- Rating:
- G
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban
- Stats:
-
Published: 12/31/2001Updated: 02/04/2002Words: 3,419Chapters: 3Hits: 3,935
Chapter 03
- Posted:
- 02/04/2002
- Hits:
- 1,072
They say young people don't learn anything in high school nowadays, but, um, I've learned to be afraid.
-Xander, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Faith, Hope, and Trick)
---*---
Third year at Hogwarts School is a long, confusing grey blur to Hermione. Classes, so many classes SAVE HARRY, Sirius Black Harry, Arithmancy . . . save Harry . . .
Vaguely she knows that it was very foolish to think she could do so much at once. That kind of workload was inhuman, she tells herself. No one could have done it. Most people wouldn't have even made it through the year.
But Hermione knows that if she had tried harder she could have kept it up.
Hermione was very disappointed.
-----
There were times when things happened at such a perfect time that Hermione wondered if there really wasn't such a thing a destiny.
Hermione had wanted an owl. Not because she was really that fond of them, really, just because they were so practical.
Hermione got Crookshanks. Not because he was so practical, really, just because she was really that fond of him.
-----
Ron didn't understand. Ron rarely understood what she was trying to say, but third year was different. He laughed at her, and he laughed at her classes, and he laughed at dear Crookshanks.
Hermione thought Ron had a wonderful laugh, big and childish and innocent. She is glad that he laughs so much because when she hears it she forgets why she's angry. Everything goes away, and there's just Ron, grinning and laughing. She often thinks that she could recognize him from his laugh alone.
Sometimes Hermione thinks of herself, later on when she is taller, and prettier, and her hair is sleek and shiny and her teeth are smooth and straight, and she thinks she will love Ron. Sometimes.
----- Professor Lupin was a strange man. Oh, Hermione liked him well enough, but she thought there was something different about him. Something that didn't quite fit.
Too many things didn't make sense that year, she reflects. It was simply too much. That, there, that was it. *Too much*.
Too much - she just couldn't - can't - it was - stupid Trelawney -
Too much.
-----
Ron was a protective person by nature. Hermione liked it, most of the time. It made him seem sort of heroic. Sometimes he got out of hand, though. She spent a lot of time reassuring herself that it was just in his nature to accuse Crookshanks when Scabbers went missing, had to tell herself it wasn't personal when Ron yelled at her, said he hated her beloved cat, that poor Crookshanks was a murderer.
Though she isn't proud of it, even Hermione herself doubted Crookshanks, and she loved and trusted him as much as anything. So of course it wasn't personal when Ron screamed at her. Of course.
-----
Hermione hadn't ever imagined she'd be relieved to give up the Time-Turner. It was such an amazing opportunity, exactly the sort of opportunity she'd promised herself that no matter what, she would never pass up. It was exactly the thing she had wanted.
Later, she reflected that one's wants do not always go hand-in-hand with one's needs.
-----
The Triwizard Tournament was enormous, great and glittering and how oh-so-tantalizing. Hermione couldn't believe her luck to be attending school when it was taking place. Maybe her luck would have been better if she had been old enough to compete, but she wasn't sure. Just look at Harry, after all. Poor Harry.
Hermione looks at the competitors. Handsome Cedric Diggory. Gruff Victor Krum. Wonderful Harry. And Fleur Delacour.
Fleur Delacour is pretty, Hermione notices. Ron notices it too. Fleur Delacour is full of herself, Hermione notices. Ron doesn't notice.
But Ron looked at Fleur sometimes, often, and it made Hermione angry and frustrated in a way she couldn't express.
-----
The library was a third home to Hermione. She loved being there. She loved the atmosphere, she loved the *smell* of it. She loved the solitude.
When her simple solitude was invaded by a gruff, rugged Quidditch jock with psuedo-English, Hermione found herself more than a little annoyed. She was too polite to say anything, of course, of course, but . . . well. Viktor Krum, the Quidditch player. Viktor Krum, Ron's idol. Viktor Krum.
It had been such a surprise when he asked to the Yule Ball, but no, she didn't have a date yet . . . no, she wasn't going with Harry Potter. Wouldn't dream of it. She supposed she could go, really, but could she just ask -
Why in the world did he want to go with her?
-----
Harry had a very difficult year in fourth year. Hermione watched him sometimes, and he was drawn as tight as a drum, always worried, pressed to his limits. She worried about him sometimes, always, worried about his scar, about that dreadful Triwizard Tournament, about he and Ron.
She worried about herself too, but less. She wasn't silly enough to think that she would be anyone's prime target - uselessly smart Hermione, bookish Hermione. Hermione Granger . . . oh right, the smart one. Isn't she Harry Potter's friend? Sort of weird hair, teeth just so . . . yeah, that's the one. Hermione Granger.
Malfoy warned her, and she didn't know what he was playing at, but deep-down, she was afraid. Muggle-born - she was at risk. Greater risk than most, in fact, just because she was Harry's friend.
Still not in as much danger as Harry himself though, and still she was more scared than he'd ever be. How cowardly.
She remembers the muggle-family being tortured by the Death Eaters, and she clutches her stomach. She might have known those people - they might have been friends. It could have been her own parents up there. Her parents friends. Her head swims, and she bites her lip, hard, hanging onto the wash basin. She doesn't like to think like that.
She looks at Harry, and she sees it in his eyes. The overwhelming guilt. He knew, he *had* to know that just by being near people he put them in danger. She knew it was tearing him apart from the inside, she could see it in his face - poor, poor, poor Harry. She loved him so much.
