Hermione's Mistake

"Hermione Granger," said Professor McGonagall. Hermione followed her through the door into the Transfiguration classroom. There was one desk in the middle of the room. On it sat a teacup.

"Stand here please Miss Granger. Wand ready? Very well, you first task is revision - transform this into a mouse, please. Very good. Now, task two...."

***

Fifteen minutes later...

***

Professor McGonagall removed the fishbowl containing a goldfish that Hermione had transformed into seaweed, and then restored. "Only one more to go, Miss Granger. You may transfigure the desk into whatever you wish. You will get points for how complex and exact your object is, and how well you manage to return it to its original form." Hermione almost gasped aloud. She couldn't think. Her mind had gone completely blank. Nerves were making her head ache terribly. Why couldn't McGonagall have suggested something? There wasn't nothing to do but wing it. Hermione closed her eyes and swished her wand in a well-remembered path. Too nervous to open her eyes, she just stood there and waited until Professor McGonagall asked her to reverse the spell.

"Mmm...interesting," said the professor in an odd voice. "I suppose this has some significance in the Muggle world? Well, it seems very well done, and it is more difficult to transfigure into multiple objects, but it does seem a somewhat odd choice." Hermione opened her eyes cautiously, and checked a groan of dismay.

"May I revert it now?" she asked.

"Certainly. Very good, just as it was. Possibly better than it was. Thank you Miss Granger, if you would like to leave through that door."

Hermione walked out through the doorway, and shut the door behind her. She leaned her sore head against the cold stone wall, and choked back tears. Still, she had done everything fine, even that last one. If only they gave points for originality - she was certain no one else would have decided to transfigure the desk into a glass of water and two aspirin. This wasn't helping her learn for her last exam, though. She rubbed her eyes, and started to walk back to the Gryffindor common room.

***

"Only one exam to go!" Seamus yelled out to the common room in general. Angelina Johnson threw a cushion at him from behind her books, where she, like all the other seventh years, was studying frantically for her N.E.W.T.s.. Neville looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"B-b-but it's *potions*," he moaned. A few people looked at him sympathetically. No-one could understand why he had kept on with it, although it may have been something to do with the Howler his grandmother had sent him threatening disembowelment if he didn't continue with the "worthy" subjects. Certainly Professor Snape had been threatening disembowelment when he found out Neville was continuing. In one of his more hysterical moments Neville had asked the professor if there was a potion to make people good at Potions. Snape hadn't even deigned to reply - just swirled his cloak around his body, as if to shield it from Neville, and stalked away.

Hermione groaned and leaned her head against the cool pages of her copy of 'Dastardly Drafts and Potent Potions'. She felt awful, like she was coming down with the flu or something. She could go to Madam Pomfrey, but that would take away from her precious studying time. She rubbed her eyes, and tried to read page 151 for the tenth time.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" asked Harry, looking concerned.

"I'm fine!" she snapped shrilly, "just tired."

He looked vaguely affronted, and went back to reading his copy of 'Quidditch through the Ages' again. Hermione frowned. Bloody Harry! Why did he have to ask her how she was? Why couldn't Ron ask how she was? Or didn't he care? She didn't want Harry talking to her all the time. There was enough gossip about her and Harry as it was. Even if Ron did like her he probably wouldn't say anything because he'd think he was stealing her away from Harry or something stupid like that. Hermione groaned. Sometimes she thought too much for her own good.

"I'm going to bed," she said quietly. Harry looked up and said goodnight.. Ron only gave an off-hand "night" from behind his book. She frowned again.. He wasn't exactly making life any easier for her.

She yawned as she walked up the staircase to her dormitory. She'd been planning on looking up love spells again tonight before the other girls came to bed, but she was just too tired. Anyway, they all seemed to be spells for finding out who your true love was, which was no use to Hermione. She'd tried a few at the beginning, and they'd only confirmed what she'd already known. She'd even tried the old muggle tradition of peeling an apple (when she'd finally convinced her parents that she really did need a vegetable peeler for one of her classes) and throwing the peel over her shoulder to spell out the first initial of her true love. That had worked, too; unless her feelings had completely decieved her and Roger Davies really was her type.

For the first night in months Hermione didn't lay awake worrying about her lovelife (or lack of, more to the point). She collapsed weakly onto the four-poster bed, and fell asleep fully clothed.

***

That night Hermione tossed and turned, dreaming feverish dreams. Roller-blading spiders...following butterflies...Hogwarts' first red-headed Quidditch captain...someone telling her that she was "bloody brilliant"...a lion - shaking her ...Hermione! ...Hermione! ...Oh, it's no good, she just won't wake ...Someone go and get a wet flannel ...Why? No, don't bother with that ...Look - excito!

Hermione woke with a start, to find her blankets twisted around her, and Lavender and Parvati looking down at her with concerned faces. Her heart sank, and she almost bolted to the bathroom to throw up. Today was her Potions exam, and she couldn't remember a thing!