A Four Saturdays Detention

A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION

Chapter 1 - First Week - Saturday

People See What They Want To See
(Mirror, Mirror)

Settembre, il mese del ripensamento sugli anni e sull'età
Dopo l'estate porti il dono usato della perplessità
Ti siedi e pensi e ricominci il gioco della tua identità
Come scintille bruciano nel tuo fuoco le possibilità.

September, month of second thought about your years and aging
With Summer gone, you present us the abused gift: perplexity,
You take a seat, and think, and start again the game of your identity
Like sparks, in a bonfire, possibilities burning.

εχουσα θαλλον μυρσινης ετερπετο
ροδης τε καλον ανθος
ηδεοι κομη
ωμους κατεσκιαζε και μεταφρενα

She rejoiced at the possession of a myrtle twig
and of the beautiful flower of the rosery
the long thick hair
cloaked her shoulder and her back
(myrtle and rose were the symbols of Aphrodites, goddes of sex, reproduction and love)

Everyone all over Hogwarts thought of her as the best friend of the infamous duo. They were the real dream team.

Hermione was "such a dear friend".

She was a friend who would correct your homework, and who would study with you too.
A friend who helps you study and learn odd, difficult charms.
She was a friend who helps you to fix a botched potion.
A friend who helps retrieving fucking toads (yes "she" doesn't use strong language, but "she" can think this way sometimes...).
A friend who completely shares risks and adventures with her best friends.

She shares her friends' enemies, of course.
Her friends' potions, homework, questions, tasks, tournaments, nasty pets as well.
Her friends' everything, of course... friendship is such a beautiful thing.

But when they thought Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, well, where were all these friends? And everybody knows that cats eat rats.

Months had passed, and they had continued leaving her alone. Pretending not to see or hear her.
And as for herself, well, she had spent a bunch of time feeling terribly guilty for a stupid rat. And it was not a rat.
It was a murderer.
It was a traitor.
It was a Death Eater.

Well, to be fair to them, they weren't aware of that at the time.

Suppose they had to write down a list of their priorities. The most important things in their hearts... Things like family, justice, or ... money. Oh, yes it was so warm and comforting to know you came in just below the word "rat". Put behind a fat, balding, always sleeping rat.

Not to mention the Yule Ball. How lucky she had been that there was Krum ... otherwise no one would have asked her out. Except, perhaps, as a last resort. Maybe Ron...
Oh yes, it would have been a wonderful date.

She had noticed the way her friends... Friends... had acted with their elegant dates, once the problem of not being ridiculous at the ball, being alone, was resolved... and once they had found two girls, who were far removed from the word "troll" (that was what they were praying for... wasn't it?). Well... what did they do? Neglected them. Refused to dance with them.

Luckily for Padma and Parvati that the Beauxbatons boys were there.

If Ron had been her date, well, he probably would have spent all night mooning and drooling over Fleur Delacour. Oh, What a dream date that would have been.

If Harry had been her date, well change "drooling" with "looking sadly" at Cho with Cedric, and you've got the whole picture.

Fun, indeed!

How lucky she had been for Viktor Krum...

The fifth year ball, instead, had been a real nightmare.

She had been a wallflower for half of the evening, just drinking pumpkin juice and watching.

The other half she had spent chatting with girls. Her friends' girlfriends, of course (and, naturally, the boys were mooning over other people. Whose attraction, she suspected, didn't rely at all in being really interesting to them: they were just "taken").

A slight sting of pain crossed her, thinking of a certain quarrel...

She had disliked those girls. Hated no, she wasn't so harsh.
They were so superior with her - "Oh Hermione, darling, if only I had known you didn't have a date... I could have fixed you up with someone you'd really like..." (Of course some odd clumsy nerd. Just like her).

They were repaying her for her grades, and raised hands? Maybe.

Or were they just bitches?
Maybe.

Sure they weren't important to her friends. Not really at least.
Yet, somehow they were more important than her.

She had spent time chatting with other wallflowers, who were just like her. They all tried to find intelligent subjects for a witty conversation, pretending not to know they were supposed to have fun, and dance, not to stand useless in the Great Hall.
Fake subjects while everyone was just thinking "Please, oh please, just a little dance! What if the most horrid guy could spot me as a girl and ask me for a dance? Or if he could just make me feel...pretty."

And now?

Now in the midst of their oh-so-male hormonal explosions, her friends were going on dates to Hogsmeade.
Perhaps they were too young for a mature relationship?
Or maybe they were too old not to think of girls.
Who knows?

And she would obviously stay at the Library, all Saturday afternoon, studying.

And, obviously, she would look through their homework, and essays (don't forget the essay!). Yes, because "Herm, you're top notch with essays and you love burying yourself in all those books."

