The Seeker's Student

The Seeker's Student

Chapter Two--Bob Needs to Die

The back section of the library contained rows of bookshelves made of moldy wood--the books inhabiting the shelves dusty and moth-eaten from years without use.

Three bookshelves in this particular area shielded an overstuffed, garish (although slightly faded) red-and-gold armchair that had been stolen from the Gryffindor common room. A mahogany chair and an oak table also occupied the alcove.

It was Hermione Granger's secret spot, her refuge from Ron and his anger.

---

Harry crumpled his fingers into a fist and knocked softly on the bookcase, the knocks startling Hermione from her Ancient Runes assignment--due in two weeks. She had just finished translating a squiggly rune when he appeared.

"Hey," he said awkwardly.

She looked at him curiously from her seat on the armchair. "Did you want to talk to me about something?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to say..." He paused here, taking a deep breath. "I heard what Ron said from Dean after breakfast...and I think he's being an asshole. And I just wanted to say that I'll help--help you learn to play Quidditch, if you're serious about this." He plopped down on the mahogany chair facing Hermione.

She fixed her brown eyes on his green ones. "Listen, Harry, I really appreciate you coming over here to offer your help, but...Ron wouldn't be too happy, and I don't want you to jeopardize your friendship with him." Hermione cracked a weak smile. "No matter how much of an ass he is."

"Hermione, you don't have to do this--try to play Quidditch--just to prove Ron wrong."

"I know--but I want to. It's more than just trying to prove it to Ron that I can play Quidditch. I want to challenge myself, and test my limits." Her voice was firm as she stared at him levelly. "I'm doing this, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "All right, then." He paused, taking her hand and brushing his fingertips over her knuckles. "Just remember, though," said Harry softly, "I'm here if you need me for anything."

Hermione smiled, squeezing his hand. "I know. What would I do without you?"

Harry frowned suddenly, his eyes taking on a faraway look, as if he had remembered something. He leaned forward in his chair. "Why were you talking to Malfoy at breakfast?"

"Oh, um." Hermione ducked her head, blushing. "I--well, I wanted to ask him to help me play Quidditch."

"What?" Harry asked incredulously, his green eyes widening. "Are you mad?"

"I'm absolutely mad...at Ron," Hermione said defensively, "and I really wanted to piss him off. So I tried asking Malfoy to help me play Quidditch. I didn't think Malfoy would agree, and he didn't. So...I guess I'm just going to try this by myself."

"Did he hurt you or anything? 'Cause if he did, I'll beat him up. One to the stomach, one to the skull--bam! "

A gingery head popped around the corner. Ron nodded to the pair frostily. "Granger, Harry," he said sharply. "So what's this? Looking a bit cozy, aren't we?"

"Ron," Harry began, "it's not what you think."

"Decided to side with her, instead of your best mate?" Ron's voice could have cut through steel. Without another word, he turned and left the alcove.

"Harry," Hermione sighed, "just go."

He looked at her inquisitively as if to say, "Are you sure?"

She returned the stare and nodded. Harry left, off to patch things up with his hot-headed friend.

---

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, with the exception of Double Potions with the Slytherins. Harry, surprisingly, asked to partner Hermione instead of Ron, but because of Ron's anger, Snape deducted ten points.

In order to prevent Gryffindor from losing any more points, Hermione had simply walked over to make her colour modification potion with Millicent Bulstrode.

Hermione highly suspected that Millicent had added too many lacewings, although common sense and fear (for getting beaten up again) stopped her from mentioning it.

By the end of Potions class, Ron and Harry were back on friendly terms, thanks to Harry's cajoling. However, neither had paid much attention to their cauldron. Their potion nearly overflowed the sides, and caused Gryffindor to lose another ten points.

---

Hermione didn't finish her dinner. She sat with Ginny to avoid Ron, but Ginny's friends were all so shallow that it was like eating with Lavender and Parvati.

Every single meal, all Ginny and her friends would talk about would be: 1. fashion, 2. makeup, and 3. Harry Potter.

