Chapter 2 - The Morning After
Hermione awoke the next morning with a dry mouth, a cracking headache and a foreboding sense that she had done something terrible. At least I appear to be in a bed, she thought to herself while trying to pin down how she got there. Unfortunately, the final hours of the night were blurred together into one embarrassing, emotional lump. She shifted across the mattress into a beautifully cool patch of bedding and fumbled under the pillows until she found her wand, directed it to her mouth and silently cast a jet of wonderfully cold water down her throat.
The vague anxiety grew until it could no longer be ignored, and after testing the relationship between sudden movement and the threat of vomiting, Hermione decided to at least attempt to get up. She found her smoky clothes in a pile near the door, dressed, cast a lacklustre cleaning charm on herself, smoothed the bush on her head - formally known as her hair - down as much as it was possible and managed to find her way downstairs into Harry's kitchen. Pushing open the door she was confronted by bright sunlight, the pungent smell of bacon and Harry's irritatingly perky demeanour.
"Hermione! You're the first one up. Come and take a seat. Breakfast?" Harry bounded over and shoved a glass of something red and thick into her hands.
"No, Harry... I'm so hungover," she croaked. "Please. Please leave me alone."
"I thought you might say that. This is my special hangover cocktail, a 'Pure Bloody Mary.'" He grinned at her expression. "No, there's no vodka, just a shot of Pepperup Potion. Honestly, it will do the trick."
She took a tentative sip, and after finding it quite pleasant, a longer one and followed Harry over to the large scrubbed oak table and sank down into a wooden chair. If she sat completely still, then maybe she would be okay.
"Bacon?" Harry asked.
"Maybe. It might help. Harry. Did I do - something last night?"
Harry glanced at her from where he was levitating a queue of clean glasses from the sink into a cupboard. "Hangover that bad?"
Hermione grimaced. "Just answer."
"No. Well, a few hiccups early on but I had to drag you to bed by the end. You and Marv had some sort of interpretive dance battle still going at three."
"Oh Merlin." Harry laughed and flicked the cupboard door shut with a loud snap. Hermione winced. "What's wrong with you?" She said. "Why are you so alive and happy? It's incredibly irritating."
"Practice," he said with a maddening grin. "Tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, please. Do you have the Prophet this morning?"
"I do, but why don't you finish your drink first?"
Hermione groaned. "Is it really bad...?"
"Not bad at all, but you'll feel better if you're more... you."
She grimaced, downed the drink in one and held both hands for the paper, only to draw them back in immediately to clench into her face. "Shit!" It felt like Tabasco, wasabi and Pepperup were fighting an explosive battle within her sinuses.
"Should have warned you not to do that," Harry said offhandedly and threw the paper so it slid towards her across the table and went back to the oven to turn over the bacon.
With her eyes and nose streaming, but somehow already feeling slightly better for it, Hermione flicked to the comment section and found the article she was looking for.
The feeling of dread returned and intensified as soon as she read the title.
Will New Head Save Failing School, Burbage High?
When Burbage High was founded twelve years ago, many hailed it as the gap that would bridge the wizarding elite with the worst off in our community. Promoting social equality by seemingly offering the opportunity for upwards social mobility, Burbage High does not require any fees and claims to not discriminate in its admissions on basis of wealth, blood status, family connections or even magical ability. It was suggested that the school would allow hundreds of young, magical people to reach their potential that ordinarily would be denied to them when they were denied admission at Hogwarts.
One of the more controversial policies at Burbage (of which there are many), is the decision to make aspects of the Muggle syllabus mandatory until 3rd year and then allow students an option to continue to 'GCSE', the muggle equivalent of OWLS. But what use are such qualifications to a wizarding employer?
Burbage spokesperson, Orla Quirke, when reached for comment, stated that 'the Muggle curriculum is an integral aspect of the school as it ensures that Muggle-born students with an interest in pursuing a career outside the wizarding world will not be alienated or displaced. They will have the option to continue their studies elsewhere, even to university level, which is often required to get any kind of skilled Muggle job in the UK. Also, the curriculum doesn't alienate Muggle parents and creates a higher level of trust between them and the faculty. In the past, when aged only 11, a Muggle-born witch or wizard and her or his parents had to make the decision between accepting the Hogwarts letter or remaining a Muggle based on little more than a flashy display of magic in their living room and no information on the type of society the child would be entering, it is little wonder that so many Muggle parents were skeptical and turned down the place at Hogwarts and with it, any chance at a magical education. This no doubt prevented countless potentially magical people from entering our society and contributing to it in their own way.'
However, not everyone shares these opinions and the school has been plagued with criticism ever since opening, particularly in recent years when published OWL results have slipped to embarrassingly low levels. Disturbing reports of uncontrollable students and classroom disruption have also surfaced. 'The students seem completely wild. We have seriously considered pulling our son out but luckily for us he can study hard, despite the environment,' stated one mother who wishes to remain anonymous.
