Sleepless Nights

Sleepless Nights

Chapter Three:

Stardust

"And now the purple dusk of twilight time

Steals across the meadows of my heart.

High up in the sky, the little stars climb

Always reminding me that we're apart."

Friday morning arrived, and it arrived with a bang. Hermione woke up with a pounding headache and groaned softly. 'Just what I need,' she thought bitterly to herself. 'I get to roam Hogwarts with a migraine.' Hermione threw off the covers and touched her feet to the heated floor. Ten minutes, a hot shower, and a headache powder later, Hermione was pulling on her most comfortable blue jeans and a red silk blouse. After adding socks, shoes, and a cloak, she was grabbing her backpack and heading to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Unfortunately, she encountered Peeves on the way. "Herm-own-ninny is going to be late! Going to be late! Late for breakfast!" he cackled.

"Shut-up Peeves," Hermione growled underneath her breath. She continued to storm down the hall, but Peeves had picked his target.

"Herm-own-ninny can't control me!"

"The Bloody Baron can," she snapped and turned around, placing her hands on her hips and glaring dangerously. Peeves paused, but only for a moment.

"You won't get him," smirked the Poltergeist.

"Harangus!" Hermione shouted with her wand pointed at Peeves's mouth. A smoky needle appeared in the air and stitched a stronghold over his lips. Making the most horrible screams he could, he flew through the walls, and Hermione didn't see him for another month.

Dragging herself the rest of the way to the Great Hall took a noble effort, and managing to land on a seat was in itself a miracle.

"You look like shit."

Hermione looked up with a fire in her eyes that made Ron immediately apologize. Hermione returned to her throbbing black world.

"I think you look nice," offered Harry cautiously.

"No, I don't," Hermione mumbled from within her dark world of self-pity.

"I think you do. That blouse agrees with you."

Hermione glanced down to make sure she really was wearing a blouse, it wasn't trying to hold a conversation with her, and also to remember what color it might be. "Thanks, Harry." Mistaking her low, drawling tones for sarcasm, he began to ask forgiveness. "Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to sound as if I didn't appreciate it. I'm just tired, and my headache isn't helping any." Hermione bit into a slice of toast spread with marmalade and washed it down with a sip of coffee.

Ron scowled at Harry, but Harry merely shrugged and mouthed, "Your loss."

Hermione stood up shakily and began to stumble outside for Herbology. Harry and Ron scrambled up and hurried after her. "Hermione!" Ron shouted and grabbed her arm. "You shouldn't be walking around alone in the state you're in!"

"What do you plan to do when I go to Arithmancy, and you go to Divination?"

"I... well..."

"I'll be all right, Ron."

"Okay. But let me hold you while we go to Herbology?"

"Of course." He wrapped his arms around her and, feeling incredibly light-headed, they slowly walked to Greenhouse IV.

There were only three open spaces left: one by Neville in the front and the other two in the back. "Hermione, I need to talk to Harry. Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Hermione adjusted her books and joined Neville.

"Are you okay?" Neville whispered as Professor Sprout demonstrated the proper way to sing to a baby Gigglelikus. Hermione nodded while she pulled on her dragon-hide gloves.

***

1500 Plants You Should Be Careful of when Handling tells us, "Gigglelikus is a very rare and tender plant. Much like the Mandrake in that the roots resemble a human, the Gigglelikus is much gentler. It does not scream in its early stages, but merely coos and emits the occasional hiccup. In its adolescent years, it giggles at a rapid speed for several months, and once it has matured, chuckles richly when pulled from the soil. Its known properties are remedies for depression and some of the most successful disguises. One who eats a steamed Gigglelikus leaf will develop the characteristics they despise most. Gigglelikus roots cause very poor memory and a shortened attention span. Nevertheless, the consumer's fashion taste will noticeably improve. This may be the reason more expensive stores, especially in Paris, feed their customers a small portion of Gigglelikus root before they make a purchase."

