Buzzed

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It was mid-November and the leaves had just begun to change a week ago. The months of September and October were considered an Indian summer with abnormal warm temperatures streaming into the first week of November. Then the weather took a drastic change into freezing nights and day temperatures in the mid-fifties. Students walked the grounds in light jackets and thin scarves for the slight bit of extra warmth needed for comfort.

Hermione took an immoderate delight in autumn and was disappointed in the late coming of the chilly winds and picturesque leaves. She picked out a smell in autumn, the crisp smell the withering leaves left. The only part of autumn she did not relish in was the bringing of winter.

She longed for the cold temperatures and the warmth of thick jackets. She had a major scarf and sweater fetish, owning several of each. But she was definitely cold intolerant. She hated the biting discomfort the freezing temperatures left. She didn't care much for snow or any winter precipitation for that matter.

She enjoyed some mediums of winter, the Holidays for example, or the aridness of the air, and she even liked the iced-over pond. However, the strong cold overwhelmed everything and made her detestable and grumpy.

Early one morning, a few days after meeting Zabini in the kitchens, Hermione was contemplating the horrors of winter. She was sitting in her window seat with a very large thermos of coffee in her hand. The sunrise was golden and bright, indicating that the day would be overcast and chilly.

Nevertheless, she sat and admired the colors that had just begun to arrive. The large trees of the forbidden forest seemed to glow. Maybe the mystical glow was because of the many remarkable creatures that called the forest home. Or maybe it was the long wait for the colors to change that her eyes were exaggerating, but to her, the forest was magnificent.

She was radiating happiness watching the dawn grow to morning. Her thoughts tended to change rapidly, like a slideshow each with one thing in common. The gallant view of the forest made her think of Halloween. Thoughts of Halloween brought thoughts of the Halloween Ball. The thought of the Halloween Ball made her cheeks glow red in indignation and humiliation. She blinked that memory away and replaced that slide with another.

The red leaves reminded her of Ron whom she had to remind to finish his homework at the breakfast table today. Homework reminded her that there was a Potions essay due next Tuesday. Potions always reminded her of bubbles, which she didn't know how she took on the connection. And bubbles made her think of a bath. It was around six in the morning, and to Hermione Granger a bath sounded wonderful.

Hermione was one of the firsts to enter the Great Hall even with her early-morning bath escapade. She had decided to bring a book to keep her company until the rest of the world actually dragged themselves from their pillows and bed sheets.

There were a few students scattered among the house tables. But next to that, the Hall was silent. After she grabbed a bit of fruit, porridge and toast, Hermione picked up Madame Bovary, the famous, classic French novel. She flipped to her spot and ate slowly while she enjoyed the neatly translated and pretty-worded pages. After a chapter, Ginny sat down in front of her with generously lethargic motion. She snatched up Hermione's book and read the back.

"'An excellent depiction of a woman's fantasy and duty in the world through explicit sex and adultery'," Ginny read aloud.

She raised her eyebrows. "Hermion-eey," she exclaimed. Hermione flushed and snatched the book away from Ginny.

"It so happens to be a classic," she mumbled. \par

Ginny giggled. "I'm sure it is. That's one to save for vacation and vacation only," she said, helping herself to some pumpkin juice.

"Oh, Ginny. It's not like that. It happens to be beautifully written," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really? Madame Bovary? Sounds French to me. How do you even pronounce the author's name?" She squinted at the front of the book. "Gust-of Flaw- bert?" she attempted.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure. But I think the R and the T are silent," she suggested.

Ginny scrunched her nose. "It's French. Sounds smutty to me," she said, biting into her apple. Hermione glared and Ginny giggled again.

"So, other than harlots and rich, aspiring women, what have you been up to lately?" Ginny asked. "You've been somewhat of a recluse lately," she said lightly. Ginny had a habit of saying blunt things in a way that came off as subtle.

Hermione pursed her lips. "I don't know. I haven't been my best this past week. I've been a bit down, but today seems to be starting off as an okay day," she said with an easy smile. Ginny smiled eagerly.

"Yeah, with book in hand and everything; you haven't had one in a while. Even if it is scandalous and plenty full of inappropriate things, it's a book nonetheless. And that makes me feel a whole lot better."

"Yeah, \lquote Monie, you have no idea how weird it was to see you without a book for a week. All you seemed to do was listen to what we had to say. You didn\rquote t constantly put us down or correct our grammar. I do believe Ron talked with his mouth full on purpose just to get something out of you. It was weird." Harry sat down next to Hermione just a moment before he started his testimony.

