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Chapter 11 : White Wigs
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If one would walk by the library, and by the Hall of Feasts, they would find themselves in the Judicial Room. In this room, any things and all things judiciary were solved and presented here. The room was a large space, possibly almost as big as the ballroom, which was being prepared for a ball later that week. It had no windows, for fear of spies. It was, however, lit by many chandeliers that were kept lit by several extras whose jobs were to keep them lit whenever an even was taking place.
Seats lined the walls, in several levels. One end of the room possessed a pair of large double doors, and the other held a stand at which the King, or whoever was presenting the event taking place, would present their stand.
Today, however, one would back away from the doors or the Judicial Room for fear of the racket that was slithering it’s way under the door with the monstrosity of a basilisk. It was one of those days in which many extras that ruled the parliament wore their best wigs. If one were to open the door, they would have fainted from dizziness provided by the hundreds of wigs swirling around the area.
The room was crackling with unbroken energy. Men in wigs ran around the room, waving papers around, scampering her and there. Tables were filled with legal documents, and a flurry of papers filled the air when a stack of papers was fisted by none other than King Harry Potter who was having a massive temper tantrum at that very moment.
He stood behind the stand, trying to think of anything than the topic that was at hand. His green eyes, rimmed by his glasses, were tired, and burdened filled. He sought out companion-ships at night, because, ladies and gentlemen, Harry Potter felt alone. The only thing that kept him going were Hermione’s letters.
Hermione! Harry thought. Great topic! he smiled at his brain, and thought about the girl that had been keeping him sane. As they say, behind every man in a position of power, was an extraordinary woman rolling her eyes. Hermione had basically helped him with everything that was going on in Fliadopia. He knew that he could have been ‘beheaded’ for keeping in touch with a pirate, but come on. There had to be some benefits to being the king of a nation, surely.
Thoughts of her kept him awake, living, breathing. Partly, Harry blamed Ron for this. It was he that began talking about Hermione in the first place. Well, looks like his alliances have changed.
Harry shot a glare at Ron who was doing his best to be a rogue in the back of the room, seemingly chatting up the blonde extra in the back. Harry kept telling him that he would get attracted, but Ron’s philosophy was that, even though they were extras… He could still get some pleasure out of it.
The only thing that gave Harry some slight satisfaction was that Ron’s trousers were embarrassing the red-head at the moment, and that his ears had turned the same color as his beautiful poppy-colored hair. But, fortunately, and unfortunately, a bitter sweetness of the word ‘fortunate’, Harry had bigger things to attend to.
Like the insane wigged men in the room.
Who were telling him this utter and ludicrous thing that he knew McGonagall was probably enjoying.
Harry shut his eyes and tried to shut all of the voices shouting at him out, but to no avail. Harry was never good at Occumelency, so therefore, the voices once again swarmed around him, with the mercy of a million rabid bees. Harry winced.
“You must do this, if you do not--”
“It is your DUTY as King of Fliadio-”
“I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want to do-”
“It has been a tradition for thousands of years, an-”
Harry Potter had had enough.
“I AM TOO YOUNG TO GET MARRIED!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. All of the papers flew out of the men’s hands and hit the walls. The faces of the men would have almost been comical if it hadn’t come to this one subject.
If only Hermione were here to help me get out of this! She would know how to get out of this, for sure!
Harry fought the headache that was teeming into his brain. The silence was deafening for all but a moment. Then it all started up again with the passion of a very hungry platypus.
McGonagall was probably laughing at him right now as all of her extras were torturing him to death.
“I don’t understand the need to be married at this point in time.” Harry said, with the authority of a king. Well..
That’s because he was a king. But that was beside the point.
“So what if it’s tradition?” He asked, quietly, his headache abating slightly when he realized that he had captured most of the crazy wig bearing men. “We can make new traditions.”
Apparently those were the wrong words to say.
Fury boiled up into the psychotic wig wearers and they began their ranting once again. Their voices filled the ruling room, and they echoed through the hall, which did nothing to quiet the sound waves. Ron shrugged indifferently. Harry shot him another glare. He then held up his hands in air in a form of mock surrender.
There is no way that I can beat these things! He thought, looking at all the white wigs that filled the room. “OK!” He shouted above all of the voices, trying to amplify his own. “OK!”