***

Professor Vector rapped the long ruler covered in Runes against her desk, and the chattering students fell silent. Hermione, who always sat in the front of the classroom, perched on the edge of her seat. Blaise Zabini sat next to her, slumped back in her seat and twirling a Muggle pen idly between her fingers. She lowered the tip to the paper and began sketching a caricature. Hermione watched from the corner of her eye, and as soon as the ink outlined the sharp profile, Hermione had to fight to suppress her giggles. Blaise grinned to herself and kept drawing.

"Miss Granger? Is there something you wish to share with the rest of the class?"

"No, Professor Vector. I'm sorry."

"Pay attention to the numbers, Miss Granger. That's all there is to this." Professor Vector glanced at Blaise, and her brow furrowed. "This is Arithmancy, not Art Class Miss Zabini. As amusing as your Head of House can be when sketched, I do not recall him being interested in Arithmancy as a boy, and he is therefore unrelated to this class. Please save your other skills for later."

Blaise placed the parchment carefully into her bag, but the pen stayed between her fingers.

"Anyway, seeing as how it's your seventh year, I was planning on continuing something that has worked for me so far, and I expect it to keep working." She shot a glare at some of her least favorite students. "For the past few years, my seventh year classes have followed a pattern. One week I would teach something new, more complex and maybe even allow the students to experiment and try to discover something I haven't taught them. The next week, we would review whatever my students wanted. In that review, you would apply the lessons to yourself. I know that I did not allow you to do this earlier, and it was because I believed you wouldn't be mature enough to realize that these numbers do not dictate your future. They are merely guides along the road. Numbers can not control your life."

"Wonderful speech," mumbled Blaise underneath her breath.

Professor Vector pretended not to hear. "Today, you'll be trying to match your character numbers to a place you might like to live, favorite food, etc. I'm sure all of you know your character number by now."

Hermione pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and scrawled her character number, three, at the top. Various cities popped into her mind. She wrote them down into tidy rows and after she had cleared all her ideas, began to do the math.

Ten minutes later, her list had drastically shortened to New York, Glasgow, and Poitiers, a charming town she had visited in France. She tucked the list into her Arithmancy folder and continued with breakfast foods.

***

Hogwarts had scheduled students to have a trip to Hogsmeade that Friday. Hermione had cleared it with Snape on Thursday's detention, and they agreed it would be all right for Hermione not to attend the first half-hour.

As Head Girl, Hermione was partly in charge of supervision, especially at the Three Broomsticks. Several students usually had more than their proper share of Butterbeer and ended up humiliating themselves table dancing before the evening was over. However, Hermione had paired up with Justin Finch-Fletchey (Head Boy), and they agreed he would take the first half, and she would supervise the pub on the second.

The first stop was Honeydukes. Harry had begun to run low on Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and Ice Mice. Ron was determined to buy enough Drooble's Best Blowing Gum to make Hogwarts float in mid-air. Hermione merely wanted a few Sugar Quills to tide her over during History of Magic.

Afterwards, Harry and Ron departed for Zonko's (Fred and George had written asking them to find out what any new products were), but Hermione left for the used bookshop. Grabbing a few books, she nestled down for about forty-five minutes and read the first chapter of each. The hickory clock on the wall chimed five o'clock, and Hermione purchased The Green Mile, The Golden Compass, and Morgana: 1001 Questions You Never Thought to Ask.

"You awright, 'Mione?" asked Henry, the regular bookkeeper there.

"Yeah, why?" Hermione set the coins on the counter.

"You usually buy at least five on a weekend. Somethin' wrong?"

Hermione gave a weak smile. "No, Henry. Nothing's wrong. I've got a headache, that's all."

"Nasty blighter, eh?"

Hermione shrugged. "I managed to take care of most of it when I woke up. Those powders you told me about really work."

Henry grinned. "They shu' do. Why else would I recommend 'em to me fav'rite bookworm?" He winked and handed her the books.