'Sure.' She thought bitterly. 'I am Miss Know-It-All... I am the bookworm. Red ink runs savagely through my veins. And a whole night alone in the library is my wildest dream...'.

Of course a five-person-date wouldn't have been that fun, she had to admit to herself. A whole afternoon watching other people making out was not exactly what she had wanted.

She chuckled a little.
She was just envious. Madly jealous. Let's face it. This was the whole bloody truth.
'Hermione, face it, you are a rotten, envious little bookworm hiding in the dark of the shelves like a little boggart.' she thought half smiling.

She had always dreamed that in her six years at Hogwarts, she would fall in love with someone really wonderful.
She couldn't help a smile. In her childish dreams it would have been such a puppy love for someone, well someone like... Percy.

She giggled.
Percy.

She didn't fancy him, of course, but he was exactly the kind of boy to present to your mum. Good at school, Gryffindor, hard worker. Good family. Always following the rules. Prefect. Head Boy. A bit pompous, sometimes.
Well, actually, very pompous, but it was excusable. Innocuous. He was the kind of guy who probably kisses with open eyes.
'Oh my God, what a stupid and mean thing to think about someone' she said to herself.

Right now she wasn't after puppy love that would grow to lifelong romance, carrying her through from graduation to marriage. She would have liked just a simple date, with a hint of emotion and adventure. To feel... pretty? Nice. Not as beautiful as Parvati Patil of course... but to feel a sort of thrill from a pair of stolen kisses.

Hermione blushed, and examined herself in the window. Her hair was so long now that it quite reached her waist. It was heavy, not so frizzy, but definitely curly.
Well, they weren't elegant waves, and probably they would never be. But... who really cared?
They were so soft. And the locks were so different, brown, mahogany, russet, cinnamon, and a sort of red. The light playing with the reflection could make it be so.
It was the prettiest thing she had.
Was it possible they were pretty only to her? That nobody ever had found them nice? No one would have liked to toy with them, to observe it all in the light of a candle, to caress it? Or to be caressed... to sense its softness?
She blushed again.

Her body had changed too. The robes she was used to wearing were very proper. 'They are uniforms, ok? Not ball-gowns... We are here to study, not to find a husband!' She smiled to herself. 'Relax, Hermione. You're bickering with yourself.'

Some of the girls, she had noticed, were shortening their robes, stretching, tightening, clasping, and unclasping. Shyly revealing.
Well, sometimes not so shyly.
Really.
Okay, okay. Well, her robes were the bookworm style robes.

She detected a dark blue ink spot on the right sleeve. Dragon dung! Not again... Another quill accident! Well, perhaps she wasn't the well kept, charming kind of girl. But anyway, it wasn't her sleeve that a boy should look at.
Anyway, it was obvious her body had grown.
At least she, she could see it.

Maybe it was because she was short? As the years went by she did not grow taller, and she had stayed more or less as she was, about five foot two.
Out of the dream team she was the short one.
Ok, shorter than Ron, you needn't to be Professor Trelawney to divine it... but shorter than Harry? It was almost a joke.

She observed herself deeply in the mirror of the pane, still thinking...'I know what I see when I look at myself. I know it exactly. What about all the others? What the other people see?'

"People see what they want to see, Granger.".

She snapped her head around abruptly.

Just behind her, with a smirk and his hands in the pockets, Draco Malfoy.

He was much taller than she was, of course. During those bloody two years everyone stretched and grew in a breathtaking way.

She felt herself go red. Imagine if she had been talking out loud!

She looked at him upwards. "What exactly do you mean Malfoy?"

He narrowed his silvery eyes in his lazy manner, much like Crookshanks. Then he was sitting on the edge of her table.
"You have been looking at yourself in the mirror for more than 10 minutes...."

"It is not a mirror."

"Ok, and it was more than 10 minutes," he drawled. "Anyway it wasn't too difficult to imagine what you could be mumbling in your head."

"And... what would that be?" she said in a belligerent way.

"You know it Granger."

"Of course I know what I was thinking about. But what were you thinking I was thinking about?"

"Your grammar is really good, Granger," he was teasing her. Then he looked at her straight into her eyes and whispered, "You were looking at your hair, which is better than years ago, I have to admit it, and you were daydreaming.... Surely about something terribly romantic and indulgent... daring."

He lifted an eyebrow, mocking her, "You were thinking that you are not a troll, but, as far as you know, you are the only one who spotted yourself as a girl. And you were asking yourself what the hell people see when they look at you... The machine that spits out all A's, one after the other in an endless row, or..."

Hermione blushed. Again. She would have loved to hex him. Curse him to his tears, jinx him to see him bleeding.
But it would have been useless.
It was a stupid question, one that a stupid girl would ask. No way. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Hermione.

"I suppose it would be useless to deny it. My blushing probably gave it away."
Perhaps if she could laugh about it, it would hurt less.