Semi-silence fell over the room. Really. Harry thought. What is the point of being a King if you don’t even have say in what kind of toilet paper you use? But then he realized. Oh. He conceded. I’m dealing with psychotic, crazy, unyielding things that wear wigs. …
That explains everything! How brilliant.
Now that he had part of their attention, he knew that he had to grasp it with both hands. “What if I were to agree to get married?” Harry asked. “What would the terms be then?”
One of the things stepped forward. Harry fought back a shudder. “You have to chose a respectable worthy bride.” He paused for a moment. After looking at his fellow things, he looked back to the King, and bowed. “And in my humble service, we would recommend Lady Chang.”
Harry’s eyes went wide. “No way in hell.”
That word, apparently, was another one of those that one wasn’t supposed to use.
“You must!” Thing Leader said to the king, silencing any cries that might have risen from the crowd. “It is strictly commanded by our religion.”
Harry raised a brow, crossing his arms. “And what religion are we, exactly?”
The silence almost made him want to smirk.
Who am I kidding?
He let his lips curl into a smirk.
The size of China.
Ron paid no mind to anything that was going on. Frankly, it was quite easy to say that without Hermione, their friendship had almost no life. They had their good moments, but most of these days, they were rotten ones that smelt like bad eggs.
So, he just sat in the back and made it his goal to make the blonde beside him smile. It was all he could do. With Harry as king, and with him being the sidekick…
Well, one just got tired of those kinds of things. So, Ron decided that he would live the life. He was quite aware that his ears were red, and that his coat didn’t quite cover his pants the way that he sincerely wished they would have…But there was no way in Merlin’s happy place that he wasn’t aware that Harry was glowering at him for not doing his duty of being a side-kick.
So one could guess and say that Ronald Weasley had a resentment against Harry Potter, for being the one who got all the attention. It was nice to see the “Boy-who-lived’ throw a lightning bolt of temper at the extras, trying to be Zeus. With a bad hair day at that.
The matter of the fact was, was that Harry had luck thrust upon him since the day he was born. He managed to defeat a serial killer when he was still suckling his thumb, brilliant Quidditch moves were in his blood, he had a piece of the darkest wizard in history stuck to his soul (which sounded quite scary, but really, was impressive), which allowed him to speak to snakes and open the chamber of secrets, a brainless goblet had thrown his name out on a whim, and gave him eternal glory……..
Bloody Luck. Think it could have spared me at least half a pence! Ron sighed as the blonde left to go attend one of the other extras. It’s not fair.
Ron kept wallowing in his self pity, until he noticed that a silence had swept over the room. He looked up from his hands and raised his eyes to the other side of the courtroom. Why in Merlin’s face is Harry smirking like a dolt who just stole some first-year’s ice cream?
He didn’t have much time to contemplate his question, because the great hall doors, which were never opened during a judicial meeting, flew open, the gust of wind from the opening doors sent papers flying once again, merrily into the air.
One of the soldier’s galloped in on horse back, through screaming wig-heads, crashed through tables, until he reached the side of the King.
The soldier looked as if he had ridden through a storm, his grey horse was about to pass out. The soldier fell from the saddle and onto the floor. With a snap of Harry’s fingers, water was brought in immediately. Harry pulled out his wand and began healing several cuts and bruises that had covered his face. When he realized that the young man wasn’t going to come to, he touched the tip of his wand to the man’s forehead and whispered, “Inneverate.’ The young man coughed and spluttered, a new energy filling his body. Harry stood up and gave the lad a hand.
The young strappling stood up by himself, and frantically grabbed at a water-proof satchel attached to his cutlass belt. Without a word, he handed it to Harry. Then he found the courage to say what he didn’t have courage to say in the first place. “Pirates. On the other shore. They upended me, and made me swear that I would deliver this note to you.” With those words, the man collapsed, and a bright blue light filled the air.
They poisoned him. Harry thought in disgust. He could only imagine who the note was from. Probably Malfoy.
He instructed for the horse to be led out of the room. Only when the noise died considerably he looked at the note. His eyes widened when he saw who it was really from. In plain, curled handwriting was ‘Captain Bones.’