In fact, Hermione had learned quite a few things at dinner. Apparently, sea-foam green and wavy hair was all the rage, earthy colors would be great for her complexion, and Colin Creevy had once "accidentally" seen Harry naked--and taken a picture. (Of which Ginny had ordered five copies.)

"Fabulous," Hermione muttered dryly.

"What?" Ginny looked at her, curious.

"Ah--nothing. Look, I'm going to go; I'm not really hungry," said Hermione hastily, making her exit, feebly waving goodbye at the girls.

Once outside the Great Hall, she breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the Room of Requirement.

---

I need a good broomstick, books on Quidditch, and some form of magical critique on my flying skills, Hermione thought furiously, walking past the area three times.

A wooden door magically appeared--she grabbed the doorknob, and turned.

"Wow," Hermione breathed. Books lined the polished oak shelves, with titles such as Which Broomstick?, Quidditch for Idiots, Flying Technique, Basic Knowledge, and, of course, Quidditch Throughout the Ages.

A special rack held several different types of brooms--a Firebolt, Comet Two-Sixty, several types of Nimbuses, and a Lightningbolt, which was the new type of broom that Harry and Ron had been ogling over in Diagon Alley.

As she was surveying her surroundings, she heard a slight rustle behind her.

Hermione steeled herself, turned, and saw...

"Hello. I am Bob--your friendly flying teacher," said a mannequin in a queer, mechanical voice reminiscent of Muggle robots.

Whew, thought Hermione. Not a minion of Voldemort at least.

The dummy was made of rough cotton, dressed in rather rough orange Chudley Cannons Quidditch robes with brown yarn for hair. Its limbs were sewn together with black thread, and it had two buttons for eyes and no mouth at all. It held a makeshift broom made of soft yellow straw bound to a miniature and very basic broom handle.

In fact, the only sign that it was magical was the fact that it was repeatedly saying, "Please choose an option: beginner or advanced?"

Hermione bit her lip. Should I go now? What if someone...what if someone sees me? Should I go at midnight? No, that's ridiculous. Midnight would be too cold.

"Hello. I am Bob--your friendly flying teacher. Please choose an option: beginner or advanced?"

Squaring her shoulders, she grabbed a copy of Quidditch for Idiots, the Firebolt, and Bob "the friendly Quidditch teacher" (who was still talking) and marched out of the Room of Requirement.

---

The Quidditch pitch was vacant, much to Hermione's delight. Thank God I don't have to embarrass myself in front of Ron, or even worse, Malfoy.

Hermione set Bob down on the soft grass, propping the dummy onto a tree trunk, setting the book and broom down as well.

"Hello. I am Bob--your friendly flying teacher. Please choose an option: beginner or advanced?"

"Beginner, please."

"Put your broom on the ground. Step to the left of your broom. Hold your hand above your broom and say, 'Up!'"

Hermione followed his instructions. "Up!" The broom flopped over lazily. "Okay..." She tried again. "Up! It's not working--what do I do, Bob?" she asked, slightly sarcastically.

Hermione looked to the dummy for assistance. It stared forward blankly, then said, "Now that your broom is in your hand, mount it."

Scowling slightly, Hermione simply picked up the broom and mounted it. It was slightly uncomfortable, and she had no doubt that she wouldn't be able to sit down after this practice.

"Now, kick the ground, hover for a moment, and then touch back down." Hermione tried to follow the dummy's instructions. She kicked the ground, and for a moment, she thought that she might have hovered two centimeters, but her toes still lingered on the ground. Feeling a bit more confident, she pushed off once again, harder this time.

The broom jerked upwards and she was zooming, heading straight for the clouds. Oh, my God! Don't let me die! She thought frantically. The wind was blowing, whipping her hair, her cheeks, her clothes, and she tried desperately to regain control of the broom, pushing down on the broom handle furiously. This only made it worse, and she was free falling, spiraling downward. She ploughed through the middle of the Slytherin Quidditch team--and crashing straight into Draco Malfoy.

"Good job! You've finally learned to fly!" said Bob.

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