Hermione

Thanks for the encouragement, sheherazade!

Heidi191976, I think Hermione is torn between comfortable Ron and exciting Severus, and that being with Severus means she has to give up essential parts of herself.

LaBibliographe: I think Hermione'd go for Ron if he were a better kisser. I think Ron's character could be more appealing, but JKR made him seem pretty passive and unattractive in several of her books.

rainaangel: Thanks! It's pulp, but I love it!

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Hermione picked up the ring. It was small, silvery, and so plain and fine that she knew it was goblin-made. Set seamlessly into the metal was a gem the color of Harry’s eyes. Hermione closed her fist around it.

He’s out of my life.

He still cares.

He’s out of my life.

I still care.

I left him—he did things to me. I hate him for it. He made me feel things I don’t want to feel. He treated me in ways I should hate. I want to be the one issuing orders! And he wants total control…

I still care.

(Just a little, her inner voice whispered. Maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe I can still pretend it’s nothing.)

She slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her right hand. It wouldn’t go past the knuckle. Its owner, or intended owner, must have had slim fingers. Hermione regarded her own serviceable digits. Then she slid the ring onto her little finger. Too big. She turned and rummaged through her top dresser drawer until she emerged with a tarnished silver necklace her parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday. After removing the Sweet16! pendant; she threaded the chain through the ring and fastened it around her neck. Ye gods! she thought. The necklace had lengthened somehow and now the ring was nestled between her breasts. Hermione tried shortening the necklace in a variety of ways, but realized at last that the ring must carry properties of which she wasn’t aware.

She lit fire in her palm and burned Snape’s letter. Then she fetched quill and parchment and scribbled:

In receipt of your letter. I have your something with me.

--Hermione

She sniffed, nose in the air, as she finished. Let him stew about her curt tone. Not even an apology! She felt she was due one.

She tied the parchment to the raven’s proffered leg and let it out the window.

To her great surprise, two more owls landed on her windowsill as the raven flapped off. One of them was snowy white.

“Hedwig!”

The snowy owl preened a feather and fluffed her wing.

“Come in!”

Hedwig and a golden owl flew into Hermione’s flat and sourly surveyed the raven’s crumbs.

“Wait! I’ll get you something!” Hermione hurried to the kitchen and got a piece of bread, which the owls ate gratefully. The golden owl had great, amber eyes and was significantly larger than Hedwig. As the owls ate, Hermione untied the message on Hedwig. It ran:

Dear Hermione,

Sorry I was such a prat at Hogwarts.

Anyway, will Ginny and I see you and Ron at the Yule Ball? We’d like to get together with you at Hogsmeade.

-Harry

Hermione felt a twinge of pleasure at his apology. He really hadn’t had to say anything. She knew he’d come around—not that she expected him to like Snape any better than before. But dread and guilt—unfamiliar emotions—washed over her when she read the second part of the message. She remembered her last Yule Ball. Ron had been at his sulky and passive worst. She was not anxious for a repeat.

Biting her lip, she opened the second message, tied to the mysterious golden owl, and read:

Dear Hermione,

As you may know, the Yule Ball approaches. As Hogwarts Headmaster, I would like to extend a warm invitation for you to join us Christmas Night for the festivities. As faculty emeritus, you may bring a guest.

Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore

P.S. I understand you are doing some work on house elves. You may have need of these items.

P.P.S. The second one opens as needed.

Hermione looked around in confusion. What items? Then she saw them, two squares, one white and one golden, stuck somehow to the parchment. The first one unfolded under her fingers and became a heavy tome with a scarred leather cover. A Magycal Hystorie of the Malfoy Familie by An Observer. Curious, Hermione thumbed through a few pages and quickly found herself losing track of time. The book appeared to be hundreds of years old and charted the rise of the Malfoys from an obscure but ambitious family to a powerful dynasty whose influence rose with each advantageous marriage. Toward the back of the book, on a foldout page that looked almost untouched, was a scheme of Malfoy Manor, which appeared to have been more of a defensive structure when the book was written. Hermione blinked when she saw the scheme rise up, floating several inches off the page, showing the subterranean chambers and passages beneath the mansion and several secret entrances. Carefully, she refolded the page, closed the book, folded it back to its tiny proportions and stuck it first in her sock, then on reflection, into her knickers along her hip.

Then she unstuck the second square. This one also unfolded, but into a razor-thin gold rectangle the size of a playing card. Hermione turned it over and over, but all she saw was its cryptic golden surface, shiny and unmarked. She tried speaking to it, stroking it, tapping it with her wand, pushing it, attempting to bend it (it proved unbendable), throwing it, singing to it (she winced at her off-key voice), and finally begging it. But the golden rectangle remained as enigmatic as ever. At last she folded it back up and put it with the first square. Both were about the size and thickness of her fingernail.

