It Was Not Hermione's Day

It was not Hermione's day.

Hermione had missed breakfast because she'd had an argument with stupid Pansy Parkinson in the hallway. Charms class had been a disaster. Hermione got not one, but two questions wrong on the quiz. She was furious. As she hurried down the corridor toward Potions class, she scrutinized her notes, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Rounding a corner, she banged into a fellow student, and spilled all her books on the floor. That was why she arrived late at Potions class. Hermione knew Professor Snape would be angry. Professor Snape was always angry. Hermione tried to open the heavy dungeon door and slip into the back row without being noticed.

Snape was facing the front of the room and, without turning, said, "Miss Granger, how nice of you to join us. Ten points from Gryffindor." Snape spun around to face the class in a swirl of robes, a glint of malice in his eyes. Anger, harassment, and nasty smells summed up Potions class. Hermione sighed and took her seat.

In her first year, Hermione had tried to impress Professor Snape by knowing the material. This strategy had always worked with her other teachers. Snape, she soon learned, was not interested in what she knew. He hated the Gryffindor's, and particularly those who called Harry Potter a friend. Snape would not be bothering Harry today because he and Ron were being detained by Mr. Filch. They were caught setting off some Weasley experimental fireworks in the hallway, and would certainly be stuck in Filch's office for at least an hour. Hermione began working on the assigned potion.

Hermione sat huddled on her stool, concentrating on the notes she was writing. The potion they were making today was particularly difficult, and she meant to get it right, even if Professor Snape found a way to criticize her work. She had taken to sitting as far in the back as possible and never raising her hand. It was just safer that way. Hermione shifted on her stool and crossed her legs, then began to write in her notebook again.

Snape addressed the class, "You will all be extremely careful with this fainting potion. I do not have time to be reviving students today, so kindly avoid inhaling the fumes. This potion is at ten times strength. We will be diluting it and then distilling it tomorrow." Snape returned to his desk and sat, coolly evaluating his class, one leather boot resting on a pulled out desk drawer. From his vantage point, he observed Hermione. 'Such a know-it-all little witch,' he thought. He twirled his wand in his hand, as he watched Hermione cross her legs.

It was not Hermione's day.

Toward the end of class, there was an accident. Neville was working next to Hermione, and reached over his cauldron to pick up his textbook. In the process, he knocked over the bubbling cauldron, which fell in Hermione's direction. Fainting potion splashed everywhere, including all over her robes. As the cauldron fell, Neville quickly stepped back and held his breath. However, as it happened, Hermione gasped and inhaled quite a bit of the hot steam. She immediately felt very strange. She shrugged off her robes, which were covered in hot, wet, potion. As she did this, the room began to spin and close in on her. She tried to regain control, but everyone and everything became a blur. Blackness began to close in, and Hermione slumped to the floor.

Neville bent down toward Hermione and called to Professor Snape for help. Snape, however, shouted, "Leave her where she is, Longbottom. She was warned. Now clean up everyone, the bell is about to ring."

Neville backed away and helped the others clean up. Snape went to his supplies cabinet and removed a vial of purple colored liquid. Snape held the vial nonchalantly in his hand, while he proceeded to snarl at any Gryffindor's who looked as though they were going to aid Hermione.

"Is that the antidote, sir?" asked Neville.

"What else would it be, Longbottom," hissed Snape.

Neville backed away and headed for the door. Soon, the last student had left, and the dungeon was empty. Candles guttered in their holders, in the dim, dank, room, as Snape walked slowly and purposefully to Hermione's side. He slowly crossed his arms over his chest, and observed the fallen girl. Her brown curly hair was fanned out on the floor. Her skirt was hiked up above her knees. Snape withdrew his wand from his robe and, with the tip, lifted Hermione's skirt a little higher, for a better look. Next Snape picked up Hermione's robes from the floor. The fainting potion was nearly dry. He sniffed lightly. 'Hmmm,' he thought, 'she'll have about three more good faints before the night is done...without the antidote,' thought Snape. He tapped his finger on the bottle nervously as he studied the Hermione's form. Suddenly Snape spun on his heel, and walked to the supplies cabinet and replaced the vial. He locked the cabinet, and then he went to the dungeon door and locked it as well. He returned to the fallen Hermione and waited. After awhile, Hermione began to stir. The effect was going to last long enough, thought Snape, and he smiled.

It was not Hermione's day.

She raised herself to a sitting position. She could not remember where she was. Her head hurt and she felt slightly sick. Hermione turned to look around and saw a pair of black leather boots. She looked up at Snape and quickly tried to get to her feet. Due to the effects of the potion, Hermione, was not that steady and she swayed crazily. Snape reached out, grabbed her upper arms and held her still.

"I believe I warned you, Miss Granger, about the dangers of this potion. Feeling quite confused, I imagine?" said Snape, in a greasy voice. He continued, "You will most certainly feel this way for the rest of the day, I'm afraid, however, you will not remember why."

Hermione could not clear her head. She did feel confused, and she didn't know why. She could remember coming out of Charms class and going down the hall. She could not get her brain to recall any more.

"I'm sorry, Professor Snape," she said. "I don't know what happened." Hermione had no will to move. Her body felt like lead. A little voice in the back of her head told her to escape from Snape's grasp, but she felt that if he released her, she would simply fall back to the floor. It was much easier to just remain still.

Snape stared down at Hermione. She was disheveled and helpless. That was how he liked them. He cocked his head and then said, "Miss Granger, you are covered in a dangerous substance. Do you realize this?"

Hermione could not think. "Danger? What should I do, sir?" she managed.

