Dizziest Daydreams
Hermione collapsed, exhausted, onto her fourposter. The other girls were still milling about the dormitory, talking and unpacking their things before bed. Lavender and Parvati were whispering animatedly to each other, and while Hermione caught Ron’s name once or twice, she could not bring herself to care. Her mind was still racing. She couldn’t deny her attraction to Pansy, that much was for sure, but she still had no idea how to proceed. After another quarter of an hour just lying there, agonizing, Hermione wrenched herself up and got ready for bed, stripping off her robes and the clothes underneath and pulling on her red flannel pajama pants and on oversized t-shirt that she must have taken from the burrow- it still smelled faintly of Molly’s cooking. After washing her face and trying unsuccessfully to wrestle a comb through her hair, she fell back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and rolling to face towards the wall, trying to ignore the continued conversations of her classmates. After what seemed like ages, the voices around her died out, and a sleepy haze floated down around her agitated thoughts. Before she knew it, Hermione was falling into fitful dreams where black, silky hair wound around her fingers and soft lips pressed against her ear, whispering things she would desperately try to remember when she awoke.
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The dining hall smelled of bacon, eggs and raspberry jam. The chatter of the students’ swelled like music, and sunlight streamed through the windows. Hermione was squeezed tightly between Harry and Ron, craning her neck to get a look at professor Mcgonagal, who was walking around the Gryffindor table, handing her fellow sixth years their class schedules.
“Christ,” Ron was saying through a bite of toast, “I wish they’d stop it already.”
“You can’t blame them, he's famous,” replied Hermione distractedly, who was still waiting anxiously for Mcgonagal to reach her, schedule in hand. A few fourth year girls, several seats down on the opposite sides of the table, were causing a bit of a scene. They were whispering, rather loudly, about Harry, who was ignoring them (although he had gone rather red in the face).
Mcgonagal had finally reached the three of them.
“Granger,” she said, sounding official, “You are approved to take everything you’ve signed up for. Would you like to make any changes to your schedule?”
“No Professor,” said Hermione quickly, grabbing the piece of parchment that was in Mcgonagal’s outstretched hand. “Oh!” she squeaked, looking at her schedule, “I’d better get going!” and without another word, she grabbed her book bag and dashed out of the dining hall and up the stairs to Arithmancy.
Most of the first week passed in a blur. The September air was still warm, and the lake, which could be seen from the windows of the Gryffindor common room, glittered perpetually in the sun. But the tempting weather was not to be enjoyed. The sixth years already had mountains of homework, and the increased difficulty of their classes kept everyone very busy and very much inside. Although Hermione’s head was already full of new spells, new potion recipes and rather complicated magical theory, there still seemed to be part of her mind that was reserved for Pansy. The two girls had three classes together; Ancient Runes, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. In all three classes, Hermione always chose her seat very carefully; as far away from Pansy as possible. But even with this extra precaution, she still couldn’t seem to help herself. She stole glances at Pansy every chance she got, in the dining hall, during classes, in the corridors, and she could swear that she sometimes caught Pansy looking back at her, but both girls always looked away too quickly for Hermione to be sure of anything.
Hermione continued to try desperately to keep Pansy from her mind, to no avail. She reminded herself that they barely knew each other, that Pansy couldn’t possibly be interested (she had a boyfriend after all!) and even if she was interested, there was no way it could work. Although she knew in her heart her friends would accept her, she still couldn’t imagine telling them that she fancied a girl, and besides that, Pansy was a Slytherin. She didn’t know of many relationships between Gryfindors and Slytherins, and even if she knew Harry and Ron wouldn’t care if she was with another girl, she wasn’t so sure about how they would feel about her seeing someone from their rival house.
The only things that were able to push Pansy out of Hermione’s mind were her increasingly difficult homework, and her conversations with Harry and Ron. Between the ever present threat of He Who Must Not Be Named, Harry’s newfound notoriety (he had gotten even more famous over the summer) and the excitement of seeing their peers again after several months apart, the three of them had much to discuss. They had taken to holding lengthy conversations whilst sitting next to the fireplace nearly every evening, after Hermione had finished her homework and the boys had gotten through at least half of theirs.
“Well I think she’s pathetic,” Hermione was saying, as she scratched off one of Ron’s weaker sentences in his essay on Defensive Spells. It was Thursday night, and she was sitting on the floor, her back resting against Harry’s legs, who was once again studying the Marauder’s Map intently, as he had been doing quite often over the past several days.
“She’s not bad looking,” argued Ron, who was lounging in the red armchair he had ordered a frightened looking first year out of, “and she’s in love with you,” he said, turning to Harry. The three were discussing whether or not Harry should try and get with Romilda Vane, a fourth year who seemed to have taken a liking to him.
“Oh I dunno,” replied Harry, who was starting to look rather uncomfortable.
“Harry, if you sleep with her, I will lose all respect for you,” said Hermione forcefully, continuing to make marks on Ron’s essay.
“Oh come on,” Ron laughed, throwing up his arms, “low hanging fruit!”
“If I’m being honest, she’s starting to scare me,” admitted Harry, invoking another burst of laughter from Ron. “I’m serious!” he continued earnestly, “I think she’s going to try and slip me a love potion!”
“Harry, she’s- Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Ron interrupted himself, whipping his head around as Ginny walked past.
“I fancy a walk,” she said defensively, and before Ron could continue his interrogation, she had slipped out of the portrait hole.
“She keeps sneaking off to see someone, I just know it,” said Ron angrily, all trace of laughter gone from his voice, “and I want to know who it is.”
“What’s it to you?” asked Harry absentmindedly, turning back to the Marauder's Map.