Hermione resisted the urge to scoff. "Well, Harry, I sincerely apologize for being a kind listener and a modest non-chastiser," she said dryly.

"There we go," Ginny said with a smug smile.

Hermione smiled back then shrugged. "I don't know. Last week was just a hard week, I suppose. But I'm good now. Back to reading my good ol' books and being a mother to your guys' essays."

Ron sat next to Ginny. "Essays? I'd rather talk about something else this morning," he inserted randomly. "Wait, what about essays?'

"Oh, nothing Ron. Hermione just offered to redo every essay we have for the rest of the year until you came to the table and so rudely ruined everything," Harry said in a mock, irritated tone.

"Kidding?" Ron said timidly. "Right?" He paused. "Please?"

Hermione laughed. "No redoing essays for me. Not even an offer has crossed my mind. Instead, I must be going. I'll see you guys later in Potions. Oh, Ron, homework," she said as she gathered her stuff and dumped it into her bag. She grasped an apple for later in the afternoon.

Ron nodded briefly and she smiled at everyone once more before leaving the Hall, which was considerably more full and noisy since she had entered.

The corridors were quiet on the contrary. She shut her eyes for a moment in brief appreciation. She was being truthful about feeling better, but silence was something she was growing to love. She had yet to understand if these late night addictions were any good for her.

This was her excuse for going to the kitchens all but once for the past three nights. The two other nights she had been too embarrassed to get up to get the drug her mind clearly craved. She knew the addiction was as physical as it was mental. She enjoyed and craved the late night conversations in her mind and the silence of just her.

But whether or not she was embarrassed of her addiction or her encounter the three nights before, she wasn't yet willing to confirm. She was too proud to admit her behaviour was irrational.

Quickening her pace, she decided for a moment alone in her dorm before classes started. There she would write and contemplate her position here. She always loved to reconsider the possibilities of her current opportunity. It was, what you could say a habit.

As she rounded the corner, she saw a figure walking lazily up from one of the staircases from the dungeons. She noticed the head of black curly hair and long profile. She pretended she didn't see him as she crossed his direct line of sight, avoiding his eyes in case he were to look up. She turned onto the staircase that lead upwards and continued to pretend to be alone.

As she was directly above him she couldn't help but look down, but he didn't seem to notice her. Not even in his peripheral vision. She continued upwards with an odd sort of anger in her stomach.

Prestigious, she scoffed in her head. How dare he.

Coffee Morning Buzz Worthy- Or Just Pathetic?

November 14, Monday.

Situation? Nothing too contemplative. We haven't necessarily crossed each other before. So, why worry. Yes, with a period, not a question mark. I don't really seem to find that a question. \lquote Why Worry\rquote has never really been a question. It's the same with \lquote Why Not\rquote . Unless you are trying to persuade a young, naive child into a promiscuous situation with wildly scandalous transitions of vomit bags and cherry flavored cotton candy. What is cotton-candy flavored? Is it really just spun sugar or does the pink fluff taste different from the blue fluff? And what's with the yellow cotton candy?

Oh, right.

Situation: Delicious late night escapades have been interrupted by insanely rude and arrogant Slytherin with frank accusations and delusional concepts. What to do?

1. Castration.

Magic makes this episode much easier than the traditional (is it African? Dictionary!....is of no help) concept. Although this is a pleasantly violent thought, it is much too drastic and wouldn't permanently prevent Frank Slytherin from interruption of quiet mornings alone. Pride alone would be affected. And he'd be a terrible eunuch. That's no fun.

2. Blackmail.

What's there to blackmail? That he steals strictly black coffee from unsuspecting house elves with delirious night caps and harasses young, innocent prestigious girls in the middle of the night? That actually might be a keeper.

3. Have a Violent Case of Schizophrenia in the Presence of Frank Slytherin to Ensure the Absence of his Attendance for All of Forever.

Maybe. I shall call my alter ego Billy who has an unsightly amount of chickenpox. Could have a spasm in which I can\rquote t stop scratching, then speak of how blonde headed bimbos are a bunch of squibs with an inconsequential amount of money to pay for charms of smart alter egos that actually seem like their wands are working. Maybe throw in a bit about how Transfiguration is a bit difficult on this random occasion.

Too random? I thought so too.

4. Leave Delicious Late Night Escapades Alone.

Please don't let it come to that. I might cry.

