Hey guys, hope you're all ready for the latest instalment! Special thanks to c0lorless r0ses for the review, I really appreciate it! As always, feel free to r&r, I'm always happy to receive feedback :) Enjoy!
The fire crackled in Hermione's fireplace as she scribbled the conclusion on Professor Starkwell's Dementor essay. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was a tall, thin woman who reminded Hermione of a cross between a Colonel and a young Professor McGonagall – her thin mouth and broad shoulders gave off the same no-nonsense attitude she had come to expect from the Headmistress.
There was a sharp knock at the door and Charlie Jackson walked in, his arms full of envelopes. He deposited them all on her desk with a grin, watching them skitter across the still-wet ink of her Defence Against the Dark Arts essay.
"And this is…"
Charlie ran his hands through his sandy brown hair. "Your fan mail. It's been screened, don't worry. I was passing by the Owlery on my way here and thought I'd pick it up for you."
Hermione stared at the pile of letters, all addressed to her, and gulped. One of them had an enormous lipstick kiss plastered across the back, and another had dotted the 'i' in her name with a tiny heart.
"Oh dear," she muttered, picking it up as though it were a bomb about to explode.
Charlie laughed. "I'd be flattered, if I were you. You must have had more proposals than half the school put together."
Hermione grimaced.
"Anyway," said Charlie, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, "here's the Quidditch timetable, just like you asked for."
"Thank you," she said, taking the piece of paper and scanning it briefly, "hopefully this time we should be able to avoid any clashes with the prefect rota. How's the team getting along, by the way?"
"Great! We'll have the Cup in the bag, no problem. Course, you could always come down and see for yourself," he added, glancing up at her in a carefully casual way, "the team don't mind a few spectators, and we usually all go for drinks after…"
Ah.
There it was.
She had suspected for some time that Charlie had a crush on her – her newfound celebrity status seemed to make half the wizarding world find her dazzlingly attractive, though Hermione didn't see it herself – but so far, the presence of her equally famous boyfriend had warded most of them off.
But not, it seemed, Charlie Jackson.
"Well, I'll have to see about that," she said, her voice as neutral as she could make it as she sorted through the letters on her desk, "I've been so busy lately, I might not have time. Thank you for the offer, though, and good luck for the first match."
She did not look up at him, but when he spoke, Charlie's voice was laden with defeat.
"Yeah, sure," he mumbled, closing the door behind him with a snap.
Hermione scanned through her fan mail – a process which took the best part of an hour – and ended up throwing most of it on her fire. It wasn't that she was ungrateful – she did, after all, appreciate that people might want to thank her for saving the world – but after the third picture of a fat, middle aged wizard doing a striptease she really couldn't take any more of it.
Instead, she went down to the greenhouses.
She was halfway down the seventh-floor corridor when she all but collided with Professor McGonagall.
"I'm so sorry, Professor –"
"Not to worry, not to worry," said the Headmistress, brushing the last of the dust from her robes, "I was just looking for you, Miss Granger. Might I have a word?"
Hermione nodded, and Professor McGonagall led her back along the corridor and towards the gargoyle that guarded the Head's Office. It had been magically fixed – although a web of cracks was sprawled across its stone neck – and, when Professor McGonagall snapped the password, it sprang aside and allowed them both to climb the spiral staircase.
"Dragon's liver."
Professor McGonagall opened the door to her office and sat behind her enormous desk. The office was rather sterner than Hermione had seen it before. The lack of tables and delicate instruments made the room look much larger than she had ever seen it, and a tartan biscuit tin gleaming on the desk was the only pop of colour in the entire room.
Hermione sat down in a mercilessly straight-backed chair on the other side of the desk.
"Now then, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, fixing her with a particularly steely glare, "how are you getting on?"
Hermione blinked at her.
"Excuse me, Professor?"
"I understand you've been taking on rather a lot of extra work recently," said McGonagall, "aside from your school work and prefect duties – which I understand must be strenuous after the departure of our Head Boy – you have been helping with the reconstruction of the castle and, as I understand it, have just begun to tutor Draco Malfoy."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. How Professor McGonagall had come to hear that, barely a day after their first session…
"Miss Granger," said the Headmistress, in a low, understanding tone of voice, "I understand that this must be a difficult time for you. This is your first year apart from Mr Potter and Mr Weasley, and given everything that has happened over the past year – well, it is more than understandable that you want to keep yourself busy. But please remember, Miss Granger, that your school days are not just a time for work, and that the responsibility of running the castle does not rest solely on the shoulders of the Head Girl."
Hermione nodded. Professor McGonagall fixed her with a particularly beady look.
"As you know, Miss Granger, the school has chosen to reinstate the Yule Ball this year. I know that we had arranged for you and the rest of the prefects to patrol the corridors on that night, but I'm going to have to make an adjustment."
"Professor?"
Professor McGonagall smiled at her. "It is mandatory for you to attend. Not in your capacity as Head Girl, but as an ordinary student of this school."
"But Professor –"
"That's quite enough, Miss Granger, I've made up my mind. Merlin knows it's the only way I'll be able to ensure that you get at least one night off this term."
Professor McGonagall smiled, and Hermione understood that she had been dismissed.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione paused, her hand already on the doorknob. "Yes, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall sighed. "Do be careful."