Chapter 8: The Past and Future Head Girl

Monday, September 29, 1944

6:45 P.M.

After a good half hour of being grilled about her previous educational experience by Armando Dippet, Hermione couldn't help but recall Harry's opening words following the time travellers' group meeting with the man in question ("Have I already mentioned that I don't like Dippet?").

Frail-looking, bald except for a few wisps of hair, Dippet sat in the Headmaster's chair with an air of detached indifference unlike any Dumbledore had ever given off and spoke in a higher-pitched voice that reminded Hermione of a droning siren. And that damn grandfather clock was still there.

Just as Hermione was about ready to let out a shriek of pure impatience, Dippet whipped out a piece of parchment from the same envelope that the future Dumbledore had sent back in time. The new – old - Headmaster professionally went on to smooth it out on the desk, studying the elegantly scripted charts, numbers, and letters carefully.

He seemed to be going through a mental debate in his mind. Hermione could tell by the way his eyes constantly shifted back and forth between the paper he had just pulled out and another sheet of parchment alongside it, comparing them, considering them.

Without being too obvious, she locked her light brown eyes on the upside-down handwriting and tilted her head slightly to the right, her curls again sweeping across her left eye. Unexpectedly, a dizzying wave of déjà vu washed over her, momentarily pulling her back, back to that first meeting with Dumbledore on the night of her graduation...

The meeting that had started it all. She gave her head a small, unnoticeable shake. Come on, Hermione, back to centre! she thought to herself encouragingly. Squinting, she narrowed her eyes and refocused on the parchment across the desk from her chair. And blinked. Almost immediately, Hermione recognised the writing. It was not Dumbledore's hand; that would have been too easily recognisable to Dippet. No, it was McGonagall's unmistakable, graceful loops that filled out a transcript. A transcript with an elaborate Academy of the Sun insignia.

"As I previously explained to you and the other five transferees", Dippet began, his voice slightly distracted as he every so often continued to ruffle through the parchments, "the student hierarchy at Hogwarts includes two prefects from each year after fourth, and, at the top, one head boy and one head girl. The recipients of the latter titles are chosen from the seventh year as those students with the highest marks. Our Head Boy this year was the most obvious choice we've had in a good many years. Wonderful boy". He frowned and shook his head slightly. "He was the only choice, really..."

Well, how nice of you to say. Really raises all those other boys' self-esteems.

"Our originally selected Head Girl, however, declined her position when she was notified of it over the summer. Her family moved to France a few years ago, and I believe she intends to transfer to Beauxbatons for her last year. My next choice would have been a Slytherin, Miranda Wilkes", Dippet explained. He seemed to hesitate deliberately, and Hermione leaned toward him to catch the punch line, for she was sure one would follow, though she couldn't quite see what was so suspenseful about the conversation... "That was until I viewed your... extremely exceptional record."

Hermione' sharp mind didn't miss the implied invitation in his vague words. Is he asking me to... He is asking me! Outwardly, she didn't phase in the least as she sat, upper body still poised halfway over the desk, her chin nestled in her cupped hand, her interested eyes never leaving Dippet's expectant face. Frowning slightly, she theatrically mulled over the proposition. "Well, that is a rather large commitment..."

Inwardly, she was about to burst in excitement. The odds of getting to be Head Girl... two years in a row... Who ever got to repeat the once in a lifetime opportunity of being Head Girl? Dumbledore, you are a miracle.

"But I'll take it", she finished decisively, trying to hide the suspiciously Draco-like smirk that was dangerously threatening to burst across her face. Oh, the games had most definitely just begun.

7: 18 P.M.

"Harriman, Alice?"

... "RAVENCLAW!"...

Waves of scattered applause.

"Jules, Godfrey?"

"Godfrey?" Ron cackled delightedly from a dimly lit side alcove off the Head's table of the Great Hall. He was impatiently hovering near the thin slab of wood separating Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Draco, Lavender, and himself from the entire Hogwarts population, peeking through a gap in the doorway. "I might die of mortification before I walked around with that horrendous name... Lav, what are you doing?"