He shook his head once. When the words didn’t go away, he rubbed his eyes twice. Nope, definitely still there. He knew immediately who this was from. Susan Bones, from Hermione’s ship. She had told him all about what was going on in their letters, all the escapades that they went on, and even the battle that she had with Pansy. She confided everything. That’s what he liked about her. He could trust her, and she trusted him fully.
The only question that he had, was: Why is it Captain Bones and not Captain Hermione?
There was only one single solitary way to find out. He looked up from the letter and at the gentlemen in the room. “I’m adjourning this legal session and postponing it for seven days time. Please do not bother me,” He added, when the voices arose, pounding the air around his ears, “until the next meeting. Now, if you will excuse me.” He said, not really asking permission. He was king. Why not use his authority now?
He walked briskly to the brown doors, and snatched Ron, who seemed to be chatting up another brunette, along the way. Ron protested, but Harry gave him a glare that would have knocked his boots off.
Once they reached a tapestry of the country side, Harry looked around, to make sure that one was watching them. He pulled back the tapestry and pushed Ron inside a tiny corridor that lay there. He pushed by Ron, after making sure that the tapestry was still, and walked to the end of the corridor, pulling out his wand for light. He pushed back the door, and they entered a quaint sitting room. Harry lit the fire and sat down on one of the padded chairs. He gestured for Ron to do the same.
Ron, however, would have none of it. He was tired of being pushed and pulled and bullied around. He knew that all that he would ever be was ‘Harry Potter’s friend’, the eternal side-kick of the savior of the world. That was brilliant, truly it was, and Ron couldn’t be more happy.
The only problem was, was that side-kicks didn’t often get remembered. And when he was being treated like this, he sure bloody well knew that he probably wasn’t one of the fortunate ones that made the history books.
“What the bloody hell is this all about?” Ron asked Harry, indignantly,
Harry turned his worried green eyes to Ron. After a moment, they dropped to the note in his hands. “I think Hermione’s in trouble.”
Ron’s eyes narrowed as he took the seat in front of Harry. “If it has anything to do with Malfoy, I swear… I will kill him!”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s the case.”
When Ron said nothing, waiting for Harry to continue, Harry showed him the note. “This is the note that the rider gave me right before he died. I too, thought it was some trick from Malfoy, but when I looked at the note, I had a worse feeling. I didn’t want to open it without you, nor did I want to open it in front of all those wigged freaks!”
Ron snorted. “Well, at least you got to postpone your wedding date.”
“True.” Harry mused. “But, anyways, back to the point. The note is addressed to me from Captain Bones, an--”
“Captain Bones?” his friend interrupted him. “As in Hufflepuff, brunette, insane, Susan Bones?”
Harry took a deep breath. “Yeah. That would be her.”
A silence ensued. A thought struck Ron on the head like an apple falling from a tree. “Wait.. She wasn’t scoped as a captain. She was on Hermione’s cre-”
“Precisely.” Harry announced. “That means something happened to Hermione.”
Ron’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets…Well, more like, popped out. “Well, why don’t you bloody open the note already?” he said in a rage, trying to get the note from Harry’s hands.
“I wanted to wait so that I could open it with you, Ronald, so would you please calm down.” Harry stressed.
Ron rolled his eyes, and made a mock bow. “As you wish, your majesty.
Harry resisted letting out a frustrated groan. He settled for the thought that Ron had to have mad-cow or something like that to be acting like a bloody girl. But enough of that. Harry’s hands trembled as he broke the wax seal that was keeping the letter together. He opened the paper, his eyes reading the first few words.
Then the rage settled in. “I am going to kill Malfoy.”
Ron raised his eyebrows. “AHA! So is does have something to do with the git!”
“I will utterly obliterate him. There will be nothing left.” Harry hissed, green eyes aflame.
“That is the definition of obliterate, you know...” Ron said, trying to lighten the mood by pointing out Harry‘s repeating himself, but failed miserably.
It was a general rule that no one can touch Hermione Granger. She was the golden girl. And currently, Harry didn’t know what he felt for her, It was confusing as what ice-cream to pick when every flavor was your favorite. His eyes fell away from the note.
