Lockhart's Lies and a Liability!

The appointment of one Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart, 33, as DADA teacher seemed innocuous at first, perhaps even beneficial to the students, but after a month of enduring his lessons it has become apparent that the Gilderoy Lockhart portrayed in his books is a fundamentally different person than the one teaching DADA this year.

"I'm going to fail my DADA NEWT if this keeps up!" says one anonymous student. "A whole month and he hasn't taught us a single spell! I can't even cast silently!"

This student's grievance is one shared with much of the student body. Many upper year students are concerned that they'll have lost very valuable years. Our team has spoken to students of every year and they have made their concerns known. Unless there is a 'feed my professor's fragile ego' section in the DADA OWLs or NEWTs, our fifth, sixth and seventh year students are, to put it lightly, completely fucked.

Another student claims that he once spent an entire lecture on his grooming techniques. "Seemed to think we all needed to know how he tends to his hair," says another anonymous student. Their complaints were corroborated with their classmates.

These are not new complaints by any means. As soon as the first day of classes Lockhart had felt the need to endanger his second year students by releasing malnourished, agitated Cornish pixies without so much as a spell for them to use. Luckily, no students were harmed severely, but one might have taken serious injury after being hoisted onto the candelabra. And what does the great hero, Gilderoy Lockhart, do? He left the twelve-year-old student hanging with the pixies still rampaging about. He tasked three other students, also twelve, with clearing the room and saving the victim.

"The spell he used to handle [the pixies] wasn't even real!" says another student. "He said a load of silly words and nothing happened, then he left while other students were still trying to flee the classroom!"

A student from the described class above provided us with a copy of their test to show to students and faculty alike just what Lockhart is testing us on. This is a shameless display of unfiltered narcissism and is harming students academically and physically.

The damage done by his neglect extends far beyond that of his students. While investigating this case we saw after the welfare of the pixies from the doomed second year class. "Whoever was supposed to take care of them couldn't be bothered feeding them," says an anonymous faculty member. "All crammed in that little bird cage? No wonder they'd gone mad. We've been trying to treat them, but there's no hope for some of them. Traumatized, can't be released into the wild like this. We'll have to give them to an expert for care. That tiny little cage, the pixies were covered in their own filth. No wonder some of them got sepsis..."

Three of the pixies in Lockhart's care died from their raging infections. We have included pictures of the pixies, but be warned, these images are graphic and disturbing.

Severus looked at the skeletal pixies, covered in their own filth, a younger one clinging to one of the dead ones. Disturbing was a good word, and he wondered if Hagrid knew what the student, probably Hermione if he thought about it, asking after the pixies planned. He read on.

Pixies may not be humans, nor have the mental capacity of humans, but the extent of the cruelty displayed here should not be endured by any living thing. (It was most definitely Hermione that wrote this.)

While investigating, we also found Lockhart failed to mention Mary Hannagan, deceased, in his book Break with a Banshee. The at the time seventy-seven-year-old witch had been hunting Irish spirits and creatures for sixty years. The experienced widow had an alarming track record, we've found after some digging, that her cases (of those we could find) had a 92% success rate, and those where she didn't either capture or kill the creature, she managed to lure it away from crowds. It is entirely possible that she simply couldn't handle the case at her age, as Lockhart suggested in his interview with Magical Cork Times, but Hannagan lost her husband while hunting the Waterford Werewolf. After seeing her husband of forty years killed in a particularly gruesome way, we find it hard to believe that Hannagan went mad after an encounter with her fiftieth banshee. Lockhart suggests the veteran hunter 'got old and sloppy', but made no comments on Hannagan's retrograde amnesia. We are unsure why she was not mentioned in his book, and any involvement in her amnesia is speculation. We have to ask, for someone so eager for the spotlight, why would he not write about besting such an impressive hunter? Does he know something?

Given his inability to perform a simple spell in any of his classes and the fact he did not achieve his Ordinary Wizard level for DADA (He only did NEWTs for Charms and Astronomy), the theory is that Lockhart received help from Hannagan, which opens questions as to his other books. We will be looking into the fate of hunters and other wizards in close proximity to his cases and will inform you as the case develops. We're not saying he didn't do what he's said he's done, but it'd be a shame if he couldn't disprove it by demonstrating or, Merlin forbid, teaching us, a handful of defensive spells.

