeling absolutely ravenous as she finally reached the Great Hall, Hermione scanned the echoing cavern of a room for her regular mates, hoping to catch up on things over supper. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown waved at her to come and join them, probably to recount their latest exciting romantic excursion. Hermione graciously declined; it took much prior bracing until she was ready to discuss wizarding contraceptives and whatnot.
She briefly caught the eye of Draco Malfoy at the far table that hosted the Slytherin house. He had surprisingly obtained the rank of her counterpart – Head Boy – and since then had become a regular feature in her life. He actually wasn't so insufferable anymore ever since his widely-publicized emancipation from the known Death Eater Lucius Malfoy. It was all over the news, even starting a revolution of virtuous offspring detaching themselves from embarrassing and hateful relationships with their Death Eater parents. Though the two had not established what would by definition be called a 'friendship', Hermione and Draco proved to be compatible colleagues who contributed their various talents and knack for authority to the student government. Hermione nodded curtly, half-smiling, as Draco did the same and carried on with an avid conversation with the puggish Pansy Parkinson. Mutual respect was really something to be cherished.
Hermione fingered her badge, wondering where her two best friends were. She sighed, finding Neville Longbottom and bidding him good evening.
"'Lo, 'Mione," he mumbled glumly.
"What's wrong, Neville?" she inquired, eagerly grabbing a dinner roll from a basket burgeoning with them. Neville was usually sullen these days, though he had a scrap of dignity left to keep from letting others know exactly why. Hermione assumed it had something to do with his parents and their permanent residence at Mungo's, but she had the sense not to press the matter – but instead lent him her friendship and understanding. It made good character building, exactly what Hermione needed if she was to become a successful individual in life. Hermione dismissed the inkling that she could be too analytical sometimes in interacting with others, instead thinking that one had to be assertive in order to get anywhere in life.
"Oh, nothing. Can't you tell that I'm in an optimistic mood today?" he replied in the same gloomy voice.
"R-really? Oh, well then GOOD for you Neville!" she chimed, smiling and nodding assuredly.
"Look, you don't have to treat me like I'm a mental patient, you know. It's not hereditary or anything!" he snapped suddenly, which made the atmosphere between them quite dour. "Actually, it's just...somebody slashed my mimbulus Mimbletonia during the night. It'll take ages for it to recuperate."
"What! Why would somebody pick on such a defenseless plant?" Hermione demanded, feinting a somewhat outraged disposition.
"Well...it's not exactly defenseless. The culprit was covered in pus -- that's how we caught him."
"Who was it?"
"Umm..." Neville hesitated.
"What? Tell me who it was so I can do justice to this crime!"
"Well...that's the thing, Hermione. Erm, uhh..." Neville had a hard time trying to break it to the avid abider of rules. "Not – not everything's as big a deal as you – you might sometimes sort of make it seem like…kind of. I mean, erm, even you've broken the rules before and maybe it wouldn't hurt to overlook some things once in a while...you know? Just a little bit?" Neville stuttered through his elaboration, the look of fear quite evident in his eyes.
Hermione pursed her lips so tight that her cheeks dimpled. "How could you say such a thing?" she hissed, barely audible. "I am HEAD GIRL. I have standards to uphold and enforce. It's not like anybody else cares about order around here -- so SOMEBODY has to!" She carnally stabbed her fork into a poor, defenseless chicken steak.
"You maybe...You could...You have to see, Hermione. Not all of us are so...so...adamant when it comes to these things..." At each word, Neville seemed to shrink further and further into his seat.
Hermione inhaled sharply, at which the round-faced boy flinched as if pain was being inflicted upon him. She was about to plunge into a rectifying lecture about integrity and moral values when suddenly an awed silence fell about the room. What was going on? Surely she would have been notified of a public announcement beforehand.
Headmaster Dumbledore stood and clinked his goblet to signify that he was about to give a speech. "Students, staff, ghosts," he began, his voicing booming to the very corners of the hall, "I am regretfully sorry to interrupt your meal – I myself was enjoying quite a lovely kidney pie. But I've an important announcement to make, one that we cannot afford to hold off any longer..."
Dumbledore carried on speaking in quite high regard for this mysterious bit of news. Hermione tried to figure out whether it was grave or celebratory. She honestly had no clue.