Hermione is dead. Malfoy killed her. I found some of your correspondence in her cabin, and thought it’d be nice to contact you about it. Sorry about the extra, I had to make sure he wouldn’t open it. I never make promises. Don’t attempt to contact back. We pirates are getting very close to winning the game. We’ll be looking forward to fighting some of your men out here. So why don’t you do us a favor, and spice up our lives? We’re bored out here!
Captain of the Lioness
Was she completely mad? Harry wondered about Susan. “Spice up their lives?” he asked aloud.
“Dunno, mate. She’s a Hufflepuff. I don’t understand how their minds work. I don’t even think they do.” Ron responded.
If there was anything that Ron knew, it was that Malfoy was going to loose one of his three lives if he ever came into Ron’s line of sight.
“Hufflepuffs.” Harry shook his head. “You can’t live with them, you can’t live without them.”
The Great Hall was silent, a blessing that had been bestowed by the two girls sitting irritably on opposite ends of the hall. The clock chimed twelve times, a sound that vibrated down the old castle walls, and sent bats flying through the night.
Hermione had been waiting there for hours now. She had flashed in at about nine in the evening, and unfortunately, as her luck would have it, 5 minutes after the Great Hall doors were officially shut every night. She had searched and searched for a bell, or any way of contacting or signaling the headmistress to tell her that she needed to be sent back, but to no avail. The doors were definitely locked, and the windows were too stubborn to open. “It’s the middle of the night!” The window panes had squeaked at her. She then realized that she couldn’t do anything if she had in fact, climbed out the window, because then she would have been outside, and therefore would have gotten nowhere.
The world, Fliadopia, wasn‘t floating in the room, as she thought that it would be. Hoped, that it would be, even. It must have been transported somewhere where the students couldn’t see it. Hermione concluded.
So she resorted to sitting Indian-style in the headmaster’s chair, seething in all of her glorious fury. Her hand rubbed the scar that had formed instantly when she passed through the barrier between the game and reality. She picked her shirt up to look at her abdomen. Her eyes narrowed, as the black humor of it all slapped her in the face.
Draco Malfoy had carved an M into her stomach. If Hermione wasn’t furious when he committed the actual deed, she was the pure epitome of raw anger now. Her fingers traced the scar roughly, as if her finger could erase the scar that graced the soft flesh. She had jerked her shirt back on with one motion and put her head down onto the table, to replay the scene. Merlin. She hated him so much.
At some point in the memory movie, Hermione had fallen asleep, dreaming of rapiers, and cutlasses cutting the air, and of a treasure whose key was almost unattainable. As usual, her dreams were always productive. Hermione Granger spent so much time thinking about how to solve different situations, that they engrained themselves into her sub-conscious, and as a result, her mind kept working out possible solutions to the challenges, whatever they were, in her sleep.
But right before her mind had found the exact answer, a pure scream of fury had filled the Great Hall, and had Hermione shooting up from her seat, only to behold a seething Raven Trapper in her midst.
Hermione didn’t say anything as the black-haired girl paced the floor of the room thin, muttering coming out of her mouth, and a few swear words as well.
She thought that she had heard her say “Thaddius”, but she couldn’t be sure. So Hermione did the only sensible thing that a girl of her caliber could do. She asked.
Which really didn’t seem like a smart thing, because Raven then pounced on Hermione (verbally, of course) which ensued in a very graphic fight that would have knocked Merlin’s socks off. That is…if he wore socks.
Rumor had it that Merlin wore bright pink fluffy slippers, but no one could affirm the fact, and therefore, it became one of the top 10 greatest mysteries of the wizarding age. Rumor also had it that he wore silk leopard pajamas….
But anyways, Back to the point. After the girls had exchanged some ‘pleasantries’, their ‘hello’s’ became quite loud, and thus had the window pains shrieking in agony.
After several colorful comments and insults were made, only then did the two girls separate and sit on opposite ends of the hall.
Which is where they were now, at the strike of midnight.
Hermione, after finally acknowledging that she could fall asleep again, and that the solution that her mind had worked out wasn’t going to reveal itself by her invisible finger prodding to her brain, she decided that she would try to make the best of the situation, asked, “So, how did you end up here?”
There wasn’t much of a need to project, because the Great Hall was built for acoustics.