"Thanks, Henry. I'll see you later, shall I?"

"You do dat, 'Mione." He called after her as the door closed, "I 'ope ya feel bettah soon!"

Harry and Ron were waiting for her outside the Three Broomsticks. It seemed relatively peaceful outside (the building wasn't on fire at least), so Hermione managed to walk inside without running in the opposite direction, screaming.

The inside wasn't too out of control. A Hufflepuff doesn't make much influence on rowdy students, but it wasn't a miniature version of Barnum & Bailey's Circus either. "All right, Justin. Your turn," she sighed, and he gratefully scampered outside.

Madam Rosmerta was the first person to come up to Hermione. "What'll it be dear?" she asked in a sympathetic tone.

"An Italian Ice, please. Make it raspberry."

"Right away, dear. I'll just be a moment." No sooner had the sparkling blue pumps disappeared than the first student came up to her and dumped their problems on her lap.

"Hermione, Susan Foster is crying because Jake Little broke up with her."

"Hermione, Michael Watson threatened to give me zits if I didn't kiss him."

"Hermione, Pansy Parkinson told me she saw doom in my future if I didn't skin a cat in the Hufflepuff stands during the next Quidditch game."

Eventually, an enormous crowd of girls, some waving ticket numbers in the air, had gathered around Hermione shouting their problems at her. Patience gone and head pounding, she shot a stream of red sparks into the air. "BE QUIET!" she roared. "NOW IF ANY OF YOU HAVE ANYTHING IMPORTANT TO TELL THAT HAS NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH DATING, DIVINATION, OR PERSONAL APPEARANCE, PLEASE WAIT IN A LINE AND TELL ME IN A NORMAL TONE OF VOICE! IF NOT, PLEASE GO AWAY AND USE YOUR BRAINS!" Every single person had returned to the booth or table they had been sitting at earlier. The dull roar that had once pounded in her ears was now a blissful silence. Glancing at the clock, it was revealed to be seven o'clock and the time to return to Hogwarts. She asked Harry politely if he would mind speaking up for her, for her voice was slightly raspy from the earlier moment's screaming.

"ALL RIGHT, EVERYONE! LISTEN UP! IT'S TIME TO GO BACK TO HOGWARTS! IF YOU COULD PLEASE RETURN TO THE CARRIAGES, WE WOULD APPRECIATE IT! PLEASE DO NOT LAG ABOUT, BECAUSE YOU WILL BE LEFT BEHIND!" With a flurry of coats, the students had gone outside.

"Thanks," whispered Hermione.

"No problem, was it Ron?" He nudged his friend in the stomach.

"I suppose not." Hermione shot him a worried look as they left.

Ginny ran up to them. "Harry!"

Harry was climbing into the carriage; one foot was on the step, and both hands were clutching the doorframe. He turned and looked over his shoulder and almost fell off in surprise. "Oh my gosh! Ginny, I'm so sorry! Look, I-"

Ginny smiled and raised a finger to his lips. "I understand perfectly. Just let me know next time. That way I'm not stuck waiting by the train station for half an hour."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh! Do you want to ride with us?"

Ginny shook her head. "No. I promised Ernie Macmillan I'd ride with him. I hope you don't mind..."

"No! No, not at all."

"Thanks." Ginny stood up on her tiptoes and pecked Harry on the cheek.

"Hey Ginny! Are you coming?" Ernie shouted.

"All right!" She ran in the direction from which the voice had shouted. "Bye Harry!" she called over her shoulder.

His fingers twitched in the air for about ten seconds and slowly his arm lowered. He gazed, thunderstruck, at Ginny's back then shook his head and climbed into the carriage. He was blushing furiously. Hermione grinned ferociously. "Well, I was planning on telling you guys what I've been working on in detention, but seeing as how -"

"Tell us!"

"Oh, come on!"