-----
As the train speeds away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione thinks suddenly that next year is going to be very, very different.
-Xander, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Faith, Hope, and Trick)
---*---
Third year at Hogwarts School is a long, confusing grey blur to Hermione. Classes, so many classes SAVE HARRY, Sirius Black Harry, Arithmancy . . . save Harry . . .
Vaguely she knows that it was very foolish to think she could do so much at once. That kind of workload was inhuman, she tells herself. No one could have done it. Most people wouldn't have even made it through the year.
But Hermione knows that if she had tried harder she could have kept it up.
Hermione was very disappointed.
-----
There were times when things happened at such a perfect time that Hermione wondered if there really wasn't such a thing a destiny.
Hermione had wanted an owl. Not because she was really that fond of them, really, just because they were so practical.
Hermione got Crookshanks. Not because he was so practical, really, just because she was really that fond of him.
-----
Ron didn't understand. Ron rarely understood what she was trying to say, but third year was different. He laughed at her, and he laughed at her classes, and he laughed at dear Crookshanks.
Hermione thought Ron had a wonderful laugh, big and childish and innocent. She is glad that he laughs so much because when she hears it she forgets why she's angry. Everything goes away, and there's just Ron, grinning and laughing. She often thinks that she could recognize him from his laugh alone.
Sometimes Hermione thinks of herself, later on when she is taller, and prettier, and her hair is sleek and shiny and her teeth are smooth and straight, and she thinks she will love Ron. Sometimes.
----- Professor Lupin was a strange man. Oh, Hermione liked him well enough, but she thought there was something different about him. Something that didn't quite fit.
Too many things didn't make sense that year, she reflects. It was simply too much. That, there, that was it. *Too much*.
Too much - she just couldn't - can't - it was - stupid Trelawney -
Too much.
-----
Ron was a protective person by nature. Hermione liked it, most of the time. It made him seem sort of heroic. Sometimes he got out of hand, though. She spent a lot of time reassuring herself that it was just in his nature to accuse Crookshanks when Scabbers went missing, had to tell herself it wasn't personal when Ron yelled at her, said he hated her beloved cat, that poor Crookshanks was a murderer.
Though she isn't proud of it, even Hermione herself doubted Crookshanks, and she loved and trusted him as much as anything. So of course it wasn't personal when Ron screamed at her. Of course.
-----
Hermione hadn't ever imagined she'd be relieved to give up the Time-Turner. It was such an amazing opportunity, exactly the sort of opportunity she'd promised herself that no matter what, she would never pass up. It was exactly the thing she had wanted.
Later, she reflected that one's wants do not always go hand-in-hand with one's needs.
-----
The Triwizard Tournament was enormous, great and glittering and how oh-so-tantalizing. Hermione couldn't believe her luck to be attending school when it was taking place. Maybe her luck would have been better if she had been old enough to compete, but she wasn't sure. Just look at Harry, after all. Poor Harry.
Hermione looks at the competitors. Handsome Cedric Diggory. Gruff Victor Krum. Wonderful Harry. And Fleur Delacour.
Fleur Delacour is pretty, Hermione notices. Ron notices it too. Fleur Delacour is full of herself, Hermione notices. Ron doesn't notice.
But Ron looked at Fleur sometimes, often, and it made Hermione angry and frustrated in a way she couldn't express.
-----
The library was a third home to Hermione. She loved being there. She loved the atmosphere, she loved the *smell* of it. She loved the solitude.
When her simple solitude was invaded by a gruff, rugged Quidditch jock with psuedo-English, Hermione found herself more than a little annoyed. She was too polite to say anything, of course, of course, but . . . well. Viktor Krum, the Quidditch player. Viktor Krum, Ron's idol. Viktor Krum.
It had been such a surprise when he asked to the Yule Ball, but no, she didn't have a date yet . . . no, she wasn't going with Harry Potter. Wouldn't dream of it. She supposed she could go, really, but could she just ask -
Why in the world did he want to go with her?
-----
Harry had a very difficult year in fourth year. Hermione watched him sometimes, and he was drawn as tight as a drum, always worried, pressed to his limits. She worried about him sometimes, always, worried about his scar, about that dreadful Triwizard Tournament, about he and Ron.
She worried about herself too, but less. She wasn't silly enough to think that she would be anyone's prime target - uselessly smart Hermione, bookish Hermione. Hermione Granger . . . oh right, the smart one. Isn't she Harry Potter's friend? Sort of weird hair, teeth just so . . . yeah, that's the one. Hermione Granger.
Malfoy warned her, and she didn't know what he was playing at, but deep-down, she was afraid. Muggle-born - she was at risk. Greater risk than most, in fact, just because she was Harry's friend.
Still not in as much danger as Harry himself though, and still she was more scared than he'd ever be. How cowardly.
She remembers the muggle-family being tortured by the Death Eaters, and she clutches her stomach. She might have known those people - they might have been friends. It could have been her own parents up there. Her parents friends. Her head swims, and she bites her lip, hard, hanging onto the wash basin. She doesn't like to think like that.
She looks at Harry, and she sees it in his eyes. The overwhelming guilt. He knew, he *had* to know that just by being near people he put them in danger. She knew it was tearing him apart from the inside, she could see it in his face - poor, poor, poor Harry. She loved him so much.
-----
As the train speeds away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione thinks suddenly that next year is going to be very, very different.