Regardless as to the potential involvement with Hannagan, one thing is clear with his tests and classes, the students of Hogwarts would fare better with a potted plant for a teacher than the puffed up peacock known as Gilderoy Lockhart.

And if you are reading this Professor Lockhart, for the love of Merlin, we implore you! Please, put the fucking mirror down and pick up a book. We suggest Standard Book of Spells Grade One, for a start. If that proves too difficult, Spelling before Spelling might be more in your wheelhouse.

"Who wrote this?!" Lockhart choked.

"I imagine that's why it was written anonymously," Severus said flipping to the test excerpt. Redacting your answers to hide your hand-writing, clever girl, but did you have to give yourself away with the plant remark? "Tell me you didn't actually give them a test them on such nonsense."

Lockhart's face flushed pink and Severus knew the answer to that question. "These are very serious allegations, Severus. What am I supposed to do?"

"Hell if I know," he shrugged. "Maybe test your students on the subject matter rather than yourself? Just a suggestion."

"Severus!" McGonagall hissed, but she had been very clearly fighting a smile.

Others, including Dumbledore, did not do so well, some even sniggering like school children.

"I'm done," he said getting up from breakfast. "I imagine this will all blow over," but I hope it doesn't. Foolish little girl. I don't know whether I'm proud or furious.

On one hand Hermione showed incredible initiative. The article was thorough, well-researched and written, and she stuck to her principals. However, this was not exactly appropriate for many reasons. One, was the mistake of actively insulting her teacher, that was not okay. The use of language? What school paper for any venue would accept it? But most importantly, she was still sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Had he not told her that the Nancy Drew nonsense was to stop? She couldn't be investigating adults...it was going to get her in trouble. And digging where she shouldn't could easily land her in danger if she wasn't smart about it.

Looks like you only borrowed the boy's camera for the pixies, he noted looking at her drawing of Lockhart staring admiringly at his own reflection in a pool of water while a swarm of pixies attacked non-descript students in the background. He shouldn't have found it as amusing as he did. Not because it was cruel to Lockhart, Lockhart deserved to be called out publicly. He just didn't want Hermione to be the one to do it. If she wants to play reporter, fine, but she can dispense with the fucking jokes and bloody swearing. Honestly, where the hell does she get this shit?

"Do you think it's true?" Abbot whispered to Bones as he passed.

He spared a glance to see both Hufflepuff girls Hermione's age discussing the paper. They seemed sceptical.

"No way," Bones said back. "I think someone's just jealous. And his classes aren't that bad."

"And he isn't hard on the eyes either," Abbot giggled.

Hermione can make as many 'my teacher is illiterate' jokes as she wants if that's the alternative, he thought as both girls burst into giggles. He forgot how much of the school still hero-worshipped the bastard. True, beyond fourth year the numbers went down drastically, but first to fourth year girls developed, frankly disturbing, crushes on the man at an unsettling rate. Boys seemed to think he was to be emulated for that fact. And he wouldn't be surprised if a few boys fell into the same trap as the younger girls, but no one would say it. Maybe whatever resentment earned from the article would blow over. What a pity.

"You girls must be heading from your dormitory, no?" he asked.

The two girls stopped giggling immediately and gave a simultaneous "Yessir."

"Would either of you two like to tell me where you found these, if not in the Great Hall?" he asked. Tell me not directly from Hermione! Please don't be so stupid as to be handing them out.

"Our common room," Bones murmured. "There was one posted on the bulletin and a bunch in stacks on our tables, sir."

Did Hermione have any Hufflepuff friends? Perhaps she snuck in? How did she manage-the house-elves. That was it. Clever. He'd ask the first Slytherin and Ravenclaw students he came across the same thing. The use of 'we' and spreading them to every corner of the school, including all house dormitories would certainly shake suspicion. How could she be both so careful and so reckless?

He was lost in thought when a girl Hermione's size absorbed in the paper bumped into him.

"Oof!" a tiny voice squeaked. "Sorry."

"Pay attention, Miss Lovegood," Severus groaned. "Must I ask you that before first bell? Wait, are you seriously barefoot?" You and my daughter have another thing in common it seems.

"Oh, someone stole them again. I'll find them," Lovegood shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, don't worry, Professor, I'm used to it."

Okay, you and Hermione have a lot in common. Poor girl.