Hermione raised her hands in surrender. "All right! All right! I've been helping Professor Snape work on..." She glanced around for anything that looked untrustworthy, but they all leaned together anyway. "What we've been working on is an Animagus Potion."

They both leaned back in their seats. "That's it?"

"'That's it?' Do you realize what I'm saying? It's never been done before! Think about it! One sip and a person could skip years of work with the same results! Think about how that could change the world!"

Hermione could see the light bulb materializing over Harry's head, but Ron's expression was still as blank as ever. "Okay, guys, let's put it this way. Rita Skeeter managed to sneak around because she was an Animagus, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. Imagine the entire press being able to do that."

Harry's face took on a humorous expression of immense fear, and Ron's eyes almost popped out of his head.

Hermione smiled. "Anyway, Professor Snape asked me if I'd mind extending the detention half an hour, and I said I wouldn't mind if -"

"Wait just a second. Are you working on this voluntarily?" Ron asked with the tone of voice someone uses when told their invisible Aunt Mathilde was abducted by Eccentrica Gallumbits from the planet Eroticon Six.

One of Hermione's eyebrows arched. "Of course."

"With Snape."

"That's the general plan."

"Voluntarily," Ron repeated.

"I feel like I've been recorded onto a scratched record."

"ARE YOU CRAZY?"

Hermione paused. "Actually, there's an excellent possibility that I am."

Ron threw his hands up into the air and let out a scream of frustration.

"My feelings exactly."

Ron rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. Harry merely leaned against the side of the carriage and watched them. "What are you looking at?" snapped Ron finally.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just making my own opinions." Ron looked out the window in order to determine how much longer he would have to put up with the other two. "I was thinking about Hermione, and I was trying to look at things from her point of view."

"What did you see?" Hermione asked, truly curious. This was bound to be interesting.

"Well, the first thing I saw was ambition, and that leads to Slytherin. My first reaction was, 'If you're so ambitious, why weren't you placed in Slytherin?' Then I remembered what Dumbledore told me when I asked why I wasn't there myself, and I also remembered what you said about the different houses when we first met you. You asked not to be put in Slytherin, didn't you?"

Hermione seemed to have found a sudden interest in her shoes. "Actually, it did want to put me in Slytherin. I begged for it not to, so it put me in Gryffindor instead. It never even mentioned Ravenclaw, and I've always wondered why. I mean, my scores have always been higher than the Ravenclaws', and learning is supposed to be really important to them."

Ron's jaw was hanging open as if the hinge holding in place had disintegrated. "I thought so," Harry continued. "I figured if you could possibly be in Slytherin, it could also be possible for you to get along with Snape. So that was the first problem I'd found solved. The next one I asked myself was, 'Why would she want to work with Snape?'"

"Did you figure that one out?"

"Yes, I did. I also found the answer for that in your ambition. You'd do anything to make some important discovery, wouldn't you?"

"Well, not anything, but yes, I've always wanted to impact the future as much as you have, Harry."

Harry frowned. "You don't want to exchange family for fame, Hermione. I promise you that." He took a deep breath and plunged onward. "Anyway, I decided that it wouldn't matter a whole lot who you worked with, as long as they pulled their weight and didn't absorb all the credit for themselves. Snape's not that kind of person, so it isn't a problem to work with him."

"There's also another reason, Harry. Do you see it?"

Harry paused for a moment. Out of habit, his fingers picked at the Gryffindor seal on his chest. "That's it!" he exclaimed when his subconscious and train of thought collided. "It's out of stubbornness, isn't it? You want to prove that it's possible to work with him, don't you?"

Hermione grinned. "Actually, yes. That's all there is."

Ron continued to scowl. "That's the most stupid psychology I've ever heard. Stubbornness would keep me as far away from Snape as I could manage."

"That's because you can't see past the greasy hair into his brain, and past the Slytherin crest into his reason," snapped Hermione. "A psychiatrist could sum up your personality into two words, Ronald Weasley: 'jealous prat.'"