5. Deal With Him.

Never.

Hermione snapped the book shut and shoved it under her mattress. She might be late if she didn't leave now. She packed her stuff and made sure her book was nowhere in sight. That book was a small out-of-character part of her that she would rather not share with anyone. Besides, most of it was irrationally absurd.

She hurried out of her dorm into the empty common room and down to the dungeons. The corridors were considerably busy, but the crowd was a bit thinner than it would have been if she were nowhere near close to being late. But as it was, she had about three minutes to dash down three flights of stairs and power walk through two corridors.

Hermione Granger was never late, so practically she made it about thirty seconds before the bell rang. She slid into her seat next to Harry only a tiny bit breathless.

"Merlin, \lquote Monie, you run from the astronomy tower to make it?" he asked as he set up the cauldron.

Hermione took one long deep breath. "Nah, just the dorm. Lost track of time." Harry just nodded as the bell rang, cutting off anything he would've said.

Snape floated in on cue as usual with his general sneer. He pattered on about a potion Hermione looked into about two weeks ago. She pretended to listen and followed his hand on the chalkboard as she drifted off to think about nothing in particular. She was pretty placid and not much in a mood to challenge Snape on his aggressiveness to prove her wrong. She simply did what she was told throughout the brewing.

"Where are you, Hermione?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Huh?" Hermione uttered with an unladylike demeanor.

Harry almost laughed. "Where are you? As in your thoughts. You've been a bit Lovegoodish today," he said as he added newt taste buds.

"Oh. Yeah, I don't know. I just didn't feel like listening to Snape today. As opposed to normal," she mumbled, dropping her voice so that only Harry could hear her.

He smiled. "No kidding. I'm glad you know what you're doing, I wasn't listening either," he said, looking at her as he brushed off the taste buds that stuck to his fingers. Hermione looked at his hands and wrinkled her nose. Harry followed her gaze.

"Appetizing, eh?" he noted as Hermione made the move for dicing the leftover tongues separately, trying to get as far away from his hands as possible. Harry noted this and laughed. "Here ya go," he said as he wiped his hands on the side of her apron. Hermione groaned.

"You couldn't have just used the gloves, could you?" she said with lack of appeal in her voice.

"Squeamish, \lquote Monie?" he said, laughing at the tiny pink dots that now speckled her apron. Hermione shook her head as she started slivering the thin tongues into smaller strips. "Besides, I didn't use the gloves for the same reason you're not using yours now. Dragon hide's too bloody clumsy."

Hermione laughed. "Language, Potter," she teased. "What would you do if the newts were poisonous?" she inquired.

"Slaughter the living hell out of those tongues."

On the way out of Potions, Hermione happened to bump all-too-carelessly in to a tall, dark stranger who was trying to beat her to the door. When she looked up, and believe it, she had to look up, she was unpleased to see who it was. She frowned at him as he looked down at her with an uncaring glance and slipped out of the door in front of her.

"Zabinis, they act like they own the world," she muttered.

"As in plural? What other Zabini do you know?" Ron asked. Hermione shook her head.

"His arrogance makes up for ten of them," she grumbled irritably.

"And you know this? Ever talk to the bloke?" Harry asked on the other side of her.

Hermione took a moment to answer. Was that really a valid conversation?

"Well, sort of. In a way, I suppose. Besides, when have you two ever been moralistic in judging people, huh?" she snapped. Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows and didn't say anything, just followed Hermione to their next class.

It was one thirty in the morning and Hermione was in the common room idly working on her Potions essay. On a piece of paper with her notes, she was doodling images of pumpkins and lilies with random newts and curlicues. She couldn't seem to concentrate. She normally didn't head down to the kitchens until later in the morning, but she felt she needed a bit of fuel to help her on this particular essay/doodle fest.

She gathered her stuff and threw it into her bag carelessly save the scroll. She rolled it up neatly and carried it in her hand. She clipped her Prefect badge to her tank top for the sake of just in case she was caught. Not that she ever was. She made sure of it. But it was always in her nature to be sure and safe.

She slipped her bag over her shoulder and quietly glided out of the portrait into the dark halls. She heard the portrait groan at her like the Fat Lady did every time. She never said anything to Hermione after the one incident where Hermione told her off and made sure that the portrait had nothing to say to her anymore in her late night escapades. Hermione heard a mumble from behind her, she cast a dark glare at the portrait, and the Fat Lady shut her eyes and made nothing more of it.