"I've found a stack of these in the Ravenclaw room!" Lovegood brandished a copy and he realized her arms were full of them. "Did you read it yet, Professor Snape?"

"I've had the pleasure, yes," he explained. "I advise you to wait until you're where you're going before reading the rest. The next person you careen into may not be so forgiving."

"Yessir," she smiled.

I either really want them to be friends or for those girls to never meet.

"A house elf can do it, Miss," Libby answered. "But Libby doesn't know why, miss."

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Hermione mused. "I really appreciate this, Libby."

Hermione had snuck into the kitchens, careful to dodge Filch, his cat and Peeves. A few house elves were still milling about. Many of them by now had learned not to rush Hermione as she came at the door, while Libby made a B-line for her each time. The way she looked at her, her massive brown eyes almost teary as she smiled. It reminded her of the way her father looked at her when she came back from Japan. Hermione would have to see her more this year, and not just to pump her for information.

The tiny house-elf had been around as long as she can remember, and had tutored her in her early childhood. Before working in the kitchens, Libby had been a bookkeeper, nanny and tutor for a very wealthy family since the 1700's, and making her a rarity as an educated elf, but came to Hogwarts after the last member of the family died in 1920. House-elves seemed overly eager to please, but Libby always seemed genuinely happy to see her, and once even confided in her that "minding her was her favourite task."

"Anything for Miss Hermione," she beamed. "Now, is Miss Hermione taking care of herself?"

"Is Miss Hermione taking care of herself!" a male house elf scoffed. "It is not appropriate to be asking such questions of our masters, Libby!"

Libby rolled her tennis-ball sized eyes and glared at the house-elf. "Miss Hermione is Libby's charge, it is very appropriate for Libby to ask such questions! Perhaps Beanie should mind his own damn business!"

"Miss Hermione was Libby's charge," Beanie grumbled.

"Libby did not just swears in front of a human!" Bitsy, a female house elf, squeaked.

"I don't mind, Bitsy," Hermione assured the timid elf. "I won't report her either. I'm a strange human, remember?"

Bitsy bit her lip, nodded and returned to her cleaning.

"Did you, erm," Hermione bit her own lip and wrung her hands together.

"Miss shouldn't be so nervous," Libby patted her hand.

"Libby!" Beanie hissed. "House elves can't be saying such things!"

"It's okay," Hermione assured Beanie.

"Hmph!" Beanie returned to work.

Libby covered her mouth to stifle a giggle and Hermione couldn't hold back her own sheepish smile. She then leaned in to whisper in Libby's ear. "You haven't noticed anything odd recently, have you?"

"No, Miss," she said. "Everything is normal-"

Just then pipes banged from with in the walls sending several houselves under the tables and covering their ears. Libby didn't dive for cover, but covered her ears.

"Is that just the plumbing?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, Miss Hermione," Libby nodded once the racket stopped. "But house-elves' ears is so sensitive, that such banging hurts."

"That doesn't happen often, does it?" Hermione couldn't remember the plumbing being so loud any time she'd been in the kitchens during her childhood.

Libby shook her head. "It's probably fine. Pipes is old, Miss. Just needs fixing."

Hermione nodded before asking. "What are the chances of you getting Gryffindor tower shifts?"

"Libby has already asked Professor Dumbledore for them," she whispered back. "Libby is cleaning the common room and dormitories at three am on Wednesdays!"

"I'll be sure to see you then!" Hermione winked.

Hermione snuck out of the kitchen, creeping along the walls, and sticking to the shadows. She wished she'd asked Harry to burrow his cloak, but Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to travel alone if she did. She felt along the wall, wishing she'd the foresight to brew owl's sight elixir in advance. If she was helping her father with inventory, she might see what she can get away with.

Shit! A lit wand penetrated the darkness of the underground tunnel and Hermione had no where to hide. Who was patrolling the corridors tonight? Why were they going to the kitchens? Hermione tried to think of an excuse. If Hermione was honest, she hated breaking rules, it made her nervous, so why did she keep getting into these situations? She held her breath and hoped they would simply walk by her.

The light approached closer, and Hermione noted two tall, thin forms bent over a piece of parchment. She could just make out the flaming red hair of the two identical forms that now looked in her direction.

"Hi, Hermione," George called.

Hermione let out a long breath before peeling herself from the wall and approached them. "How'd you know it was me?" she beant over their parchment to see what looked like a map before Fred stashed it in his robes.