"I'm working", Lavender replied crossly. She had already uttered a dodgy-sounding darkening spell on Hermione's hair. Now she studied the new Head Girl critically before pointing her wand straight at Hermione's face and muttering, "Cabria solus". Involuntarily whimpering, Hermione watched, feeling sick, as the top of her originally creamy coloured hands visibly turned several shades darker, and she could only assume that the rest of her body had followed suit.

Ron chuckled again as the Sorting Hat's thunderous bellow of "HUFFLEPUFF!" clearly reached even the side room. "Ooooo, and he's in Hufflepuff, too, poor chap..."

Lavender stepped back, clasping her hands together in front of her as she gravely examined her masterpiece. Hermione, on the other hand, waited apprehensively, holding her breath. Sweet Merlin, what was I thinking letting Lavender do magic on me? her mind screamed in dismay, waiting for Harry or Ron or Ginny or Draco to take one look at her and run in the opposite direction.

Her friend finally grinned in approval, however, and nodded cheerfully, gestures which Hermione didn't exactly find reassuring. "All right, Hermione, you're ready!" she proclaimed with a little clap of her hands, looking beyond pleased with herself.

As soon as the words crossed Lavender's lips, Draco pointedly caught the now-tanned brunette's gaze, theatrically widened his eyes, and covered his face with a hand. With his other, he reached out and grabbed Harry's arm, yanking him away from Ginny and to his side. "Evans, save me from the thing!" he wailed.

Hermione gave him a withering look. "Oh, why don't you go hide yourself in a corner, ferret", she snapped waspishly, vehemently lifting one now dark chocolate curl off her shoulder and holding it in front of her face to examine it. "Hermione, ignore the prat. You look really, really nice", Ginny said sincerely, coming up beside Harry and examining Hermione herself. "I'm serious, you do. You could definitely pass as Egyptian, and you look beautiful", she insisted warmly when Hermione dropped the curl back to her shoulder and looked over at her with a very doubtful expression.

"Gin's right, Hermione", Harry said with a critical nod. "You look brilliant. Not that you didn't before, but... Probably good enough to catch even Voldemort's eye, if he had a heart", he joked dryly. He shook his arm out of Draco's grip and looked at him sternly. "Du Lac, tell Hermione that she looks really nice". Slowly, Draco lowered his hand from his face and peered at her warily. "You look... better," he relented grudgingly.

"Bloody hell, I see a younger McGonagall!" Ron abruptly hissed in a both disturbed and gleeful-sounding voice. He leapt back into the alcove and waved them toward the cracked-open door. "Come on, you lot... Come look at this!"

Shooting one last dirty look in Draco's direction, Hermione curiously edged up to the door, taking Ron's place and glancing through the narrow slit between the edge of the door and the wall. The first thing she saw was light, lots of it, followed by big black blobs of masses of students in school robes. Almost as quickly, the tantalising, mouth-watering scent of the welcome feast wafted through the air, and her stomach rumbled loudly at the scrumptious thought of dinner after understandably missing lunch.

As her eyes adjusted, she could make out specific students individually. Her eyes scanned the Gryffindor table, quickly landing on a slender, pony-tailed brunette who looked to be in her fourth or fifth year. The girl's face was startlingly similar the McGonagall she knew, except that this McGonagall, who a quill stuck through the back of her ponytail, her hair holding the writing utensil firmly in place, was whispering something in the ear of the girl beside her, and she was smiling.

Amazing! Even so, seeing a familiar face, even a younger one, eased a bit of the apprehensive tension that had begun to build inside Hermione. A hand lightly shifting some of her cascade of tamed tresses back from around her face, however, caused her to halt her analysis of her future Head of House. She pulled her nose back into the dark alcove, glanced over her shoulder, and met Harry's weathered but friendly face.

"Care to play I spy Lord Voldemort?" he asked dryly, leaning his head down close beside hers so he could see through the crack as well. There was another thing Hermione loved about Ginny. Ginny was the only girlfriend Harry had ever had who understood that the love between Hermione and Harry, unbreakable and powerful as it was, was purely platonic. Always had been, and always would be. They had been through too much together for it to be anything more.