Draco smiled. "Yes, you blushed... and a lot too, at least, in my opinion."

He stood up and opened the window. Brisk September air rushed in. He was just looking at the landscape.

She didn't know what to do. Leaving him there, alone, that, she would have liked a lot. But... where she could possibly go? Outside it was too cold. Perhaps she could go to the Gryffindor Common Room? No thank you. There she would have found all the unlucky, unwanted ones, the "B" division. Those staying because nobody had asked them out.
At least here in the Library she had her homework, her books.

She took back her parchment, trying to concentrate.

"What I can't understand is the reason why you aren't in Hogsmeade," he continued, sincerely curious.

"Probably for the same reason as you," she replied. 'Too sharp, Hermione, no good, relax.'

Malfoy lifted his eyebrows, and, with an innocent statement, "You're being punished as well?"

For a moment Hermione widened her eyes in pure horror. Her, deserve a punishment? A detention? Breaking a rule? Breaking the eleventh commandment, the horrible mortal sin? Never! Then looking at his laughing eyes, she burst out laughing.

"I wish you could have seen your face," said the boy.
They were both laughing now. Laughing a stupid, free laugh.

"Well I didn't go to Hogsmeade because I wouldn't know what to do alone. Here, I feel at ease. I can do my homework without hurrying, I can think. I can browse through the books. In some ways it's more entertaining than Hogsmeade."

"Weasley and Potter?"

"They're in Hogsmeade with their girlfriends," she spat abruptly.

She was surprised herself. Yes, she had said the truth, but it was just a part of the truth. The key word was "alone". Alone in the Library is clearly better than alone at Hogsmeade, but with someone else...

He was observing her through his lazy eyes. Studying her. But he was not answering her.
He looked terribly at ease with his laziness.

"Crabbe and Goyle?" she counterattacked.

"Granger, if the whole thing is not written in a book, you hardly notice it, eh?" he was definitely mocking her.

"What?"

"Well Crabbe and Goyle aren't my best mates anymore, well, I should say it's been a year, more or less."

It was true, he had changed his group of friends: no more Crabbe and Goyle, just Declan and Glenn.
Imperceptibly.
At least to her.
They were in Slytherin, of course. They were cold guys, always on their own, not mixing with other people, not for good or ill.
Declan had been in an Arithmancy contest with her.
Smart boy.

Hermione hadn't really noticed this. As far as she could remember, he had always called her "Mudblood" in the schools corridors. So he had not changed much.

Ah and he wasn't playing Quidditch anymore. But this had slipped her mind... she wasn't a fan of that sport.
In reality, quite frankly she couldn't understand a damn thing of that sport.

"You don't play Quidditch anymore?" she asked him. 'What a stupid question,' she thought to herself.

"No, I don't," he said politely, "But I still have groupies.".

He smiled, and Hermione, for what had to be at least the seventh time that evening, went red. Malfoy seemed to have that affect on a lot of girls. What a mess.
Well it was true.
A lot of girls liked Malfoy. His long blond hair, his broad shoulders, his muscles... Even girls in Hermione's own House.
And well... he really needn't to go alone to Hogsmeade.

Parvati had dated him for a while too, and she looked so excited... She kept speaking about his muscles, his chest, his hands, his, well, other particulars which perhaps it would have been better feigning to ignore...

She smiled and chuckled.

"Well, I leave you to your entertaining books." His smile was so lazy and slightly doubtful.

She gave him a slight wave, and he disappeared.

Abruptly she was so cold, a chill ran down her spine. She looked at the open window. 'Stupid mirror window. Stupid September dizziness.'

She shut it.

---

It was the giggling that woke her up. Lavender was whispering with Parvati, both were sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed.

They looked at her in an odd way. " Did we wake you?" Lavender asked innocently.

"Oh no, how could you ever imagine such a thing?" Hermione's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Oh well," Lavender said, and they continued to whisper and giggle, eventually moving to Lavender's bed. They closed the curtains.

Irony was wasted on them. But why, why did the Sorting Hat have to put her in this House? It was supposed to be "her" House, her heart House. She was supposed to feel at home.

But she was not able to fit with these girls.
Well, she could fit in with them near a test, or during a particularly difficult essay. But, to be honest for once, this was not "fitting". This was not "friendship".

"Well it seems it's the cosy hour of commiseration," she sighed to herself. "Tomorrow I'll be better, and on Monday, back to classes, safe in heaven."

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

Giggles and whispers leaked through the closed curtains.

She wondered. What would it be like, trying to describe a kiss to a friend? Going through every little hint that led up to it. Living the moment slowly, savouring and remembering the different moments. Her moments, and someone else's too.

Telling everything to someone just for the pleasure of sharing a precious little thing, an unexpected present. Or being able to laugh and giggle of it, without malice, just out of a habit?

It was her last thought before dreams.