Raven paused for a moment, before answering. “A damned Hufflepuff, that’s what.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Susan Bones?”
A grunt was her only reply. After several moments of silence, it was followed by a question. “Who killed you?”
Hermione was taken aback slightly at the girls directness. She sneered as his name was formed on her lips. “Malfoy.”
“Ah.” The syllable was packed with understanding. “Bet that was fun.” Raven said, sarcastically.
“Oh yeah, loads.” Hermione replied in a similar tone. “How was the order on his ship, by the way?” she asked curiously.
“I can’t tell you that.” Raven replied, standing up, and walking over to sit near Hermione so that it wasn’t so awkward. Usually, a Slytherin would never place himself, or in this case, herself, near a Gryffindor, but it was after midnight, and they were the only people in the Great Hall, so Raven decided that she would make the best of it. “But what I will tell you is that he really wants to win this game, and will stop at nothing, even killing people to get what he wants.”
“Tell me about it.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “The treasure was two feet away for Merlin’s sake, and he had to go and stab me!”
“Wait!” Raven interjected. “You saw the treasure?”
“Yeah, I did.” Hermione said, shifting in her seat, trying to get comfortable. “But he lost the swordplay.”
“But he killed you. Obviously, he won.” Raven said bluntly, lying back on the floor.
“He knows that he didn‘t. I manipulated the chest before he had seen it. He‘s probably making a plan to come and find me and torture the secret of me.”
Raven’s eyebrow lifted at this bit of information. “That was quite Slytherin of you.”
“Thanks.” And with an afterthought, “I can’t believe that I’m actually having a civil conversation with you. After the fight that was about 15 minutes ago, we’re doing pretty good.”
“Which means that I am going to stop talking to you right now, because it might ruin my Slytherin reputation.” Raven said. “ We’re not as bad as everyone makes us out to be. We’re just wired different. And the fact that our common room is underwater makes us undeniably fantastic.”
Hermione snorted. So much for being humble.
Hermione turned her snort into a cough. “Something in my throat.” She said hoarsely.
But before Raven could say how she completely didn’t believe Hermione, and in fact thought it was a snort.. Well, what else could on do but scream when someone drops on you out of mid air?
Raven could only scream in pain as someone flashed in and landed right smack dab on top of her.
“What is your bloody problem?!?” Raven gasped, pushing of the person, and proceeding to clutch her ribs.
“Don’t you even talk to me, Trapper! You’re not worth the scum underneath my fingernails!” screeched a voice.
Hermione almost felt her ears start bleeding with the recognition of the speaker.
It was none other than Pansy Parkinson, in all of her pug-faced glory.
“You try to steal my Drak-eey from me every time I turn my back, and then you go and screw around with my boyfriend on his ship! If there was ever a slut in this world, it would be you!”
It was in situations like these that Hermione found that luck wasn’t her friend. In fact, it was an enemy. If she were lucky, she’d have earplugs, or even her wand to silencio the crazy Slytherin. And then she did precisely what she shouldn’t have done. She snorted.
Which in turn caused an immediate silence and alerted Pansy of her presence.
And the fury of a Drama Queen who had a broken fingernail was something to really shake at.
Especially when the Drama queen with the broken fingernail was none other than the captain you had tied to the post of her own ship, and left her there for the seagulls to poo on.
How utterly spiffing.
“You.” she spat.
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Hermione smirked. “How can I help you?”
“You sodding cow! How dare you even speak to me?!” Pansy shrieked, throwing her hands, yes, the one with the broken fingernail too, into the air. “After what you did!”
“What I did?” Hermione asked, flushing slightly. “ Might I remind you, dear girl, that you were the one who killed Blaise, a member of your own house.”
“I did it for his own good.” Pansy said, her eyes narrowing.
“Oh yes, I see. “ Hermione said with mockery filling her voice. “Like he wasn’t well off anyways. He was perfectly fine on my ship.” Hermione snarled. Her knuckles were turning white from grasping the armrests to prevent herself from getting up. She really really didn’t want to get into a cat-fight right now. “And please, Parkinson, don’t claim ownership to Draco Malfoy. I’m not sure he’d like that too much. I mean honestly, have you seen your face?”
So much for avoiding a cat fight.