One of the biggest criticisms of Burbage High lie in its apparent disregard for traditions and culture associated with ancient wizard society. The school's most vocal opponents are of course the Wizarding Independence Party, which has accused the school, amongst other things, of focusing on Muggle education to such an extent that they have lost sight of what makes learning magic so special.
This must indeed be the worry of Ms. Hermione Granger, who was announced as the new head of Burbage High earlier this summer, after the last was swept out of office, embroiled in public scandal. Preparations are underway this week to welcome the new students and parents to the school, and Ms. Granger, who until now has remained tight lipped, is expected to be delivering a speech outlining just how she is going to turn this school around.
Ms. Granger, age 32, is well known for her part in the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named 14 years ago when she was just a teenager, and has quietly and tirelessly devoted herself to the cause of equality for muggle borns ever since. Still unmarried, Ms. Granger is one of a growing trend of witches who have decided to forego the traditional route of marriage and child raising in favour of a career. This reporter hopes that her sacrifice will indeed be worth it and Ms. Granger manages to succeed where so many have failed.
She let the paper drop to see Harry leant against the work surface, watching her carefully. "It's not totally bad, Herm-"
"Are you kidding?" She interrupted. "This is – this is –" she skimmed the last paragraph again. "'A growing trend of witches'?" she smacked the paper with the back of her hand. "Unbelievable. Wizards really are about fifty years behind Muggles, aren't they?"
"Who's the journalist?"
"Oh. A woman. Well of course it is. Oh god, Orla said she had this under control. Said she had their word that this would be favourable."
"The word of the Prophet is worth fuck all."
"I'm beginning to learn that."
"Well," Harry pushed himself away from the counter to plunge the cafetiere. "At least they said the WIP hates you. That's good publicity, right?"
"Harry, I'm meeting with potential parents tomorrow. I've got to get them to want to send their kids to us! I can't have things like this-" she hit the paper again, the photo of herself ripped, "-putting them off. If I can't get the numbers we'll be shut down. You don't realise how precarious this situation is. Any bad publicity - The board is constantly on our backs, as is the Ministry of course, not to mention the delegation from Ofsted."
"Who are they?" asked Harry, sliding into the seat opposite and placing a cup before her.
"The Office for Standards in Education. They're Muggle school inspectors. We've got pressure from all three sides, each trying to pull us their own way. I'm so scared something will snap, Harry. The kids need us. It will be so unfair if we go down."
She sunk her head back into her hands and massaged her scalp as the headache that had been temporarily cured started to creep back. "Everyone has sunk so much money into this school, they all have such a vested interest. I've spent the summer examining the books, results, children's and teachers' reports... I don't know what to do." She glanced up, remembering the coffee and took a long, burning gulp. "I mean, of course I know what I want to do, but I just don't see how. I feel like more of a diplomat than a headmistress, constantly going from one injured party to the next, trying to appease and diffuse here and there. I just wish I had some level of autonomy. Just a tiny bit more control and I really think I could do it."
"If only I could just take up my family seat on the Wizengamot, buy myself on to the school board, bribe a few officials and blackmail one of my cronies into a prominent teaching position," Harry said with a straight face. "Then maybe I might be able to help."
Hermione's despair cracked and she snorted. "If only our political system was still stuck in the dark ages," she said with a reluctant smile. "Anyway Harry, you know you wouldn't need to go to those lengths for political power. People would bend over themselves to get you into government. Imagine having you as a member of your party? The amount of voters would be record breaking."
"Well, apart from the fact that the idea of going into politics makes me feel ill, I think my life's mission to discredit myself has been an absolute success and no one would trust me with a bargepole," Harry grinned, unrepentant. "As for our current political system, I think it would be pretty naïve to imagine that sort of corruption isn't still happening on some level."
She knew he was right of course, but admitting it just felt like admitting they had failed. Harry's take on the Wizengamot and Ministry of Magic was dead accurate in its cynicism.
"Anyway, things will be different once term starts and the children arrive. Then everyone will see you are to be taken seriously and your boyfriend, or lack thereof, doesn't matter one fucking jot," he concluded with finality as he got up to take the bacon out of the oven.
The once foul smell was suddenly very appealing to Hermione and she appreciatively clocked the liberal amount of butter and ketchup Harry was spreading on to the soft, white bread.
"Here, eat this, I'll be back in a minute. Going to wake up Sleeping Beauty." Harry placed the sandwich in front of her and left the kitchen holding another pureblood cocktail, or whatever it was called.
With the sandwich in one hand, Hermione flicked the paper shut, idly wiping a dribble of bacon grease off her chin, and inspected the front page. The main headline was of course about the terrible events in Slovenia on Friday. She scanned the article, brow furrowed and lips pursed. Four Muggles dead and three missing... Suspicions were confirmed yesterday when terrorist group, Svoboda, took credit for the attack... worryingly echoing events in Britain in the 1990s...
She looked to the next headline with a small shake of her head.
WIP Continue to Gain Support from Marginalised Witches and Wizards.