"...As you all know, our esteemed Madame Hooch has been nursing the concussion she received from refereeing last week's Quidditch tournament. That bludger was speeding towards her head at quite an alarming rate when the collision occurred." For those who were looking for it, they could see the Headmaster sneak a reproachful glance at the culprit Beater at the Slytherin table. "And since she will be absent from our presence for the next semester, we have hastily found a worthy replacement. He is an alumnus of this school, having graduated a mere four years ago. Since then, he has been recruited by the Puddlemere United as their backup Keeper..."
Oh No...Hermione thought. She had definitely not been able to erase the memory of the voyeur debacle from her mind.
"It is both my pleasure and privilege to present to you...Oliver Wood!"
A deafening roar erupted from the Hall – Hogwarts had obviously remembered the famous ex-Gryffindor Keeper very well. Boys were still caught in a jealous admiration for his uncanny ability to defend his goal; the girls never ceased to faun over his athletic body, smouldering eyes and charming wit. Hermione just couldn't see – or maybe she just refused to see – what the rest of the student body was so star-struck about. He wasn't so special…only a top-notch athlete and a fine physical specimen with a sharp brain to match…No, he wasn't so special at all…
Her memory of him was a seventeen-year old boy on a broomstick. The man that walked into the Great Hall today seemed one and the same, yet at the same time wholly different. He carried himself differently. Prouder? More introverted? No, just differently. He exuded an air of subdued modesty now, different from the hotheaded big-shot demeanour she was used to. He seemed darker, more jaded. It was sexy.
No it's not! Hermione's conscience argued. She pursed her lips again, realizing that her mouth had been slightly agape. Hermione had a hard time concentrating on what Mr. Wood was saying to the room.
"...Lastly, it is all my pleasure to be able to finally give back to the school which has taught me so much. Besides, I've got to make sure the Quidditch teams haven't turned into too much of a disappointment since the good ol' days..."
The school's population burst into appreciative guffaws of laughter. Why? WHAT FOR? Hermione demanded inwardly. He didn't say anything remotely funny!
Dumbledore stood once more to say his closing comments and the students dispersed, talking avidly of the phenomenon that just occurred. Hermione stormed out, suddenly in a bad mood as she confiscated every sub-legal item on the way.
"Accio! Accio! Accio!" she spat. Hermione wondered exactly why she acting so moody – it wasn't like Oliver Wood did anything so very bad to her...Then again, he had spied on her when she was fourteen (thinking it was his girlfriend, but still), and he did tease. But it was she who had psychotically chucked the textbooks at his face, and ended up nearly killing the boy. Whatever. I'm a girl. I have the right to PMS. Why should I bloody care?
Hermione was so intent on reaching her dorm room that she collided straight into Harry and Ron. who had smiles the size of bananas.
"What are you so happy about?" she glowered, before adding, "And where have you two been? I was looking for you."
Harry and Ron looked at each other in a confidential sort of way, still beaming. Like flustered little schoolgirls, Harry started, "We were chosen – "
"Hand-picked, actually," butted in Ron.
"We were specially hand-picked by Dumbledore to be Oliver's escorts to the building today, and we're going to be his personal assistants for his class during his entire stay!" finished Harry, as if Christmas had come early and sitting under his tree (no sexual innuendo intended) was Cho Chang wrapped scantily in ribbon and nothing else.
"Oh...well, I'm ecstatic for you both," replied Hermione in quite a less-than-ecstatic tone.
Unfazed, the two stooges hurried off, no doubt to provide their hospitable services to Mr. Wood. Why did he even need escorts? The man had gone to the same school himself for seven years, and she doubted that Hogwarts had undergone any major renovations since he left.
At half past nine, Hermione slipped under her red- and gold-coloured duvet. Deciding that she'd leave everything until the morrow, she fell into a restless dream consisting of Flitwick charming purple slices of tiramisu into Cornelius Fudge's large, spotted buttocks.
–
Oliver Wood woke up to a startling sight. It was like déjà vu, having being greeted by the shimmer of velvet bed curtains in the morning. Actually, deja vu wasn't quite the right term. And, upon checking his clock, it was actually quarter to noon, and he was inexcusably late for work.