His warm breath puffed gently against her neck, and she briefly closed her eyes at the comforting sensation. Reopening them, she momentarily watched his emerald eyes carefully observe the room before she responded with a resigned sigh and a defeated wave of her hands. "Why not?"

Turning her attention back to the Great Hall, Hermione immediately spied the Slytherin table. Her eyes ran down it in systematic motion as she looked for the live version of the yearbook picture with which she had so familiarised herself during the past week...

"Hermione," Harry suddenly said in a low voice. "I want you to listen to me. This is going to be mostly you, you know. You're going to be the one close to him, more than anyone else, probably." He sighed and distractedly ran a hand through his hair. "Merlin, Hermione, I don't like this. I mean, it'd be one thing if you were staying with one of us, but you're going to share an entire common room with just him! Do you realise what he could do to you in there?"

A small vein of panic tricked into Hermione's mind, and she quickly shoved it away as best as she could. It wasn't that she hadn't thought about any of those things - oh, no, they had most definitely crossed her mind - but from the way she saw it, at that moment in time, they didn't exactly have many more better options. No, she would do what she had to do like she had resolved in 1998, and she would just have to deal with the results.

Deserting her search for Lord Voldemort, she faced Harry fully. Reaching up, she fondly rested a hand on his cheek, her eyes sparkling warmly. "Harry, Harry, Harry", she whispered in a slight tease. "Don't worry about me; I'm a big girl!" As the attraction of their friendship magnetically drew them closer together, Hermione smiled reassuringly at the Boy-Who-Lived. "I can handle this. You, of all people, should know that. I can handle it," she repeated in a fierce whisper at the torn expression on his face.

Harry smiled half-heartedly but sighed, long tufts of jet black hair falling messily into his concerned face and sticking out from his head in random places. "I know you can handle most everything, I know you can," he murmured so the others couldn't hear. "But I know Voldemort, too, and you've never met him face to face... when there's just you, and just him, and nothing else in between but your wands..."

His eyes darkened behind his glasses. Hermione didn't doubt that he was recalling his numerous crossings with the Dark Lord, more crossings than any one man should have to face in a lifetime, but he eventually tilted his head down at her, resolutely refocusing on her face.

"Hermione, you need to hear it, and better you hear it from me now than from me in the Hospital Wing", he muttered. "Voldemort's dangerous; he's manipulative; he's everything you don't want to be around day in and day out, and Hermione, I don't care how sympathetic Dumbledore put his early years, he's already voluntarily killed two people — And you know I worry," he added in a lighter tone as Dippet's undeniably strident voice rang out, reaching even the shadowy crevasses in the damp stone walls of the six's small alcove.

"And we move on to our seventh year transfer students!"

"Yeah, Harry, you do," Hermione said quietly. Do you ever. "But... I appreciate it. It's always nice to know that someone cares." She smiled at him feebly, but her composure wavered as the sharp voice of the newly introduced Professor McDewitt barked out, "Dumbledore Nefertari, Hermione?"

"Yeah, Hermione", Ginny rooted as Harry pecked Hermione lightly on the top of her head and turned her around toward the half-open doorway. "That's you", he said with an encouraging push.

"Luck, Nefertari," Draco drawled, sending Hermione a wink and a grin before she could make her way out into the great beyond. His typical overconfidence, especially after his cute little comment about her appearance, was all it took for Hermione's competitive buoyancy to rush back.

"Luck?" Hermione echoed, tossing her shining curls over her shoulders and straightening her back. She smiled at Draco teasingly, taking a step backward into the Great Hall. "I don't need luck, ferret, remember?" She returned an exaggerated, flirty wink at him and whispered conspiratorially, "I'm born with it." Draco's mouth actually fell open at Hermione's uncharacteristic cattiness. "Hey!"

And Hermione was left strolling out to the Sorting Hat - still ancient, ripped, and placed on a stool in the front of the Great Hall - amid the hushed whispers of gossiping students following her emergence from the alcove, and an annoyed male voice calling from somewhere outside the Hall, "Hey! She stole my line!"