Aligned

Hermione looked up from her desk, her eyes strained because of the fluorescent light reflecting off of white pages. Letting her eyes take a well deserved break, she leaned back in her chair and looked toward the window, fruitlessly trying to see outside. But, all the window showed was her reflection, the same reflection she has seen for the past sixteen years. The bushy haired brunette turned out the light to escape from her mirror image and to satiate her yearning to see the outdoors. Her house sat on a large plot of land with acres of green surrounding it. Not that you could see it now, she thought. The only thing that could be seen was the darkness streaked with rays of moonlight and an owl with a very large package crossing the moon. Its shadows covered what little light existed at that hour of the morning.

The owl, now out of sight, made a high pitched "hoot" and Hermione sighed, "Someone is getting something from someone else; probably from someone who loves them." Only in the darkest hours of the morning and alone would Hermione say her regrets out loud. But she wasn't alone. There came a, before unnoticed, tapping at the window Hermione was facing. It was the bird that had crossed the moon and, Hermione, opening the window, knew why it had. The owl was Pigwidgeon or Pig, a slight of a bird whose large package turned out to be a regular sized letter from Ron. Pig dropped the letter and flew around her head four times before swooping back out into the night air. After he left, Hermione turned her light back on excitedly, happy for something else to read, besides the extremely dry History of Gnomes: Why do They Look Like Potatoes? She opened the letter eagerly.

Dear Hermione,

My life is boring. Unfortunately, it's about to get rewired (is that right? I heard Dad say it once and I kinda liked it). Mum invited the COUSINS! Consider how big my family is; now think about all of my Mum's siblings' children staying in the same house as the rest of us. The house is going to fall down and I will be forced to live like the gnomes; to be thrown over fences and come dizzily back. The essence of my life now will be the crutch I use to come hobbling back to my hole with the other tossed out vegetables.

Even if the house doesn't fall down, I will have to sleep in the garden, anyway. Since they are guests and family, I have to give up my room to five little brats. If they touch anything, they will touch death! Ginny is the only one who doesn't have to give up her room, because we can use George's and Fred's room as well as any other room that used to belong to my brothers, and she's the youngest, and a girl.

How are you doing? Do you have any rampant family members visiting? Any events to talk about? Any letters or visits from a sodding git? You know, normal stuff. I hope Harry is doing all right. It's bollocks that he has to spend another summer with the Muggles. I don't know if he can visit or not yet, I'll have to get Dad to ask Dumbledore. I hope you don't read your eyes out.

Ron

PS. I wrote to you this late because I figured you couldn't sleep, either. If I woke you up then I don't know you.

Hermione looked at Ron's letter again, especially the PS. She looked at it again and again, reading it and rereading it, looking to see if he was all right. After last year she didn't know if everything was normal again, but she really didn't expect to find anything but a friendly letter from her best friend. Nothing indicated that he was unnatural except that last line, but there was probably nothing there, nothing. Hermione shook her head; what was she thinking? It had to be the late hour; it could do strange things to a person's mind. Hermione vowed to write to Ron when she awoke the next morning. She jumped into bed and pulled the covers over her body; putting her head on the pillow, she went to sleep with a small grin on her face.

Her room was bright and cool with the breeze from the window that she never closed. Birds sang and the green grass shone brightly under the morning sun. Hermione threw the covers off of her, stood up and yawned. Stretching towards the sky, she remembered what happened last night and welcomed the sun kissed breeze that came through the window. Trudging down the stairs in her bare feet and nightgown, she listened for signs of life. There were none, so she assumed both of her parents had already gone to work. Breakfast was in the kitchen, in the form of cereal and milk accompanied by The Daily Prophet. As opposed to last year, the newspaper actually had news. Not much of it was good news. The paper had finally acknowledged that Voldemort had risen again as the Dark Lord. The front page normally echoed the murders and acts of violence that the Death Eaters performed and the slight victories that the Order gained. The Order of the Pheonix was still a secret society but its presence was strongly felt. There had been miniscule acts against the Death Eaters that prompted notice. These acts were just enough to get attention and do damage but not enough that the whole of the wizard public knew exactly what was going on.

Today the paper held a different headline than murder or resistance. It read:

Cornelius Fudge says, "Fudge it!"

Yesterday, Cornelius Fudge, then Minister of Magic, stepped down from his post of fifteen years. At a conference where everyone of importance was attending, Fudge told them, and certain Daily Prophet reporters, that he was retiring, effective immediately!

Many people were shocked: "I had no idea that this was going to happen!" said a floundering Percy Weasley; some were angry: "That blundering twit was supposed to stay in office for another five years!" said an enraged Marcus Avery; and still others were elated: "It's about time, he was a doddering old fool," stated Emmerline Vance. Though there were mixed feelings about Cornelius' departure, the most overwhelming one is confusion. Fudge never declared anyone as the Vice Minister of Magic, some say to protect his own power, and the closest person, a Ms. Dolores Umbridge, is currently in Saint Mungo's for trauma. Therefore, there is no one readily available to take his place. Some believe that this is the work of You-Know-Who; others believe that it is just one big misunderstanding. There has been progress in finding a new Minister because, until a suitable replacement can be found, Ms. Amelia Bones will be presiding as transitory Minister of Magic. Ms. Bones had this to say, "I will stay no longer than I am needed. I love my old job and wouldn't want this seat if it ran up to me and handed me seventy thousand Galleons with no taxes." Story Continued on page 4...

Hermione almost got up out of her chair and danced for joy. She contained herself only by looking at the rest of the newspaper, which was as depressing as usual. The rest of the story went on to say that there were a few people in the running who previously worked under Fudge and some that were from the 'outside'. No one would know for sure what was going on until the Wizengamot voted on a new Minister. It wasn't until after Hermione had finished the paper and had gotten up to leave that she saw the note. It was written in her mothers' handwriting.

Hermione dear, your father and I have decided to sign you up for something to do during the summer. We decided that you needed more non-wizarding activities, and thought that this would be perfect. One of our clients mentioned how it had helped their daughter become more well-rounded, and we thought it would be perfect for you. It won't monopolize all of your summer and you will still have time to read and study, as well as visit your little friends. It will only be for eight weeks, two hours every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, as well as three hours on Saturday. We have signed you up for tennis lessons and competitions at a country club. It starts next week. It sounds like so much fun!

Hermione was in shock. She read the words 'tennis' and 'competitions' and 'fun' over and over again. This time it was in disbelief. Muggle sports? Tennis? she thought, her normally well organized mind trying to wrap around the concept. Still holding the note, she started to walk back up the stairs, thinking, "I have a lot to tell Ron about!"