Sighing, she took up quill and parchment.

Dear Professor,

Thank you for your kind invitation. I would be delighted to come!

Yours sincerely,
Hermione Granger

She attached the message to the golden owl and opened the window for him to fly out. She thought it best to be ambiguous about the identity, if any, of her guest. She was more inclined to go alone than to take someone. But how could she get out of taking Ron? Especially with Harry and Ginny expecting her to take him? And how would the Weasley family in general respond to her hot and cold treatment of Ron? Not well, she was sure. She sighed again.

Dear Harry,

I’d love to see you and Ginny at Hogsmeade! Does noon Christmas Day suit you?

-Hermione

She watched Hedwig fly off with her ambiguous message, knowing that Harry and especially Ginny would see it for what it was. She could picture Ginny’s furious face when she read it. Well, that was the end of Harry and Ginny. It seemed as if her social circle got smaller and smaller the longer she was out of school.

She undressed, pulled her dowdy nightdress over her head, and climbed into bed.


The next morning Hermione strode through the hall of the Ministry, parchment scrolls in hand, to meet with Winky and Dobby about drafting a new piece of legislation. Hermione wanted to mandate that house elves be given wages. At the very least, she wanted to mandate the house elves be freed from having to obey their masters’ every command. As she strode down the black-walled corridor, lit from candles in wall sconces, she noticed a young woman in deep conversation with Lucius Malfoy. The git! she thought furiously. Malfoy was leaning indolently on a thick metal staff, its head shaped like a cobra. His white-blond hair was combed off his forehead, revealing flawless, arrogant features little touched by time.

The girl in front of him had hair the same color as his, but there the resemblance ended. She was thin and nervous, a pair of dark, frightened eyes dominating her heart-shaped face. Her hair was cropped short and stuck up in bleached platinum spikes, each of which was tipped in pale pink. She was wearing what the Muggles would call a black leather catsuit with a belt hanging low on her hips, and leather boots that came just above the knee. In spite of this adventurous getup, she looked nervous and uncertain, standing in front of Malfoy and whispering to him. As Hermione went by, she shut up, and she and Malfoy watched Hermione until she was out of earshot.

Hermione spied Ludo Bagman headed the other way, five parchment airplanes hovering over his head and a sheaf of parchment under his arm. His robes could not quite conceal the beer belly protruding from what must have been a fine Quidditch form at one time. Ludo’s normally cheerful face looked troubled.

Hermione grabbed his arm as he neared her and tugged him into a cross-corridor. “Who’s that?” she said in a low voice.

“The blond? Barty Sr.’s kid. Would you believe he had another? Squib, apparently.”

“She’s a Squib?”

Ludo nodded. “She’s been raised by the Muggles as a foster-child, poor kid. Doesn’t know much about the magical world.”

“Why’s she back here?”

Ludo shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe Barty wants to make amends or something. Brought her back. Right mistake, I’d say. She couldn’t accio an ashtray if you paid her a Galleon. Scared of her own shadow, too.”

“Poor thing.”

Bagman tsked at her. “Don’t feel too sorry for her. As you can see, she has friends in high places.”

“Well, what’s she doing here?”

Bagman looked uncomfortable again. “Dunno.” At Hermione’s skeptical look, he said, “Look, Hermione, she’s a bit of trouble, that one. Barty’s trying to put her in the right track, see?”

Hermione frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

“Well, look at her!” he said in exasperation. “What do you think she’s up to in those clothes?”

“Half of Puddlemere United? How should I know?”

Bagman held up a finger as if she’d scored. “Ten points! And you said you didn’t like Quidditch! Yeah, she’s, er, a bit of a handful, it seems. Barty’s got her on the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. Muggles she knows.”

“Well, what’s she doing talking to Lucius Malfoy?” Hermione continued in a fierce whisper.

Bagman paled and pulled himself up. “Must go. Talk later about HECL.” Out of the corner of his mouth, he said, “Later.” Then he strode away, leaving Hermione to stare after him, but not for long.

“Problems finding your office, Miss Granger?”

It was Lucius Malfoy, sneering down at her, both his hands clasping the cobra head of his staff, his perfect features set in lines of contempt.

“Not at all,” Hermione said with dignity and started back down the proper corridor toward her office.

As she walked away, she heard Malfoy jeer, “I hear you’re into house elves and the youngest buck in the Weasley litter.” His derisive laugh seemed to follow her all the way to her office.