Nigellus Mirage, leader of The Wizarding Independence Party, continues to garner support at a grass roots level following a string of appearances up and down the country. During their latest campaign the WIP have been targeting those who have claimed to have been forgotten by recent governments. The once 'one policy party,' are now promising voters that they will do all in their power to 'halt the decline in wizarding values,' 'create magical jobs for magical people,' tone down the strong pro-Muggle rhetoric in government and aim to banish when they call discriminatory Muggle-born equality legislation in the Ministry and its official bodies. Rising party star Percy Weasley, deputy treasurer, was quoted as stating, 'The old prejudices of blood purity are in the past, the problem has been solved. We have no need for these rigid controls any longer. Muggle-born quotas and positive discrimination are, ineffective measures that we need to eradicate. The longer wizards from magical backgrounds believe we have something to be apologetic for, the longer and more extensive the damage is to our culture, society and national psyche.'
Hermione huffed and slapped the paper back down as Harry returned to the kitchen, followed by a disheveled Marv, wearing what appeared to be a pair of Harry's Slytherin-themed green and silver pyjamas that stopped a good 4 inches above a very hairy ankle. "Morning," he muttered, scraping a hand through his tangled mane of hair.
"Morning," Hermione replied, strange visions from last night of Marv voguing underneath a fountain of enchanted petals flashing through her mind. She shook her head. "Harry, did you read this?" She gestured towards the paper.
"What, about the killings? Yeah, it's horrible... I know what people are saying but I really don't believe we've got another Voldemort on our hands." Marv choked on his coffee. "There's just not enough subtlety, Dark Magic would leave a different mark, something more insidious. They're just terrorists."
"Not to be underestimated," Hermione warned.
"No, of course not, but I'm sure Central Europe will be able to deal with them without the rest of us getting involved.".
"Did you read the one below it?" she asked.
Harry slammed his coffee down on the table. "Do not talk to me about Percy Weasley. Jumped up little twat. Ginny's beside herself, we don't understand why he's doing this again. It's just a slap in the face. I'm sure he think's he's doing the right thing, we all do on some level. I just can't believe that people honestly think that supporting the WIP is the answer. I mean, we know Percy's background is alright, but the other members' motivations are seriously questionable. I bet if you did a little digging, the dirt you would uncover..."
He broke off with a distracted look into the kitchen. "Marv love, the toaster is electric, please don't use your wand, you'll damage it. The switch is on the wall." The singer grunted something unintelligible in reply.
So much for not having an interest in politics, Hermione thought. It was classic Harry - always downplaying himself.
"What are you up today, Herm?" he said, interrupting her contemplation.
"I need to get back to Burbage and prepare for tomorrow. Put the finishing touches on my speech, go over all the names and backgrounds again... You know, that kind of thing."
"You finished your speech and memorised everything in sight weeks ago!" Harry exclaimed. "I've barely seen you all summer. What else have you been doing holed away at that school?"
"Well, you know how it is. How I am," she ruefully admitted. "What about you?"
"We might take a stroll over the Heath, maybe cycle down to the zoo. What do you say, Marv? You up for entertaining the snakes in the Reptile House?"
Marv grinned, suddenly much more awake. "You know I love it when you speak Parseltongue. It gives me goosebumps, in a good way," he growled, his famous voice huskier even than usual.
Harry smirked, gave a hiss that sounded vaguely lecherous and began to slide his slipper clad feet along the terracotta tiles towards him.
Hermione decided this was her cue to leave. "Okay, guys! I'm off!" she announced, standing.
She picked up her bag and reached inside. "Harry, I meant to give this to you yesterday, I'm sorry. Happy Birthday!" She took out a small rectangular present, neatly wrapped in red and gold and handed it over.
Harry's eyes opened a fraction wider as he ripped of the paper and gazed into the picture frame. "This is wonderful Hermione, where on earth did you find it?" he asked in a soft voice.
"At an auction. They were selling off some vintage Boy Who Lived merchandise."
"Which you just happened to be browsing through?" he said, shortly.
"Well, I kind of was thinking of getting you a joke present. I mean, you are impossible to buy for usually. Anyway, I saw this and of course I had to get it." She reached out and took the gift from Harry's hands and gazed down on to the photo. It was of the three of them in the Gryffindor common room. Harry, Ron and herself, probably only 14 or 15, laughing and joking around, unaware of the photographer. Before life had made things too complicated and strange for them ever to have many more moments like this one again. "I think it must have been taken by Colin Creevey. God knows how it ended up in the sale."
"I love it Hermione, thank you so, so much," Harry said with a sweet smile.
She gave it back and stood up. Harry walked her to the living room and placed the photo on the mantlepiece between two pictures of the boys. "Listen. Good luck tomorrow. You will be fantastic and they will be tripping over themselves to sign their kids up."
Hermione grimaced. "I hope so."
"Oh, and don't forget to fill me in on Malfoy!" Harry added.
She laughed and gave him a hug goodbye. "Bye Harry, take care. I'll see you soon, okay?" Reaching for the pot of Floo powder, Hermione took a pinch and threw it in the grate. "Thirty-two Harlesden Road," she announced. Stepping into the flames, she was whisked away back to reality.