A Girl Named Hermione Granger: Year Four
Chapter Eight: Foot In Mouth Disease
Disclaimer: I wish I owned it, but I don't.
Hermione and Ginny sat bleary eyed at the overstuffed table in the kitchen, helping here and there as Arthur Weasley attempted to cram two large camping tents, two pots, three pans, and enough food to feed ten people for two days, into a single rucksack, without resorting to using magic.
It was, to say the least, rather amusing.
"I don't know how muggles manage with this. It won't fit!" Arthur huffed as he slumped down in his chair at the head of the table, taking a long drink from his tea.
Hermione snorted into her cup of coffee and decided it was time to take pity on her friend's father and give some advice. "Actually, muggles usually need an entire truck to carry everything for camping." As usual, the mention of anything related to muggle behaviour caused a look of awe to sweep over Arthur's face and he let out a whistle; "So not even a muggle could get all that in one bag? That makes me feel a bit better about my struggle."
Ginny picked her at her toast as she watched Hermione separate the pile of camping supplies until it would fit in two bags, with minimal magic. Normally, her father could have simply waved his wand and fit everything into the single bag, and that would have been the end of the struggle. However, the world cup was being held in a forest surrounded by muggle campsites. Thus the conundrum had come to be.
By the time everything was sorted and Hermione had returned to her cup of coffee, Molly was ushering a swarm of yawning, still half asleep boys into the kitchen. "Now you've all over slept and you haven't any time to eat before you leave – don't pout at me, I came 'round an hour ago. You could have all eaten by now."
Charcoal brown and green eyes met over the tops of empty mugs, and the two girls silently agreed to not inform the boys that they'd already eaten. It wasn't their fault if they were easier to wake than the boys were.
The camp site was alive and bursting at the seams with magic, tents were bursting with colours and gadgets, showing off knowledge's and talents – wizards had a terrible habit for showing off. "Did everything suddenly get green?" Harry's voice drew Hermione's attention from a distant tent where a mother was scolding a two year old that had been playing with his father's wand and a slug.
A quick glance at their surroundings confirmed that Harry was right; every tent and decoration in a twenty foot radius of where they stood, and further, were green. "You lot better be rooting for Ireland!" Seamus was bounding toward Hermione, Harry and Ron with excitement written all over his face as the three tried to pass through the small lane. Hermione couldn't help but snicker behind her hand as Harry and Ron exchanged a nervous look – neither of the boys appeared to have given a thought to who they were cheering for.
Of course, neither had she, but that was because she didn't really follow Quidditch too closely, and her father had had no opinions to offer on the matter. But, if cheering for Ireland gave her the excuse to wear green for the day without being judged by fellow Gryffindor classmates, who was she to argue? "Of course we are, I can't wait to see them wipe the Bulgarian's off their brooms." Harry assured Seamus as the sandy haired boy turned his attention to Hermione.
"Never figured you for a Quidditch fan Granger, or are you just tagging along because Ron and Harry are here?"
Ron spluttered off to the side as he and Harry gaped in shock at their dorm mate – they couldn't believe the tone he had just used.
Hermione just sighed and rolled her eyes at the taller boy, "What you don't know could fill several large books, Seamus." She thought, not wanting to start a confrontation with the brash boy. "I'm here of my own accord, Seamus. I've a bit of a soft spot for brooms." She regretted having opened her mouth moments later as Seamus sidled up closer to her and winked, "I could take you up on my broom sometime."
Hermione took a quick step back and raised an eyebrow at Seamus in shock, "I've my own, thanks."
Ron, having watched the exchange in shocked silence, found his tongue as Seamus moved to close the distance between himself and Hermione again, and he cleared his throat loudly, "Sorry mate, we…er…we gotta go. Fetching water for breakfast. C'mon 'mione, Harry."
The trio made their escape and once they were well out of earshot, Hermione turned to her red headed friend and laughed, "Thanks Ron; that was getting a little weird." She had thought, for one brief moment, that Ron and Harry would have let her flounder, trying to brush off the surprising advances of the other Gryffindor boy, but she was relieved that they had her back.