But Pansy did the unexpected. She raised her eyebrow. “What are you insinuating about Draco? That you could lay ownership to him? You’re a Mudblood, remember?”
“So?” Hermione asked, shocked by where the conversation was going, and utterly shocked by what she was about to say. “Just because I’m a Mudblood ,as you so kindly put it, you Pureblood trash, doesn’t mean that your precious Drak-eey doesn’t want me.”
Hermione masked her smirk of triumph when she saw a flicker of uncertainty pass through Pansy’s green eyes. But, it was gone as soon as it came. The Slytherin was back in the game. “Oh really? He wouldn’t even think of you in any sexual manner. Merlin!” She laughed. “He wouldn’t even think of kissing a buck-toothed, bushy-haired, know-it-all, never-take-risks, dirty, filthy, Mudblood.” she hissed.
Hermione bristled slightly at the girls comments. This whole Mudblood thing is really getting old. “Great vocabulary there, Parkinson. Did you Death Eater Mummy teach you that in the cradle?”
For a moment, Pansy seemed as if she was going to explode. Then it was gone. “You are clever.” Pansy said, disbelievingly. “Trying to change the subject. Congratulations, beaver , you almost succeeded.” And with an after thought, “But as they say, ‘almost’ doesn’t count.”
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Pansy cut her off. “I’ll make a bet with you, Mudblood. One that requires almost nothing of you.”
Hermione didn’t like the sound of that. “What if I don’t agree to this ‘bet’ of yours.” she asked, vindictively.
“You wouldn’t do that.” Pansy said, cleverly.
Almost too cleverly, Hermione noted. “What makes you think I won’t? Decline the bet, that is.”
Pansy smirked. “You’re a Gryffindor. Getting exercise by pushing your luck. Your kind doesn’t back down from challenges. Especially, when proposed by a Slytherin. It simply isn’t done.” She stated loftily.
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Tell me what the bet and stakes are, and I’ll give you my answer.”
Pansy nodded curtly, leaning on the table, just across from Hermione. Raven stood nearby. “I don’t think you can do this, Parkinson…”
“Haven’t I told you to shut your mouth once, Trapper? Do I have to do it again?”
Before Raven could retort, Hermione cut her off. “It’s Ok, Trapper. I don’t mind a challenge at all.”
Raven shook her head sadly and muttered something. It sounded a lot like ‘You’re not bloody Potter.’
But Hermione could never be sure. Her ears were ringing with adrenaline. She could do this. She could and she knew it. She held all the clues in her hand, and no one could stop her from winning the game. Not even Malfoy.
Pansy’s deep red lips curled into a smile. It made Hermione wonder if such a lip color was possible. It also made her wonder if so much evil could be packed into one person. Oh. she conceded. I forgot about Malfoy. Pansy cocked a brow. “You have to kiss Draco before the game is over. And I don’t mean just any kiss. He has to want it. You can’t initiate it either. He has to go for it. It’s like--”
“I get the point, Parkinson. Make Malfoy want me, and make out with me. Fine. If that’s the way you want it. Well, that’s just peachy. If you could tell me what the stakes are?”
Pansy narrowed her eyes slightly. “ If you win, I will publicly apologize, in the Great Hall during the congratulations dinner, that I am so very sorry for calling you a Mudblood, and admit that you are the brightest witch of our age.”
Hermione narrowed her honey eyes as she sized Pansy up. The girl was wearing similar attire to herself. White blouse, black breaches (in Hermione’s case, dark brown) and boots to match. She wore a belt from which hung her bronze cutlass hung freely, right where Pansy could reach in a split-seconds notice. Hermione’s gold cutlass hung the same way. Both girls had muskets, but Hermione’s was missing. She had lost hers in the cliffs somewhere. Most likely on the bridge. She thought. But all in all, she knew she could take on Pansy.
After all, she mused, I’ve already defeated her once. “You do know, Parkinson, that saying ‘sorry’ means that you’re never going to do it again?”
Pansy scoffed. “No, I didn’t, Granger. Thanks for so gladly reminding me.” she said sarcastically.
“And If I lose?”