"Shit." Oliver tore out of his room, pulling on his robes on the way to the Quidditch pitch, fastening the last button just as he appeared to a catastrophic class being supervised by Harry Potter and his friend Red-haired What's-his-face. Rob. No, Ron. That was it.
"Walters! Stop taunting the Whomping Willow!" yelled Harry in horror, just before the seventeen-year old was hit in the back of the head by a renegade broomstick whose rider was lost in its flight. Meanwhile, Ron was having his own problems, trying to chase down a pair of First Years who had the impulsive desire to elope right then and there during Flying class. Half a mile up in the air, the faint call of, "YOU'RE RUINING YOUR FUTURES!" could barely be heard.
This is going to result in a very big migraine, thought Oliver, as he set out to restore order to this mad, mad scene.
By dinnertime, the newly-commissioned flying coach was having second thoughts about taking up this job. He was physically and psychologically worn, as if he had just played a seven-hour long professional match against Puddlemere's biggest rivals, the Tutshill Tornadoes and had learned that they had to do it all over again – riding turtles instead.
I can handle little tykes falling off their broomsticks, but to see them somehow drill three feet into the ground with one? Oliver could hardly hold a fork to his mouth. So this was what being overpowered by a crippling sense of exasperation must feel like...
Oliver excused himself from the table, hoping to take a long soak in the bath – wherever one of those could be found. He quietly left the table and exited quickly from the Great Hall, inwardly making a resolution never to have children of his own.
Absentmindedly, the young Keeper blundered through the next door he saw – how convenient that it turned out to be a spa-like accommodation, complete with relaxing music and revolving disco lights. It suddenly registered in Oliver's mind that this could be the alleged Room of Requirement that he had doggedly searched for when he was still attending Hogwarts. The exhausted individual removed his robes and unbuttoned his shirt and slacks in preparation for a luxurious unwinding. This almost makes up for today, he thought with a little more esteem.
–
Hermione watched Oliver leaving supper – actually, she watched him all during supper as well. He was definitely not the energetic youth he used to be. Hogwarts' new celebrity didn't look like he appreciated the favour of the job at all; she didn't see him smile or speak the entire time. Infuriated (though upon retrospect, she would come to wonder where all this anger stemmed from), Hermione left the Hall shortly after Wood did, half wanting to complete her Ancient Runes class thesis, half wanting to finally confront the vexatious man. But what Hermione fully wanted was closure, though from what she still couldn't figure out. It was an aimless pursuit – the girl had unknowingly transformed into a fanatic without a cause. Maybe she wanted to catch him half-dressed and totally off his guard – that would mix things up a bit, now wouldn't it? Hermione smirked at this outrageous notion.
She turned the corner, absent-mindedly gliding through the first door on the left. She was surprised to encounter quite a lot of steam billowing everywhere that smelled tranquilly of floral essences. When the mist parted, however, Hermione emitted a high shriek, turning red and covering her eyes (though actually peeking surreptitiously through her fingers). Hogwarts' Quidditch Coach substitute coach stood buff naked with his back to her, running his hands through his thick chestnut locks of hair and looking totally...
Hot? No! More like a caveman, or an ogre, Hermione's conscience corrected, but having some reservations about his looking like a caveman. Honestly, he was more like a young Mel Gibson from the back. Even her conscience was being slowly hypnotized by the clouded air. Her legs turned into pillars of lead when the Devil himself reared his seductive head.
She could almost see Oliver's pupils contract, as he panicked and fell into the Jacuzzi beside him. Hermione emitted yet another high-pitched scream, not knowing what to do but stand there and feel so embarrassed she could have a heart attack.
Author's Note: Okay that's it. Not quite the ending I wanted but I hope you guys were satisfied with it.
Anyway, I discovered quite an INTERESTING fact earlier today: OnlyTWO PERCENT of people who came to this page were considerate enough to leave a review! Now isn't that just…confounding? Or just plane insane! In the membrane! (i.e. please review :D. Tell me whether you liked it, hated it, thought it was too mushy/cheesy/sleazy/short/long. Feel free to make predictions, or requests, or corrections. Anything! Anything at all will suffice…)
Well, until next time!