The water was bubbling away merrily on the fire as the three fourth years lounged behind the smaller of the two tents that had been set up; the older Weasley boys having wandered off in search of school friends, and Ginny having gone for a nap while waiting for the fire to heat.
"You haven't written much this summer, Hermione, what have you been up to?" Harry sat sitting cross legged in the patchy grass, toying with the laces on his trainers which were about two sizes too big for his feet.
"Oh, well, I was in a summer league, playing football with the kids in town. I did homework, yes, you can copy it Ron, but you're writing your own essay." Hermione chided as Ron opened his mouth to protest. "Let's see…what else…Oh, I've been visiting with Ginny a lot – don't look so put out Harry, my dad wasn't crazy about the idea either and I couldn't very well floo to your aunt and uncle's, and I live a good two hours from where you are."
"You lot get to have all the fun. You get to hang out and fly your brooms and go see films, while I have to resort to studying my texts in the middle of the night underneath the bed sheets." The bitterness was buried deep in his tone, but the fourteen-year-old girl picked up on it with ease and rolled her eyes. "It's not all that glamorous Harry, I've spent a great deal of time doing chores for Julie – she's moved in to the house next to us."
Ron chose this moment to bring himself into the conversation, by laughing awkwardly, "Ginny told me you got left in London when you helped her move. Did you really run into a werewolf? D'you reckon it was Lupin?"
"I don't know Ron, I didn't get a very good look at it; the knight bus pulled me aboard before I really knew what was going on." She shuddered as the memory of the dark, lonely night fell over her mind, "Dad nearly blew everything the next morning. Soon as he realized that I wasn't with Julie or Jane or David; came to the Leaky cauldron and hammered down the door to my room – I think Tom knows now, too. A whole lot of people know…" It bothered her more than she thought it would, to know that the secret was fast becoming public knowledge.
Harry and Ron, well she was fine with them knowing. And of course Dumbledore and a few select teachers' knew; and Draco's mother, she could handle that. But, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy and Blaise knew too; and so did the entire Weasley family. And potentially a bar tender in Diagon Ally. Add that all up, and it's not even half as dangerous as the fact that Wormtail knows. Soon, she wouldn't be able to hide, and she knew it would cause a huge ripple effect. People didn't like being lied to.
"Hey, don't worry, 'mione, even if it does get out, we've got your back." Harry reached over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and she attempted to smile weakly, "I'm not too worried about my back, if this gets out any more Harry, I'm worried about the front. It's the confrontations I can't stand."
With a shiver, she shifted and scooted over to sit between the boys and threw her arms around their shoulders, "Let's not think about it for now, we're at the world cup for Merlin's sake! Let's take in the sights – lunch will be a while yet I bet."
A tiny little figurine prowled moodily across the palm of Ron's hand, the red head quite thoroughly delighted to have been able to purchase it from the wandering merchants in the camp area. "Victor Krum, he's the youngest professional seeker, only eighteen! He's still in school," Ron boasted as harry and Hermione watched the magical figurine, one in awe and the other with a furrowed brow.
"He looks remarkably like, well," Hermione hesitated a moment and dropped her voice so the boys had to lean in closer to hear her, "he looks remarkably like Kathrine." She let her eyes sweep over the slouched shoulders and mop of dark hair, the surly face and thick black eyebrows. Indeed, she could see a few similarities.
Ron scowled and pulled back from the huddle, bringing the figurine close to his chest protectively, "Don't be ridiculous, Krum doesn't have anything to do with any death eaters, he's – he's a Quidditch player!"
Harry sighed and stepped back to examine his new golden omnioculars, not wanting to be too close to the argument that was undoubtedly about to break out.