The question was inevitable, and Pansy was more than eager to respond. “You have to, publicly, announce that you are a Mudblood. That you understand that Pure-Bloods are of a higher status, and that you will never be as good as Draco Malfoy. Ever.”
“Well, that’s not so bad.” Hermione thought. “If I win, you get publicly humiliated, and If you win, I get publicly humiliated. Sounds fair to me.”
“So we have an accord?” Pansy asked, her hand gliding out to meet hers. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at the old fashioned language.
“You’ve a wager, Parkinson.”
Their hands met, and they shook, briefly. Hermione tried to free her hand from Pansy’s grasp, but found that she couldn’t. “If you wanted to hold my hand, Parkinson, all you had to do was say so.” Hermione sneered.
Pansy ignored her. “Trapper, I need you to perform the binding spell.
“What?” Hermione asked all too innocently. “You don’t trust me?”
“Not one bit.” Pansy answered, rolling her eyes.
After performing the binding spells, and the vows, their hands jerked apart. Hermione now had a brilliant ring of a snake curled around her pinky finger on her right hand. She tried to pull it off, but it wouldn’t go. After an affirmative glance, she found that Pansy had one as well.
And Merlin, did it burn. But of course, Hermione was above showing any outward pain. She glared at Pansy, and sat back down in her seat.
“It won’t come off until you’ve finished your part of the bargain. If you kiss him, it’ll come off. Mine won’t, not until I’ve fulfilled my part of the stakes. If you don’t win, however, and I know that you won’t,” She added confidently, “Because he would never kiss a girl like you--”
“I do believe that we’ve covered that particular area.” Hermione said, slightly aggravated at the girl. “Please tell me something I don’t know.”
If slightly meant that she really wanted to strangle the Slytherin until she couldn’t breath….Well then yes, Hermione was slightly aggravated.
“Oh, so you admit that he would never kiss you!” Pansy exclaimed, smirking. “I was right.”
“Sorry, let me rephrase that. Tell me something I care to know.”
Pansy was at the end of her rope. She was so tired of being outwitted by this Gryffindor Mudblood. “As I was saying. “ she gritted through her even white teethe. Hermione was sure that they had been magicked to look that way. “If you don’t kiss him, and lose the bet, mine will come off once the game ends. Yours will not. It will burn your finger off if you don’t fulfill the stakes.”
Hermione nodded simply, but decided to speak out the thought that crossed her mind. “ You know, I don’t think that’s quite fair. Your pinky has a broken nail, and therefore has less worth than mine, and you could afford to loose it.” She continued, oblivious to Pansy’s mounting anger. “My pinky, on the other hand, has a perfectly normal nail, and therefore, I believe is being compromised in this situation.” She finished smartly, smirking at Pansy.
My, my. Someone would have been a GREAT Slytherin. Raven conceded. And before Pansy could blow up again, she broke the anger in the air. “How did you get here, by the way?” Raven asked, trying to maintain a safe distance from the Slytherin that was turning a nice shade of puce at the moment. She edged over closer to Hermione. She shot an apologetic at the honey-eyed girl, and turned her attention to Pansy.
And it seemed as if her, her being Pansy, anger had been channeled from Hermione to someone else. “Ronald Weasley.” she growled, digging her nails into the wood of one of the tables.
“Ronald?” Hermione said in shock. Ron would never kill someone.
“The bastard hung me!”
“Ron hung you?” Hermione asked, incredulously. She couldn’t believe it!
“No, you idiot, he gave me lollipops!”
Ok, so maybe she could. This was Pansy that they were talking about here. In a situation with her, there were only two options. Commit suicide, or kill her. Hermione would have chosen the latter as well.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be such a bint about it.”
“Why don’t you just go read a book, Mudblood, and save us from your stupid questions.”
“Well, why don’t you just stuff it, Parkinson?. “ Hermione replied, already tired of the game that Pansy was trying to play. “Just be a good little girl and zip those ugly red things you call your lips. Speaking of your lips,” Hermione said, wanting to voice her thoughts from earlier, ‘Is it even natural to have lips that color?”
Pansy couldn’t take it anymore. First, the Mudblood had insulted her nails, then her lips, then her intelligence… and also the fact that Draco wasn’t, in fact, hers. It infuriated her! So she did the only thing that she, and only she, being the drama queen that she was, could pull off without a hitch.
