Chapter: 6 Of all the stupid insensitive GITS!
The Headmistress of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry was not an unkind person.
Indeed one would have to travel far to find a teacher who cared more for her students than Minerva McGonagel.
She was however at the very moment at somewhat of a quandary.
The issue of whether or not to reopen Hogwarts in the New Year was weighing heavily on her.
The school governors said no.
The teachers said yes.
The parents said maybe.
Tiredly she glared at the portrait of the late Albus Percival Wulfric … Brian, Dumbledore, still apparently asleep in his ornate frame.
'I know you can hear me Albus.' She stated flatly, not fooled in the least by the gentle snores emanating from the portrait.
'You started this mess when you decided to go off adventuring in the middle of the night and now its time to help me fix it!' She found herself shouting and blushed in self-conscious embarrassment.
Imagine, she thought to herself, the Headmistress of Hogwarts telling off the portrait of a dead man for causing trouble!
Sighing heavily she let her stern gaze travel over the many portraits of faculty gone by and idly wondered whether someday she would be among them.
Certainly, the thought sprang up unbidden; you'll be remembered as the Headmistress who never had a first term.
Her grim musings were suddenly interrupted by an almost silent signal that she had a visitor waiting at the gargoyle.
Hoping with all her heart that it wasn't another one of those insufferable governors she arranged herself behind the desk that she still regarded as the property of Dumbledore and did her very best to present a stern yet positive face as she bade the Gargoyle open.
The sound of rushing feet drifted up to her, dispelling the possibility of a Governor.
They did not run.
If ever one deigned to move himself, a Governor strutted.
The ancient oaken door burst open revealing the most amazing (an slightly horrific) sight that the headmistress had ever seen.
A broadly grinning Alastor Moody.
#
The minutes seemed to drag by eternally as Hermione sat her silent vigil at Harry's side.
Her parents had come and gone several times bringing food books and several other knickknacks that the elder Grangers thought their daughter might need.
Among these items lay Harry's burn wand along with her own. It had been discovered on the person of Malfoy Senior before his timely removal by the ever-pathetic ministry aurors.
Morning rolled by, the gray dawn casting its weak light on the silent house.
Harry slept on and Hermione sat, determined to be there when he woke up.
She barely even wondered why no-one from the order had come by yet nor any ministry personnel.
Sometime after dawn, though she never knew what time it was exactly, there came the sound of a large commotion from downstairs.
Thinking that the order had finally arrived, Hermione debated silently whether to go and greet them or remain at her savior's side.
Deciding firmly on the later she remained seated and listened.
…clean muggles…
…what's that button do then?…
…not here for that children…
…Batteries? No I don't why would you…
The scraps of sound carried dimly to her ears revealing the presence of the Weasly clan.
Wonderful, even the voice in her mind dripped sarcasm, when you need them they're nowhere to be found but now the dangers passed and they pop up like mushrooms in fall…
Loud clumsy footfalls altered her that at least one Weasly (or a herd of elephants) was heading for the room she and Harry were in.
JOY.
The door was flung open by none other than the famous Ronald Weasly himself come to join battle with the forces of darkness… several hours after they had left.
Hermione felt like spitting some or other nasty and preferably fatal curse at him.
Her message to Harry had not been her first. The Deatheaters had forced her to continue her regular correspondence in order to ensure that they were not discovered.
Nine.
Nine bloody letters she'd sent the dullard in front of her, all fairly screaming for help, and now here he was ready to offer comfort after it was all over.
'Hermy!' he exclaimed cheerfully, totally ignoring Harry's comatose form.
'I was so worried! I'd wanted to come sooner but mum said we couldn't! I heard that you a little trouble here?' his blue eyes shifted constantly, the color reminding her dirty dishwater.
Anger.
That was not something she was used to.
Her world was the world of 'Books and Cleverness' as she herself had so suciently put it, oh so long ago. In this tidy intellectual world anger, frustration and aggression did not feature largely…
Thus leaving her totally unprepared for the powerful emotions surging through her now.
'So… uh, Hermione you know how like… you're a girl… and uh… I'm a bloke… right…?
The fool was digging his own grave with his mouth.
'So uh, would you, you know… like to go out with me?'
#
Downstairs the Weaslys and Grangers all instinctively ducked as a sound like gunfire amplified a thousand times rang through their very bones.