“What’s it to me?” spat Ron, even angrier than before, “She’s my bloody sister that’s what!”
“Okay! Sorry,” Harry replied quickly, trying to avoid a row.
“Oh come on Ron,” said Hermione reasonably, looking up from his essay. “She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”
“I just want to make sure he’s a nice guy, that’s all!” said Ron, who was beginning to look worried.
The three continued the rest of their work in silence, and soon enough Hermione had finished editing Ron’s essay and began to knit. She had gotten quite good at it over the summer and was now keen to continue doing it ‘the muggle way.’ Not long after he had gotten his essay back, Ron went to bed, still looking disgruntled. Harry and Hermione stayed in the common room for several hours longer as most of the others trickled up to bed, sitting together in a comfortable silence, both completely lost in thought.
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Friday morning dawned cold and grey, for autumn had begun to settle over the castle grounds in earnest. Fog clung to the corners of the dormitory windows, forming little beads that trickled down the stained glass like dark tears. Wind whistled through the tree branches below, and the lake was no longer glassy and smooth. The smell of clean laundry and someone’s flowery perfume hung about the room, which was chilly and completely still.
Hermione sat bolt upright in her fourposter, knowing at once something was wrong. All of the beds around her were empty, and the room was silent. Frantically checking her watch, she let out gasp, it was nearly nine! Why had no one awoken her? Throwing her bed clothes off, Hermione raced around the dormitory pulling on her robes and shoes, gathering up her hair into a bun, and grabbing her bag. Her Defense Against the Dark Arts class started in only three minutes, and she knew Snape did not appreciate tardiness, at least from students outside of his house.
Hermione dashed out of Gryffindor tower and down the many moving staircases towards the classroom, heart hammering. She could not remember the last time she was late to a class. She passed several portraits who hollered at her to slow down, giving dire warnings of vanishing stairs and other possibly fatal obstacles. Finally, stumbling over her shoelaces, her bag slipping off of her shoulder, Hermione reached her destination. She could already hear Snape’s drawl coming from inside the classroom. Self consciously pulling her skirt down, she pushed open the door.
“You are late, Granger,” drawled Snape, turning to look at her, almost amused.
“I know, Professor. I’m sorry I-”
“I do not appreciate when students are late to my class,” Snape continued, talking right over Hermione’s stammering apology. “Ten points from Gryffindor, and detention this evening.”
Hermione had expected Snape to take points from her house, but she had certainly not expected detention. She had not gotten one of those since first year, and that was a least for a good cause. Several students snickered as Hermione stood rooted to the spot, a lump forming in her throat.
“She was only like a minute late!” exclaimed Ron, apparently outraged at this injustice. Harry looked as though he was ready to raise an argument as well. Slytherin students were often late to Snape’s class, and he rarely batted an eye at them.
“We will have no more outbursts from you Weasly,” sneered Snape, “unless you would like to join your friend Granger this evening. Take your seat,” he ordered Hermione, indicating an empty desk at the very back of the room, “we will discuss your detention after class.”
Trying very hard not to look upset, Hermione walked to her seat, which, unfortunately, was directly behind Pansy’s. Knowing that she had witnessed this entire humiliating event made the whole matter ten times worse. But to Hermione’s complete shock, Pansy cast her a sympathetic look as she walked past, a sympathetic look that was not at all imagined.
This seemingly insignificant gesture sent Hermione’s heart racing once again, and she felt her spirits lift significantly as she sat down at her desk and pulled out her books. This change in mood was short lived however, for after his long winded and rather dull lecture, Snape informed Hermione that she would be spending her evening sitting in his classroom, grading first years’ essays on the correct methods for dealing with pixie infestations.
Feeling embarrassed all over again, and dreading spending her first Friday night back at school with Snape, Hermione spent the rest of the day in a gloomy silence. Dinner only made matters worse. She had not seen Lavender or Parvati all day (she didn’t have any classes with either of them on Fridays), and when they arrived, halfway through dinner, to the table, they were looking quite pleased with themselves.
“Hi Ron,” said Lavender, twirling her hair and smiling sweetly. Ron blushed profusely at this bizarre greeting, and mumbled a hello. Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, making quite a scene, as Ginny, who was sitting next to him, thumped him on the back.
Rolling her eyes, but otherwise ignoring this interaction, Hermione put down her fork.
“Hello?” she said incredulously, looking from Lavender to Parvati, “Why didn’t anyone wake me up this morning?”
“Oh, we didn’t think to,” said Lavender. Her flirtatious voice had completely evaporated, leaving a slight venomous quality behind. “Plus, we figured you could really use some beauty sleep.” Parvati quickly stifled a giggle.
“Well aren’t you two being pleasant,” said Ginny nastily, glaring at Lavender, as Hermione stood up and grabbed her bag, in what she hoped looked like a dignified manner.
“Are you leaving already,” said Harry, who had recovered from his choking fit, and was choosing to ignore the uncomfortable atmosphere that had settled over the table.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be late again,” replied Hermione, shooting one last dirty look at Parvati and Lavender. And without saying goodbye, she turned and strode out of the dinning hall. Furiously, she stormed up the steps that led back to Snape’s classroom. Those conniving little- why would they do that? While she had never been close with the two, she had always thought that they were friends, or at the very least friendly acquaintances. What would make them want to see her get herself into trouble? Still outraged, Hermione reached Snape’s classroom door, which was closed. Taking a deep breath to at least try and calm herself, she rapped smartly on the wooden door.
“Enter,” called Snape.
Hermione did as she was told, but before she could move any further into the room than the doorway, she stopped in her tracks, completely forgetting her anger. There, front and center, sitting in an old, rickety desk, looking as beautiful and mysterious as ever, sat Pansy Parkinson.