"We recognize that bushy little head of yours anywhere," Fred grinned mussing her hair.

I shouldn't have been in range of their light... "Merlin, you sound like my bloody father!" she hissed. "And don't the house-elves work hard enough without you tormenting them?"

"Hark who's talking," George rolled his blue eyes.

"I was following up on a lead for a case," Hermione hissed.

"A case?" Fred said. "Can we help?"

"Yeah, we're part of the paper now," George insisted.

"I'll let you know if it turns out to be anything," Hermione crossed her fingers behind her back. "Until then, I'll keep your little map secret if you keep running into me and my case secret."

The two exchanged a worried glance. So it was a map. Wonder if it's enchanted...

"Deal!" they agreed.

Hermione left them to their own devices and hoped they wouldn't get caught either. Hermione crept along the walls, grateful for the moon light streaming through uncurtained windows. To her relief she made it to Gryffindor tower without incident and was ready to collapse as soon as she entered.

Instead she entered to see a tiny girl with flaming red hair hugging her knees and sobbing quietly in a corner.

Do I let her be or do I talk to her? Hermione swallowed. Please don't make this worse... "Ginny?"

"Oh!" Ginny sniffed rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown. "I was just, erm, I-"

"It's okay," Hermione sat next to her. "I, erm, do this a lot too."

"Really?" she squeaked.

"Normally in a cupboard, if I'm honest."

"I didn't know if someone else would be in there," Ginny forced a smile.

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled back. "Maybe we should come up with a broom cupboard system."

"Maybe," Ginny gave a small laugh.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Ginny hesitated looking at the battered diary in her hands, her lips pressed together in a hard line. She opened her mouth to say something, but her eyes widened and she hung her head. "It's nothing, Hermione."

I'd want to be left alone...but she was considering telling...no, don't pry, you stupid piece of shit. "Okay," she said patting her arm. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"In a broom cupboard?"

"In a broom cupboard!"

"Try again," Severus instructed.

Hermione excelled far more in the written, true, but she was never bad at the practical portions before. Though the dark rings around her eyes and drained skin gave him a hint as to why she couldn't cast a simple hex.

"Yessir," she said.

She tried again and finally a cloud of bats descended upon her target, a spider, and tore at its body until nothing but a few segmented legs were left after the cloud dissipated.

"Merlin," Hermione covered her mouth and her skin took a green cast. "I'm supposed to use that on humans?"

"Only if warranted," he said. "Tell me you're not about to be sick over a damn spider?"

"I'm not about to be sick over a damn spider," Hermione repeated unconvincingly.

"Language!" he spat. "Y-"

Hermione suddenly looked stable. Pale, tired, weak on her feet, but she lost the green cast to her skin as quickly as it appeared. She wasn't going to be sick. That was a success given her reaction to the family owl's attack on a squirrel last summer. She could work with all sorts of nasty components for potions, but as soon as her target was living she lost her nerve. Beyond that, she had no issue using animal parts for potions but couldn't bring herself to eat one. Hermione was a strange little child.

"That's a marked improvement," he mused. "Perhaps if you slept at all this week you might have done better. Too busy with your little newspaper project?"

"S-sorry?" Hermione squeaked.

"Your little expose on Professor Lockhart," he explained. "Time you spent interviewing, researching, writing, drawing the damn cartoon, taking photographs of malnourished pixies, compiling and circulating the piece would have been better spent tending to yourself and practising your spells."

"How'd you know?" she turned her attention to her feet.

"You don't think I can recognize my own daughter's writing?" he shook his head and tutted. "The article was riddled with your cheeky little comments. Including your little jape about a potted plant. You're lucky I'm the only one that caught on." Dumbledore and McGonagall seem to harbour suspicions as well. They hate Lockhart enough to leave it be. "Very lucky, indeed."

"The man's a-" Hermione bit her lip and returned to staring at the floor.

"An insufferable prat," he finished. "I agree, but that doesn't give you the right to drag his name through the mud."

"His neglect endangered-"

"Students and a handful of Cornish pixies," he nodded. "Had you left it at that, you might have been taken seriously too. But you had to attack the man's character! You had a legitimate grievance and no one will care because you engaged in both mocking the man and speculating on flimsy at best evidence. And the swearing! If you want to be taken seriously you must be more careful about your language, Hermione, it reads as juvenile." Juvenile? She's twelve, of course it's juvenile! Lily and I would have both pulled the exact same shit at her age in her position.