She let out a scream that made the window pains shriek even louder than before. Hermione felt a thread of pity reach out for them. That pity was forgotten when her own ears began to shriek at her. Just when the other two girls were about to faint on the floor from the horrendous screeching symphony, curiously of Pansy, who seemed to have some sort of cursed banshee ancestors, as she had clearly proven with her voice, the Great Hall doors swung open with a BANG.
Pansy immediately shut up.
Hermione was thankful for a single moment until she realized who had opened the doors.
It was the Headmistress herself in her leopard nightgown.
The girls were lost for words.
“What in Merlin is going on here?” she shrilled.
No one said a word.
She must have shrews for ancestors. Raven thought. It could happen.. With all that shrilling that she does..
“Well?” McGonagall prompted, looking from face to face, waiting for an answer.
Hermione, being the brave Gryffindor she was, went straight to the point. “I didn’t know that you wore leopard pajamas, I thought that you always wore tartans.…”
Minerva shot her a disapproving look, “What I chose to wear when I go to sleep, is none of your business, Miss Granger.”
She looked at the other two. "I’ll just get you all resorted then, so I can go back to sleep!” She grabbed Raven by the arm and conjured up a wall between them so that she could converse privately with the student inside, so that she could decide where to put them. The headmistress stepped through a door that just appeared in the wall, and pulled Raven in behind her. The door clicked shut.
Which left Pansy seething at Hermione.
“Foam at the mouth anymore, Parkinson, and people will think you have rabies.” Hermione supplied.
“Shut your filthy mouth, Mudblood.” Pansy retorted, anger flaming in her green eyes.
“Oooh, great comeback. I daresay, your mother would be proud of you!” Hermione said, sarcastically.
Before Pansy could reply at this second quip to her mother, the headmistress strode out from the room and grabbed her by the arm and drug her through the wall. Pansy shot a look that Hermione interpreted as “This isn’t over.. And don’t forget about the bet." Her eyes shot down to Hermione’s fingers. Then she was gone.
After a few moments, Minerva and Pansy walked out of the wall. The headmistress was the first to speak. “We seem to have a problem transferring Miss Parkinson back to the game. I cannot to so without her signet, and as Miss Parkinson has informed me, you had taken it away from her in the game.”
“So, give it back.” Pansy said, anger lacing her voice and contorting her almost pretty face.
“The choice,” the Professor said to Hermione, “Whether she goes back or not, is yours. You may restore her signet to her, or your may keep it and demand that she stay here.”
Hermione could almost see a pleading emotion in the old woman’s eyes, asking her to let Pansy back into the game. Hermione gave a small shake of her brown curls. “I’m afraid that Pansy will not be returning to the game. I have plans to fulfill, and I can not be bothered by her. “ She said, pointing to Pansy’s direction.
Pansy’s eyes flared, but before she could say anything, McGonagall had made her decision, and silenced Pansy. “Looks like you’ll be staying here until the game is over.” She said to Pansy, with a very very tight smile. “Welcome back to Hogwarts.”
Pansy began to shriek in fury. Minerva simply snapped her fingers, and Pansy flew out the double doors with considerable speed. Hermione was sure that Pansy hadn’t done it entirely willingly. “I really do wish that you had let her back into the game. I’d really rather not put up with her.”
Hermione smiled apologetically. “Better you than me.”
The headmistress pursed her lips characteristically. “This may seem like a rather odd question, but have any books fallen from the sky during your duration in the game thus far?”
Hermione was taken aback by the question, but she pulled her pack from her shoulder and nodded as she pulled out the worn copy of Peter Pan. “Do you mind my asking, Professor," she paused before asking her question. But as she was Gryffindor, she gathered up the courage and asked, “why in the world you would write such a book?” Hermione asked, cryptically.
The Headmistress sat down, and implored for Hermione to sit down as well. Hermione raised a brow to a twinkling that she had never seen in her prudent teachers’ eyes before.
She was swarmed with memories of her past, as her eyes glittered in an almost sinister way, that made Hermione shiver.
“You see, Miss Granger, I was once in love with Tom Marvolo Riddle.”
There you have it! Favorite quotes anyone? suggestions? they both make my day :)
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