The carriage slowed to a halt outside the castle steps, and Hermione ran outside the carriage and into the castle without waiting for the wheels to stop completely.

Both Harry and Ron were sticking their heads out of the doorway. Harry turned his head to look at Ron, and Ron looked back at Harry. "What?" he asked, the silence finally getting to him.

Harry merely shook his head, shoved his way past Ron, and let his long legs carry him into the castle.

***

The dungeon door slammed open, and Severus Snape glanced upward to see a fuming Hermione growling in his doorway. She marched inside, dropped the three books she had bought at Hogsmeade in the back of the room, and placed her palms on top of a pile of freshly graded essays, managing to smear a "28%" in the process.

Snape sneered, and Hermione felt a strong urge to make a few gaps between his teeth. "You told them didn't you?" he asked.

Hermione screamed, and Mrs. Norris, who was three stories above them, paused in alarm. "DO YOU REALIZE HOW -"

"Miss Granger, I don't believe you have even begun to comprehend how impossibly ignorant some people allow themselves to be."

Hermione glared and leaned in to peer at him. "Can I borrow a book from you?"

Snape seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then slowly asked, "What would be the purpose of this book?"

"I need to beat Ronald Weasley senseless."

"Would you prefer Hogwarts: A History, Expanded Volume, or Webster's Complete Dictionary of Every Language?"

Hermione laughed and moved to a seat in the front. "Has the Ministry sent you a reply yet?"

"Yes." He reached into his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Dispachious à Granger." The paper rose in the air and glided gently towards Hermione. She looked at him quizzically as she took the paper from the air. "It's a French spell," he explained. "One picks up different ways of saying spells when one travels. Moreover, they have different effects. For example, if I had said the English Propellant Spell, the parchment would have hurled itself through the air and have nearly ruined itself in the process. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly." Hermione scanned the letter. Her brow furrowed, and she tapped the parchment with her finger. "What does it mean when it says, 'Your experimentation will be supervised'?"

Professor Snape sneered and marked through the greater majority of the page he was looking at. "It means that they will enchant a mirror to set up in my classroom while we are working so that those fools may watch us."

"Why not send an actual person? Magic Mirrors are very expensive."

Professor Snape's lips curled into a devilish grin. "Because the last time they tried that, the idiot they sent along temporarily blinded himself when he looked directly at my experiment." His grin spread wider. "I gave him directions to the Owlery instead of the Hospital Wing."

Hermione's eyes widened. "But the Owlery is on the other side of the castle!"

"I know that. I also heard that he stepped on Mrs. Norris and broke his nose on the journey."

Hermione finished the Ministry's reply. She rolled it up and took it back to Professor Snape. "Professor, about Sirius Black's trial, I promised to testify -"

"So did I."

"Oh, well all right then. I suppose that's settled. I just wanted to make sure that we wouldn't have to arrange a meeting place for his interview. I suppose that we'll just go together then." Professor Snape nodded in reply. Giving up at any hope of communication, Hermione pulled out her notes and began marking things that might be more important to them later. Her outline looked thus:

Objective: Create a potion that allows the drinker to become an Animagus.

Research:

15,000,000 Magical Herbs and Fungi

Advanced Transfiguration for the Immensely Meticulous

Legends of Merlin

Transfiguration for Dummies

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Time

Shape-Shifters: Were They Animagi?

Interviews:

Prof. Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistres at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry

Sirius Black

Conducted by Hermione Granger and Prof. Severus Snape

Possible Ingredients:

Gigglelikus

Dragon Scales

Quintaped Hair

Demiguise Hair

Phoenix Feather

Kelpie Mane

Slowly the minutes ticked by with the occasional question posed by Hermione and swept aside by her professor's hand with a wave of impatience. An hour passed, and Hermione began packing to leave. Lifting her bag onto the tabletop, she walked up to Professor Snape's desk. "Professor?" He made no movement to acknowledge if he was or not, so she continued. "I was wondering when it would be convenient to interview Professor McGonagall. I asked her yesterday after class, but we were too busy for me to bring it up. She told me that weekends and the early part of the Christmas holiday would be all right with her. I could be available in the Christmas holiday if you'd be able to make arrangements as well."