"Honestly Ron, you don't have to be so – you can't tell just by looking at a person!" Hermione huffed, crossing her arms as she fixed the red head with a glare so intense, Harry was certain she'd learned it from her father. "Oi, you can too, sometimes. Take Snape for example, one look at him and I knew he was a no good – er, 'mione, what are you doing with that?"
The second Ron had let her father's name slip, Hermione had clutched her own omnioculars so tight that her knuckles began to turn stock white; and before Ron had even finished his sentence, she had them raised and ready to lash out and strike him with them. It was just incredibly fortunate for the red head that Arthur chose that moment to come around the tent with Ginny at his heels, "Oh there you are – come! I want you all to meet – Hermione, why are you about to…you know what? Never mind, just come over here and save that for later."
Put off by the new audience, Hermione let her hand drop back to her side, still clutching the omnioculars far tighter than was necessary, and spun on her heel to go stand by Ginny and hopefully get a hold of her current anger. She wasn't quite certain why Ron's words had bothered her as badly as they did, as she had grown to accept that her two friends would never like her father.
Harry and Ron stayed behind a moment as Hermione disappeared around the tent with Arthur and Ginny, and the shorter of the two ran his hand through his dark, messy hair with a sigh of relief. "Ron, you are so lucky your dad showed up when he did." Both boys were quite well aware of how hard Hermione could hit – they'd seen the proof of that when she had decked Malfoy during the school year. "Blimey, don't I know it. Do me a favour? Next time I start putting my foot in my mouth; tell me shut up, yeah?"
A snort of laughter escaped the dark haired boy as he made his way to join the others at the front of the tent, "Only if you do the same for me." "Deal."
When the two boys finally came around to the front of the tent, they saw Fred and George making an exchange with a man in vibrant yellow and black striped Quidditch robes, with the picture of a wasp over his chest. One look at him was enough to have the boys decide that he was a man trying to relive his prime – and failing. His nose was crooked, and his gut protruded under his robes and over all, he looked nothing like the brilliant Quidditch player he had used to be. For they knew instantly that he was Ludo Bagman, former member of the England team. His profile was covered in a few different Quidditch books they had stumbled across in the library.
"Pleasure doing business with you boys, such guts, don't fancy your odds." Ludo exclaimed with a broad grin as he slipped a book and quill into his pocket. Judging by the disapproving look on Hermione's face, Harry could tell the twins had placed a bet – an outlandish one, probably – on the outcome of the match.
"I really don't think –" Arthur voiced his protests, not for the first time, but was cut off by Ludo waving his hand dismissively, "Come now Arthur, they're old enough to know what they want. Now, don't suppose you could do me a brew? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch, my Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties and I can't understand a word of it. But Barty'll figure it out, speaks about a hundred fifty languages."
Hermione watched from beside Ginny as Percy perked up at the mention of Mr. Crouch. She vaguely recalled having heard that Percy was working as an assistant to him in the Ministry since he had graduated from Hogwarts at the beginning of the summer; but as she and Percy were far from being close – thanks to a few choice words he had never bothered to take back – she didn't know much more than that on the matter, nor did she care to. Turning to Ginny she whispered an apology and slipped away from the camp for a while, to wander on her own.
Excitement was starting to build up by the time Hermione had returned to the camp, holding a few programmes and a bag of chocoballs – filled with strawberry mouse and clotted cream – in a much better mood than she had been. Sugar, so it seemed, had done a wonderful job to ease her temper.
"It's time!" Arthur exclaimed with excitement as a loud gong rang out through the area, and a path of green and red lanterns appeared in the forest not far from where their tents were set up. Hermione felt excitement bubble up in her chest as she handed each of her friends a programme and popped another chocoballs into her mouth, before following Mr. Weasley and the rest down the path towards the Quidditch pitch that had been constructed deep in the forest.
Hermione was fit to burst as she reclined in her seat in the private box. They were on level with the goal posts, and in the exact middle of the pitch; on her right, Harry was conversing with a house elf named Winky. She was trying very hard to not get worked up when she confessed that she was terrified of heights, but saving the seat next to her for her master – like a good, obedient house elf should. She hated how house elves were treated by wizards, especially considering that they were actually quite powerful magical creatures. Wouldn't it be much wiser on the wizard's behalf to treat the house elves well?