"Yessir," she nodded.

"Am I to expect any other scathing take-downs of my colleagues?"

"I'm still looking into Professor Lockhart's other claimed success," she admitted. "I can't shake the feeling there are more Mary Hannagans in his closet."

"This investigation stops here," he ordered. "I'm willing to turn a blind eye to this little endeavour of yours for now, but others won't. And yes, with every student in school having read this, Professor Lockhart will surely tear his eyes from a mirror if he thinks someone's looking into him."

"Yessir."

"And it goes without saying that I will put a stop to this nonsense if I suspect you are putting yourself in danger. Am I understood, little girl?"

"Yessir," she nodded.

"Let's move on to the next hex," he said. "I want you to be able to perform each one in this chapter next Saturday."

"Sorry!" Hermione squeaked running into the library. "I know I'm late."

"Isn't this project is supposed to be your baby, sunshine?" O'Malley teased.

How the hell did that name stick for him? "It was my dad," she explained sitting next to Luna. "I couldn't get away until-it doesn't matter. Where are the others?"

"Search me," O'Malley shrugged. "Unless Snape's got them too."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I promise I'm the only one he's giving extra lessons to. But speaking of my father," she inhaled. "I have to tell you. He's found out I wrote the article."

"What!" O'Malley hissed. "Are you serious? How the hell did he find out?"

Hermione shrugged. "When I asked he just said 'you don't think I can recognize my own daughter's writing?' Apparently the article was 'riddled with my cheeky little comments.' But the good news is, he thinks it's just me (which is more or less true if we don't go further. You were more or less an informant). That means you can back out now and nothing will happen. No risk."

"I'm still interested," Luna smiled. "I've already started on a piece about nargles in the school."

"I'm sure it'll be a riveting read, Loony," he grumbled before addressing Hermione. "I'm still in if Daddy didn't scare you off."

Breathe, Hermione bit her lip, swallowed and said. "Well, it is my baby, isn't it?"

Hermione dug out her wand and rummaged in her bag for a brand new piece of parchment. She meant to read up on magical contracts and curse the parchment, but she'd been so busy between classes, the paper and Harry's predicament that she hadn't the chance. She had to trust them. That didn't come easy. But both of them did prove helpful.

"Sorry we're late!" Fred sat at the table.

"But you should have seen Filch's face!" George finished.

"What did you two do?" Hermione sighed.

"We were negotiating rules!" Luna beamed.

"We just started," O'Malley jerked a thumb at Hermione. "She just got here herself."

"I'll tell you what I told them," Hermione said. "My father knows I wrote the piece about Lockhart. Right now, he thinks it's just me. But I can't promise he won't figure the rest of you out the way he's figured me out. If you want out, I don't blame you."

Fred and George grinned at each other and O'Malley rolled his eyes.

"You should know by now that the thrill of getting caught fuels them," he said with an eyeroll.

"Irish Bill is right," George smirked.

"Don't fucking call me that!"

"We do love a risk." Fred finished.

"Where's Colin?" Hermione asked.

"Stalking Harry," George answered. "Where else?"

"I'll fill him in when I find him," she mumbled. "Let's start. I don't think we should write on other students."

"I agree," Luna said. "It seems just mean when it's another kid."

'Are you serious?" O'Malley hissed. "Come on, you girls have been picked on since you first got here. Surely, there's someone you think deserves it."

Draco fucking Malfoy...No, journalistic integrity.Hermione shook her head. "We open the flood gates there we walk a dangerous line. I'm not Rita Skeeter, I refuse to be a bully."

Luna nodded in agreement. "I'm a fan of punching up. We should only go after those who have more power than we do."

"This is precisely why everyone walks all over you girls," O'Malley hissed.

"You sound like my fucking father!" Hermione hissed back.

"I do not sound like that man!"

"Shh!" Pince, who seemed to appear from nowhere bent over their table.

"Sorry, Madam Pince," Hermione whispered.

Pince stalked away after a meaningful glare and Hermione mulled over other meeting places in her head.

"What a bitch," O'Malley grumbled. "This is why I messed up the library in the first place."

"You did that?!" Hermione hissed, minding her volume. How could he? This place, it- how! I felt so sorry for you too!-but he can't be all that bad, can he? He gave me the information on Hannagan...