"I can schedule it, but I am unable to make a promise that I will be there, Miss Granger."

"Why not? I mean..." He looked up at her with such ferocity that Hermione mentally slapped herself for her ignorance. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"My foolhardy decision is not your fault, Miss Granger. However, I do advise you not to ignore the consequences my childish action will have upon you." She merely nodded. "You are free to leave early if you wish."

Hermione swept out of the room like a caged bird released into its native homeland. She collided into Harry around the corner, and papers flew everywhere. "Harry! What are you doing here?"

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" He began gathering up the scattered parchment and stacking it into a pile. "Were these in any particular order?" He looked from her Transfiguration homework to an extra credit essay for Lupin to yet another page of notes taken in Arithmancy.

She took the papers from his hands and smiled. "Don't worry about it. I was going to sort through them this weekend anyway." Gently, she placed them inside her sack and looped it around her shoulders. "Like I said earlier, what are you doing here?"

"I... well... Ron was being a prat this evening, and I just wanted to remind you that he really does like you, even if he doesn't show it too often." He grinned, and Hermione remembered a particular pixie that had pulled very persistently on her cloak in their second year. "He's barricaded our dorm and demands not to let anyone in until someone beats some sense into your head."

"So that's the reason you came down here! All you want is to sleep in your own bed tonight."

Harry rubbed his neck with a hand awkwardly. "Actually..." He laughed. "No, not really." Hermione's eyes bugged. "I didn't mean that! I just thought you might want a friend to walk with back to your room. These halls get lonely."

"You'd be the one to know, Mister Potter." She nudged him in the stomach and grinned.

He smiled. "So would you, Miss Granger."

"Oh, shut up. I don't sneak out in the halls half as often as you do, you know. I'm not the one with your dad's old Invisibility Cloak to protect me."

"Hey, you know that you can use it anytime you ask." He stopped walking long enough to look here in the eye. "I mean that now. If you ever think anything's wrong, and you need to take care of it, let me know, and I'll lend it to you."

Hermione nodded. "Of course I will. We've been friends too long not to ask." They continued down the hall, but this time in awkward silence.

"Guess what I'm thinking about," Hermione commanded Harry. He shrugged. "I was comparing the number of times Ron and I have been on not-speaking terms, but you and I have still been able to talk."

Harry furrowed his brow in thought. "All I can think of is when you told Professor McGonagall about my Firebolt and got it confiscated."

"Exactly. Isn't that weird?"

"Actually, I was thinking almost the same thing. I was thinking about when Ron wouldn't talk to me, because he thought I'd cheated my way into the Tournament, but you and I would still go out on the grounds for a stroll."

They rounded the corner in time to watch Circe transfigure a troubled second-year Hufflepuff into a poodle. "You little sniveling -"

"Circe!" Hermione rushed forward and restored the howling puppy to its normal state as a human. She cast a glance at Harry, who was already waving good-bye and turning to leave. 'Thanks,' she mouthed over the little girl's shoulder.

She shepherded the sobbing girl into her living room and sat her down on the couch. Quickly transfiguring a toffee into a mug of hot chocolate with three ice cubes floating in the steaming refreshment, she handed it to the greatly calmed down Hufflepuff. "I suppose you should start off by telling me your name."

Wiping away a tear, she sniffed, "Elizabeth Kelly."

"Okay, Elizabeth. What's the problem?" Hermione transfigured her own toffee into a mocha latte and sipped.

"I... I..." She burst into a fresh bout of tears, and Hermione handed her a box of Kleenex. "Thank you." She blew her nose and tried to continue. "Do you know Owen Cauldwell?"