Trying to distract herself from where her train of thoughts was headed, Hermione flipped open her programme and skimmed the events, "There's going to be a display of the team's mascots before the match," she read aloud, once the house elf had turned away and Harry's attention had wandered back towards his friends.
"Oh, that's always worth watching," Arthur hummed with a grin from where he was seated at the end of the row. "National teams bring creatures from their homeland to put on a bit of a show."
For the next half hour, while Hermione was scolding Ron and Harry for toying with their omnioculars to watch people in the stands further down, witches and wizards piled into the box, filling up the twenty or so seats.
A shiver ran down her spine as she was in the midst of checking out the many nobs and dials on her own pair of omnioculars, and she glanced around to lock eyes with perhaps the most dangerous man to her comfortable life – Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa and Draco were standing just behind him, and each flashed her a quick, almost invisible smile, before pretending as though they were distressed to find not only her and Harry in the top box, but the Weasley's as well. To the left of Lucius was Cornelius Fudge, trying to introduce as many people as he could to the wealthy, stuck up blonde man, despite the fact that half the people in the box seemed to only speak Bulgarian.
The moment Arthur locked eyes with Lucius tension filled the box, and Hermione wondered if she could sneak out for a bit, instead of sitting through the insults that were likely to be slung back and forth at any moment. Unsurprisingly, it was Lucius to go first.
"Good lord Arthur, what did you have to sell to get seats up here? I sincerely doubt your house would have fetched this much." Fudge, of course, was oblivious to the insult behind the words, or perhaps just not listening, as he babbled on about the latest donation Lucius had made to St Mungo's.
Before he left to take his seat, Lucius turned his cold stare back to Hermione, the look in his eyes clearly telling her that he was highly suspicious of her, even if he had no proof of anything. It frightened her to know that he not only suspected her father of having lied about her being alive, but that he seemed to have an inkling that she was in fact her father's daughter and not the muggle born she pretended to be. Considering the last time he had figured it out, he'd attacked her in the middle of a public park. She was worried that the memory charm her father had cast on him may have been slipping.
Feigning innocence, she turned to face the front of the box again and began to ask Ron to show her the way the omnioculars worked, trying to act as though she hadn't already figured them out; seeing as Harry was having a hell of a time trying to sort out what dial did what.
Before long, Ludo Bagman came rushing into the box and began the announcing of the Quidditch cup with a magically enhanced voice.
End chapter eight!
I know, it's been a week longer than intended, to get this chapter up, and you're all going to hate me, but the next chapter skips to the death eater attack after the match. I simply don't have motivation to write more on the Quidditch at the moment. You'd be waiting another two weeks at least, and I'd rather not do that to you; especially seeing as my writing mojo is coming back.
I had some fun with this chapter, took a few liberties with the events, and Seamus. And Krum. Boy have I thought up something amazing for him. (Imagine my evil grin here)
Those of you who guess it, shhhh, lets keep it between us till I pop it out in a few chapters.
I'm actually terribly embarrassed to admit this, but I've forgotten the way I described Hermione's eye colour in previous stories in this series. I fully intend to re-read years one through three and fix anything I've buggered that needs to be fixed. But I think most of you are just excited enough I've returned, and probably wont ring me out to dry over any itty-bitty mistakes.
I did want this chapter to be a little fuller, but I was also eager to post it and let you all know I'm still writing. On the bright side, I quite amused myself with the events above, and I think you'll be relatively amused too.
I'll end my author ramble now, and bid you all good day, and offer my thanks over the reviews I've received, with the switch over on my email, I lost the messages containing most of them, I think, but I don't remember receiving any questions that needed answering... but if I did, and the question still stands, please ask again and I'll answer it in the end of the next chapter (which I will post on or by Wednesday next week - no more than six days from now.