"I had my reasons," he shrugged.

"Really?" Fred choked. "How'd you do it without getting caught?"

"That's impressive," George grinned.

Hermione and Luna sat with the three boys in silence as they swapped prank ideas and one pattern became abundantly clear. O'Malley's were as clever as Fred and George's but often took a step further in cruelty. Which neither twin seemed to mind. She didn't know how long they were sitting there when Colin ran to the table taking the last chair at the table on Luna's other side.

"Hi, Colin," said Fred.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked.

"Just some hilarious but quite mean prank ideas," Luna said in a dreamy voice. "And Hermione and I want to not write about other students."

"I can agree to that. We're not a paparazzi," he nodded.

You'd have fooled Harry! Hermione thought, but said: "I'm happy there's at least one male in the species that sees sense!" Merlin, don't be so sexist!

Colin went beat red and fiddled with his camera.

Luna giggled, covering her mouth. "You look like their hair," she managed.

"Sorry," Hermione murmured burying her face in her arms.

"I actually think I agree with the younger ones," Fred mused.

"We're two and three years younger than you, Fred," Hermione muttered before raising her head. "That means you two are out voted. Let's do this by majority rule."

"None of our family members!" Luna suggested and Hermione wanted to kiss her.

Thank you so much!

"Mr. Weasley works in the ministry and is an easy mark, Daddy edits the Quibbler, I can see him coming up and don't want him to, and Hermione's father is a very easy target that four out of the six of us here already want to take a piece out of," she explained. "So, family should be out. Show of hands?"

Everyone's hand but O'Malley's raised. He conceded to this one much more gracefully. "I have no issue with losing there. If Snape's as sharp as you say, he'd identify who ever wrote the take down easily. And I have no qualms not writing about Lovegood or Weasley."

"No students, no family," Hermione summed up. "Anything else?"

A moment of silence passed and O'Malley spoke. "We should maybe have roles? Like columns? This is your baby, what do you want to do?"

"Well," Hermione mused. "It was technically Luna's idea. Luna?"

"Hmm," she mused. "I think we should just write what we want. But if we want to be taken seriously, we should also advertise club meetings and write on events like quidditch matches. We could also do advice and humour."

"And protests and open letters?" Hermione suggested.

"Sure," Luna nodded. "Those would be good."

"Fred and I should cover quidditch!"

"Conflict of interest!" Hermione scoffed. "Plus how can you report on it when playing it?"

"I can do it!" Colin said. "I'll be there to take pictures anyway!"

"Fred and George should write humour pieces," Luna mused.

The meeting ended with everyone more or less happy with Luna's assigned tasks. They all agreed to keep it anonymous, though Hermione did worry it'd no longer look like she was the only culprit. They couldn't meet in public again. Her father would be on them in an instant. He'd buy Hermione hanging out with any of them individually, but together, not so much.

Hermione lingered after the meeting to work on her Transfiguration essay. She poured over volumes on organic to inorganic matter transfigurations. Turning hedgehogs to pin cushions seemed so cruel, but she would be damned if she got anything but a perfect score. Your principles are rock solid, aren't they? You're pathetic. She sighed and began her first read through. By the time she had all the quotes she wanted gathered she noticed that it was dark outside the window behind her. Torches and candles were lit, and the tables around her were either empty or occupied by older students studying for OWLs and NEWTs.

It was fine. She'd just write her outline and be off. It wouldn't take her long...though her eyelids were growing very heavy.

Hermione woke up under a cherry blossom tree in Mahoukatoro's southern garden. The blossoms were light and fluffy, falling to the ground too early for the season. She watched the light pink petals drift down on the light salty breeze through the crisp blue sky. Why are you blooming so early?

She looked to her side to see Hiro smiling at her, his hazel eyes turning upward at the edges under a mop of messy black hair that blew with the blossoms in the breeze. Hermione always loved that Hiro smiled with his whole face. He had to be the most beautiful boy she'd ever met. And his smile simply made her heart leap. She was enraptured by whatever he was about to say when he leaned in very close to her.

"I read your article," he said suddenly.

"Did you like it?" she asked.

Hiro threw his head back in an icy very unHiro-like laugh. "Oh, Hermi-chan, I always thought you were so sweet in your letters. But that article, and the thing you said to Malfoy...I mean, he's just an insecure boy. I knew you were ugly, but I didn't know you were a terrible person!"