Hermione racked her brain and produced an image of a tall, muscular, golden blonde fourth-year Hufflepuff that reminded her disturbingly of Cedric Diggory. "I think so."

"Anyway, Owen and I have been going out for weeks, and this Wednesday... well..." She rolled up her left sleeve, and Hermione began to panic. When the Dark Mark didn't appear, Hermione almost breathed a sigh of relief until a large green bruise revealed itself on her upper arm.

"Oh, Elizabeth!" Hermione stood up and led her into the bathroom. Elizabeth gazed in wonder at the elegance of her bedroom as they passed through. She almost stopped in the middle of the room and refused to move. "Come in here." Elizabeth stepped into the bathroom to be even more enchanted. While she stared at the handcrafted porcelain sink, Hermione whispered, "Claritio." A mask of foundation, blush and eyeshadow lifted from her face, then crumpled and fell into the sink like a ball of clay. Hermione gasped in horror. "How long has this been going on? I want the truth."

Elizabeth hung her head in shame. Her neck had ten bruises where Owen had squeezed, and her cheek was almost a solid purple. A small pink scar at the corner of her eye shaped like a small crescent moon seemed to be an odd defiant of crow's feet. "Two weeks."

"Have you told anybody? Does anyone know about this?"

"No. At least I don't think so. No one's mentioned it."

Hermione sighed. "Come on. I'm going to take you to Madam Pomfrey, where you'll stay overnight. Then I'm going to go see Professor Sprout."

"Oh, please no! I don't want to get Owen in trouble!" Hermione's temper flared, not at the girl, but at her passiveness and her dependence on something that did not exist.

"Elizabeth, Owen deserves whatever punishment he gets. No human being worthy of respect will beat someone just for the sake of caring for their victim. Come on. Let's go."

The trip though the halls was quiet but tender. That thirty minutes across the castle created a bond between the two that neither forgot for some time.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head when she saw Elizabeth and sat her down on the nearest bed. "Keep her here overnight, Madam Pomfrey."

"Oh, I think I'll be all right. I can probably go back to my Common Room tonight."

"Detention, Miss Kelly. You'll serve it here in the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey." Madam Pomfrey nodded solemnly.

"You're kidding!" Elizabeth laughed.

"I'm reporting it to your Head of House as soon as I leave, and if you mock my decision once more, I will deduct points from your house as well. Do I make myself clear?"

"Transparently," mumbled the young Hufflepuff dejectedly. Madam Pomfrey busied herself with her remedies. Hermione left for the Hufflepuff Common Room.

Professor Sprout appeared at her door in a nightshift and cap, a candle floating by her side. "Oh, Miss Granger! Is there something wrong?"

"No, Professor. However, I need to speak with you in private about Mr. Owen Cauldwell, if you please."

"Oh, come right on in dear." Professor Sprout stepped sideways, and Hermione passed into her chambers.

Professor Sprout's living room was painted a warm brown with hints of gold sponge technique. Hermione noticed the assortment of plants and herbs dangling from the ceiling. Clearly, Professor Sprout's main concern was of the horticultural kind. The furniture was mainly garden chairs and thin foam cushions. A hammock hung in the corner by the fireplace, and Hermione selected this as her seat. Professor Sprout, a cup of herbal tea in hand, took the only comfortable-looking chair in the room. It was upholstered in deep green leather, and when she leaned back, it reclined and a footrest popped into the air. "Now what was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Professor Sprout -"

"Would you like some tea? I made a fresh pot this evening."

"No thank you. You see Owen Cauldwell has been abusing Miss Elizabeth Kelly."

"Oh my! Are you quite sure?"

"She told me herself, Professor. She said this has been happening for two weeks."

"Where is the poor girl?"

"I took her to the Hospital Wing before I came here. She's been given detention with Madam Pomfrey to ensure that she stays there." Professor Sprout nodded. "I'll leave his punishment to you, since both students are in your house." Hermione got up to leave.