Hermione walked barefooted along the halls of the castle. Her hand glided along the rough and jaded stone of the walls and let her trained eyes lead her through the midnight lit corridors.

She was often worrisome about walking out this early. When it was three in the morning, she was trusted to never run into any teachers then. No teacher in their right mind patrolled that late. But now, because she had left so early, if she had a run-in with a teacher she would be forced to dodge them. Tonight she didn't have any trouble. It took her eight minutes to get to the kitchens without any interruptions.

But when she walked into the kitchens, she found Dobby already busy serving someone else. She paused in the portrait way and made a small sound when the heavy portrait closed and hit her from behind. The portrait was about three feet taller than her and about three times as large, therefore very heavy. The motion and contact had her sprawling across the floor completely eliminating the option of leaving unnoticed.

"Lord, Granger. You're a bit clumsy," a voice said in an expected drawl.

Hermione had put out her hands to catch her unexpected fall. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, tucking her legs under her. She rubbed her wrists, making sure she didn't sprain or break either one. As she did this, she looked up at Zabini to see his face plastered with a very amused grin.

He had stood up from his seat and seemed to be trying not to laugh, his mouth twisting into a series of smirks, grins and half-smiles. Hermione scowled at him while she shooed Dobby away, who was currently trying to assist her up. When this didn't work, he went and gathered her bag and gingerly picked everything up and handed it to her. She thanked Dobby, took the bag from him, and stood up.

"Can Dobby get the Missus Hermione anything?" he asked. Even Dobby seemed amused by her tumble. Hermione shook her head.

"No, I'll just be leaving now," she said emotionlessly to Dobby.

"Oh, Miss Granger. Please stay. Entertain us some more," Zabini said with his usual smirk on cue. Hermione shot him a glare.

"Sorry, Zabini. I'm not interested in being tonight's plat du jour," she spat dryly. Zabini stared at her with a bored expression.

"English would do just fine," he said. He didn't really sound amused.

Score one for Granger. She looked up at him. Whoops. Score minus for Granger?

"Umm... well, I'm pretty sure it means...plate or something of the day. It's just a saying. Main attraction. So much for your high society's high education."

"I beg your dearest and sincerest pardon, Granger. I am so deeply ashamed that I have been trained in Latin, Italian, Spanish, German and Farsi but have failed to reach your high expectations of missing out on French," he said with the highest amount of sarcasm she had ever heard expressed in her life.

She was surprised. He outdid her. She kind of just stared at him unknowing what to say. His eyebrow was raised expectantly and one glace at that eyebrow, caused frustrated anger to rise in her stomach. He was insufferable.

"Right, main attraction. Not exactly my area of expertise," she spat out with irritated undertones. She didn't want to hear what he would say next, so she started turning on her heel to head out the door. But his overly-domineering voice and perpetually arrogant and undertone vocals rang out to stop her in her tracks.

"Oh, I'd say differently. The entire school probably would too," he drew out, not really entailing what he meant. But Hermione had a pretty good idea. She turned around with a very unamused and heated look on her face.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked slowly. Her jaw was already clenched and she drew in a hot breath to prepare herself.

"Oh." He shrugged. "I'd say somewhere around October, that fall holiday. Halloween? Yeah, that," he drawled out way too slowly.

Hermione's face grew hot and her lips pursed into a thin white line. The anger was being eliminated from her face and turning into acid humiliation.

"The Halloween Ball? What a show," he mused aloud.

"Don't be such a prick," she hissed. "You have no right to bring that up. You and your bloody friends and your bloody arrogance with your heartless efforts to attack a girl to a point of humiliation. To laugh at me for something you did."

Zabini's face hardened. "What makes you think I had anything to do with that?" he offered effortlessly.

"Everything," she stated simply, her face still red with indignation.

"Oh, really? I always thought you to be a little more intelligent, Granger," he said, walking up to her small frame and looking down on her. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched.

"Don't you dare try to make me feel bad for my blind accusations. One, they're not blind. Two, you are the first one to smack me with something low, insensitive and overly pathetic. So, don't dare make me the bad person. I'm not the heartless, pitiful, arrogant Slytherin who has to steep low enough to hit me with old news," she spat, fighting the urge to jab her index finger into his chest. "I always thought you to be a little more of a gentleman, Zabini," she offered in mimic to his very own words before turning on her heel, seething with anger and hatred. She pushed the portrait open with such force that the painting smacked against the wall it was hinged to.