"Hiro, I,erm,I-" tears sprang to Hermione's eyes.

"You really are just like your father, aren't you?"

"Please don't say that!" she squeaked.

"No, you're right," Hiro admitted. "At least your father's clever."

"Why didn't you tell me you were questioning whether or not you liked girls too?" Saiyaka said. "Might have blown your non-existent chances with Hiro, but I might have felt less alone. You are so selfish!"

"It's worse than that," Luna said, appearing from nowhere. "You think all my ideas are rubbish. Admit it. I'm a poor unwanted girl like you, and you patronize me rather than listen!"

"Why wouldn't you stay to comfort me?" Ginny sobbed clutching her diary.

"You promised you'd help me," Neville whimpered.

"You're useless, aren't you?" Ron scoffed. "Just bury your ugly face in those books while Harry and I figure out what happened. Maybe then you'll wake up."

"Have you looked into the voice yet, Hermione?" Harry asked. "You said you would!"

"Libby wishes you would stop bothering her! Libby just wants to be left alone!" Libby cried covering her ears. "Shut those damn pipes up!"

"You didn't defend me until I was useful to you!" Colin seethed. "You let Harry and Ron shove me around. I just wanted to be friends!"

"How could I have raised such a stupid, cruel child?" her father sighed from behind her. "Your mother was right to leave. Oh, Jesus, you're not fucking crying are you? You're pathetic!"

Now everyone was encircled her as Hermione kowtowed, trembling into the tree roots trying to block out the angry yelling as she tried to muster an apology through her tears. That was when she heard everyone's voices ring in unison:

"You stupid piece of shit!"

"No use talking to that one," Ron grumbled. "Nothing will wake her up."

"Wake up!" Ron whispered in her ear.

Hermione was back at the Hogwarts library, not Mahoukatoro's south garden. Harry and Ron sat on either side of her, looking rather worried. Have they made a development?

"You weren't at lunch or supper," Harry explained. "We got worried."

"Why," Ron stared at Hermione's parchment. "Is this half written in weird scribbles?"

"It's kanji, you ig-oh, no!" Hermione cried reading through her paper. It was written in a mixture of English, French, Elvish, Japanese and literal scribbles. She'd really bulloxed it up. How was she supposed to hand that in? She-no, it was just the outline. She was fine. "I didn't know I could write in my sleep," she forced a giggle. "Oops!"

"I'd kick you three out for noise, but the library is closing," Pince spat. "Run along before I decide to enlist your help with the transfiguration section."

The three nodded as Hermione got on to her shaky feet, pins and needles shot up her legs and her stiff shoulders ached. How the hell...I feel like I'm eighty! Hermione didn't mention reordering the library to the specifications she remembered herself was hardly a punishment to her, that would earn comments from Ron and Harry in real life.

"Did hear that voice again?"Hermione asked in a whisper as they climbed the stairs.

Harry shook his head. "Only voice I heard today was Oliver's demanding I practice more."

"Fun," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Still on about the damn cup?"

"You know it!" Harry sighed.

"You should have seen it, Hermione," Ron agreed. "The look on Oliver's face was bloody scary. Think he'd drink the Slytherin team's blood if he thought it'd let him win."

"In Oliver Wood's defence," Hermione said. "Everyone knows the blood of your enemies only makes you more powerful...or lands you with a blood born disease."

"Oliver would take the risk!" Harry laughed.

"You have to tell us," Ron said in a hushed voice presenting her expose. "We didn't get to ask you yesterday, but did you write this? If so, it's bloody brilliant! I didn't know you had it in you!"

"It was fantastic!" Harry agreed in a whisper.

"Y-you, erm, you didn't think it was, erm, too mean, did you?" Hermione bit her lip and stared at the ground.

"For that stupid git?" Ron scoffed. "I don't think you were mean enough!"

Hermione forced a laugh as the three entered the portrait hole and swore the two to secrecy. Hermione had hid out in the library since Friday's release to shake off the heat, so she hadn't talked to anyone about the article. She hoped her father was wrong about no one taking it seriously, but had a sneaking suspicion he was right. Though the fruits of her labour, or lack thereof, weighed much less on her mind as she climbed into bed than one simple question. Am I a bad person?