"You handled this situation excellently, Miss Granger. I thank you." Professor Sprout saw her to the door. "Five points to Gryffindor I should think, for your level-headed approach to such a serious situation, and another five for your quick and effective reaction."

"Thank you Professor Sprout. Good night."

"Good night, Miss Granger." The portrait shut quite firmly, and with, Hermione mused to herself, a very definite ring of doom for a certain Owen Cauldwell.

***

In the darkest corner of the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library lies a book entitled The Secrets of Becoming a Veela. It has no business being in the library, and Madam Pince refuses to lend it even to Professor McGonagall. Although Professor McGonagall has never requested that particular book, a certain Charms Professor has come very close to being permanently banished from the bookshelves for merely picking it up and reading the summary on the back. On the subject of Veela hair in chapter Six, it advises us to avoid the tantalizing locks: "Veela hair is a potent and dangerous item of great magical power. The only thing it the only occurrence when it is considered an option for usage is the core of a wand; even then, it induces a spark of inconsistency and foul temper. Mr. Ollivander of Ollivander's Wands refrains from using them whenever possible and has even canceled a New Year's Trip to New York City when he discovered the woman in charge of the fireworks used a veela-hair wand. Nevertheless, veela hair does have its virtues, a testimony that strength doesn't always lie in numbers. Veela hair laid on a pine log and then lit aflame will cause the wood to slowly burn at a comfortable temperature for days with a single hair. Norwegian witches buy veela hair for as many as three Galleons per strand. Another of the positive qualities of veela hair is the gift of partial human to animal Transfiguration. The bestial result is usually that of a bird, but it always produces an animal with predatory instincts. Another trait of veela hair is, when touched directly to free-flowing blood of a woman, will make that woman a maximum of five times stronger either physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, or magically. It depends on the area of the blood-to-hair contact which kind of strength will grow. This is commonly used as a drug for depressed patients at certain hospitals, thought extremely cautiously. The final somewhat positive trait of veela hair is extreme beauty in the eyes of men when it braided into a woman's hair in at least ten different places. This is very expensive and may be done professionally for no less than 300 Galleons. The American Britney Spears popularized this practice. Nevertheless, veela hair is a dangerous substance, and should only be used with utmost caution.

***

Hermione kicked off her shoes as soon as Circe closed behind her. Groaning, she stumbled into her bedroom. 'Friday,' she thought. 'The weekend officially starts tomorrow.' She caught a glimpse of the clock by her bed. 'Actually, it starts in fifteen minutes.' Hermione collapsed onto her bed, only to hear an indignant feline howl in protest. He burrowed his way out from underneath and instead plopped on top of her stomach and began to purr.

She managed to lift a hand to stroke his head. "Crookshanks? Are all men bastards?"

He merely purred in reply. To satisfy her need for arguing, she considered it an objection to her most recent statement.

"But they're such idiots! Egotistic brats, all of them! Ron's always complaining about how no one pays attention to him, and when they do, he either never really wanted it, or he revels in it like some Beauty Queen tanning on the beach." Crookshanks seemed to agree with her on that point.

"And Draco Malfoy! Ugh, what a prat! He has Ron's ego magnified ten times over and with enough money to get away with it! Moreover, he's always getting us into trouble. He isn't blamed for it of course. He just goes running to Professor Snape."

Crookshanks meowed. "Oh, yes! Him too! That man has enough hot air to blast a balloon to Mars and back, I swear it! It's almost as if he invented pride! I will never again see someone hold such a grudge against a mere boy simply for his genetic structure."

Hermione yawned. "Am I making a fool of myself?"

The cat purred simply and poked its mistress with a frisky paw. Hermione smiled weakly. "I could stop complaining and got to sleep if only someone would get off me." Crookshanks leapt to the floor with the hurried grace of a sorely beaten Ford Anglia. "Thanks."

Hermione's last conscious thought that night was, 'It's a fact... All men... are... bastards.' Crookshanks quite agreed.