"You will have to remove those clothes to avoid further damage from the potion," said Snape, in a slow measured voice. He released her arms and stood waiting.

'Of course', thought Hermione, 'that was certainly the right thing to do, the sensible thing.' She looked down and began to unbutton her blouse. It was so hard to do. When she had gotten the last button, she shrugged it off. She rolled her head back until she was staring at the ceiling. Then she remembered, there was danger and she had to undress. She fumbled to unbutton her skirt, which dropped to the floor. The room was beginning to spin again, and Hermione grabbed on to Snape's arm to steady herself.

"I see I will have to help you, Miss Granger, as you seem incapable of managing even this simple activity," sneered Snape.

"I'm sorry, sir," whispered Hermione.

Snape caught her up in his arms and laid her on the worktable. 'How did the table get cleaned off,' she wondered. All the cauldrons and paraphernalia were gone. Just the plain scrubbed wood table. Hermione felt some tugging and pulling, and then the chill of cool air on naked skin. Things were closing in on her again, even though she was lying motionless, the room was spinning wildly. She felt that she was going to black out again. She tried to say something to Professor Snape. Maybe he wasn't so bad. He was trying to help her. The last thing she felt was a cold smooth hand on the inside of her thigh.

It was not Hermione's day.

Hermione woke up on the floor of one of the greenhouses. No one was nearby. She raised herself up. Her mind was very foggy. She tried to think how she had gotten there. She remembered dropping her books in the hallway before Potions class. Her head was pounding, and she felt stiff and sore. She tried to pull herself together and get up off the floor. Once on her feet, she brushed the floor dust off her robes. Her robes were buttoned sort of cockeyed in the front. Hermione had no energy to worry about that now. Get to the dormitory. Rest. She leaned on the wall for support and made her way toward the door, and out into the night. Now she knew where she was.

As Hermione made her way toward the castle, she heard, "Well look who we have here." The slimy taunt came from Draco Malfoy, who was partly hidden in the shadows. He was sitting on the ground against a stone wall. He had a bottle of fire whiskey, and had clearly been drinking it. Hermione decided to ignore him because she did not have the strength to confront a drunken Draco. She simply wanted to get to her bed.

"Hey, mud-blood!" shouted Draco. "Don't you ignore me!" Draco tried to get to his feet, staggered, and then charged toward Hermione, laughing as he did. She side stepped him and reached the wall of the castle. She was just SO dizzy. She stretched out her hand to it for support, just as Draco slammed into her. Draco had her pinned against the wall. Hermione was getting foggy again. Why was she out here? For the third time today, Hermione felt adrift in a crazy detached world, although she could not recall the first two times.

"Why are we outside the castle?" she asked, feeling lost and confused.

"Having a little drink, little mud-blood princess," Draco said, in a slurred voice.

She didn't feel thirsty but Draco said she was to have a drink, so she thought she should. She reached for the bottle.

"There you go, princess, there's plenty for both of us," said Draco.

Hermione took the bottle in her hand, but did not have the strength to lift it. Everything was beginning to spin again. Draco grabbed her hand and lifted the bottle to her mouth.

"Here, little bird, drink up," he quipped.

Most of the liquor spilled down her front, but a little went in. Hermione could not think why she was drinking with Draco. "Draco, I don't know what I'm doing here," she whispered.

"For one thing, you're wasting my good fire whiskey!" he said. "You've spilled it."

With that, Draco licked Hermione's neck where the liquor had spilled.

"I'm sorry I spilled," said Hermione weakly, as her voice trailed off. She couldn't process what was happening.

"Just stand still, I'm cleaning up the mess," snickered Draco, his tongue sweeping up any of the liquor it could reach.

Hermione began to feel the world was closing in on her again. She felt very shaky, and everything began to spin. As the world turned completely black once again, she slumped against the wall. Draco considered this for a moment, and then he took some of her hair into his hand and sniffed it. It smelled good. He put his arm around her waist and fell to the ground, pulling her with him. Draco laughed again, took another swig out of the bottle, and passed out.

It was not Hermione's day.

Hermione began to come around. The first thing she could make out was Draco Malfoy's face near hers. Where was she? 'I was going somewhere, Potions I think. That can't be right, how did I get here, with...with HIM.' Her brain would not work. Draco was holding on to her. He was snoring loudly. She pulled away from him and tried to stand. When she got her balance, Hermione realized that she was naked under her robes. She pulled the dirty robe tightly around her and swung a kick at Malfoy, then stumbled back to the castle. 'What's happening to me,' she wondered.

Finally, she reached the portrait hole. As she did, she felt for the fourth time, that she was getting shaky. Again, the foggy head feeling was returning. Somehow, she got inside. 'Yes,' she thought, 'this will be ok. It is safe here.' She began to climb the stairs. 'Must get to my bed,' she thought. Things were spinning again and getting blacker. 'Just let me get to my bed.' Then she felt the bed. 'Good,' she thought. ' Just...need...sleep'. She shrugged off the spattered robe and crawled under the warm blankets, just as she blacked out again.

It was Ron's Day.

Ron rolled over in the darkness and smiled. He reached forward in half sleep to pull the blanket up but instead he touched flesh. The dream washed over him again. 'Good dream,' he thought. Ron saw himself standing on a riser receiving the Quiddich World Cup trophy, in front of thousands of adoring fans. He was the most brilliant player of all time. The cup was smooth and curvy and beautiful. Ron stroked the cup. It was perfect, and so soft and warm for a gold cup. The cheering continued. Ron ran his hands along all the curves of the beautiful trophy. The crowd was going wild. Ron pulled the cup close to his chest. It melted against him. 'Great dream,' he thought.

Spluttered?

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