Dancing with the Green Fairy

L'École Supérieure de magie avancée Isobel D'Éry, est. 1189

It had all started one and a half years earlier. You might say it started the day when Hermione Granger received a golden owl landing on the patio outside her parent's house in the July sunshine. It was unusual, smaller and more delicate than the robust owls that people used in Britain. She was almost certain she knew where it was from.

With trembling fingers she reached down and detached the neatly rolled up and sealed piece of parchment. She hesitated a long time before she even considered opening it. She held the little roll to her nose and smelled it, her heart beating like a runaway train. She knew she was being silly, but she pretended she didn't care what the answer would be.

There was no fooling her parents that she didn't care when she came running into the house screaming. At first they were uncertain if the news were good or bad because tears were streaming from her eyes, but the big bright smile on her face soon assured them that the news were happy indeed.

"Mum, Dad I have been accepted, look, look!" She thrust the piece of parchment into the hand of her mother.

She smiled and handed it back, "It's in French dear."

"Oh, yes, sorry. I'll translate it." She took back the note and read a few seconds, to rephrase it in English in her head.

Dear Miss Granger,

We are happy to inform you that you have been accepted as a student to L'École Supérieure de magie avancée Isobel D'Éry.

"Was that all?" her dad asked.

"Was that all? Are you crazy? Isobel D'Eery is one of the most prestigious wizard universities in Europe! They only accept the very best students."

"Yes I know, love," her dad said. "I only meant it was a sort of brief note."

"Well, I guess they'll send me more details later or something," she said impatiently, waving the note in the air.

She was so excited she couldn't stand still. She started pacing back and fourth examining the note as if she still couldn't believe it.

"We are really happy for you Hermione," her mum said, beaming at her.

"I guess this means we will loose our lovely young dental assistant," her dad said.

"Oh, hush," her mother, said, "She is the most brilliant student in her year, she doesn't belong in dental work. She wants to study wizard things and become a great and powerful witch."

"Yeah, maybe something like that," Hermione said.

"Like Minister of Magic, for instance," her mother said.

"Oh, hush Mum, you are making me blush."

"What was that you were going to study again?"

"Well, there are several subjects: French, for one thing; advanced Spells and Potions--they have a very excellent potions master program--and Arithmancy of Philosophy"

"Whatever is that?"

"It is a special branch of Arithmancy that deals with the mathematics of magic and the mind. I will have to study it for one year and then I can apply to enrol in the Master of Philosophy program."

"Why not study to be a Potions Master?" asked Hermione's mother. "Philosophy sounds very abstract and, well, not so practically useful."

"What your mother is trying to say is that when we went to the university philosophy was considered a light course, for people who really didn't know what they wanted to do, or didn't want to do anything."

"Well, that is not quite true," said Mrs Granger. "I think the medical students were a little prejudiced against such subjects. They tended to have a bit of an elitist view on those things. Philosophy is a fine subject."

"Arithmancy of Philosophy is not like that at all," Hermione said. "It is like the nuclear physics of the Wizard World. It is for people who design new spells and things. It is really advanced and it's all mathematics anyway."

She had already explained this to them several times, but it was sometimes hard and frustrating to make her parents understand the Wizard World. Sometimes, when she got carried away talking about her ideas and the things she read, she would notice their eyes glaze over. She felt foolish boring them with her world, but she really wanted them to be a part of it.

To be honest Arithmancy of Philosophy was a very tricky subject. She felt a tinge of nervousness when she thought about it, and she would have to speak French all the time. She was good at French, but would she be good enough to follow classes in such complicated subjects? Still it would be lovely to go back to the magical world and her books and make new friends with the same interests. It was good of her parents to let her work for them, but she was twenty-one years old and she really should get on with her life. She had been out of Hogwarts for four years now, but she still felt there were many more fascinating things in the world to learn. A lot more.

Of course breaking the news to Ron had not been so pleasant. He tried his very best to look happy on her behalf, but, as usual, he couldn't hide his true feelings. The smile on his face looked awfully forced.

"What about us," he asked.

"It's only for four years, and I'll only be across the channel. I'll be back for Christmas and all that. I can even go back on the weekend if I don't have too much studying."

"Yeah, that's what you say now; before you meet some bloke called Jacques and you start spending Christmas together."

"Don't be silly, I'm going there to study. I'll write you loads of owls."

Playfully she touched his nose. Then she leaned in and kissed him. This seemed to reassure him a little, he smiled at her.

"You'd better write once a week!"

"Well, you'd better write once a week, Ron Weasley! I should be the one to worry, considering how literary you are."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Come here." She hugged him and then they kissed again. After a while it became more passionate.

"Ahem," sounded a voice behind Hermione's back, "are you two coming in for dinner or are you going to stay out here and eat each other?"

"Oh, hello Ginny." Hermione felt herself going red in the face, and she saw Ron was too.

"Can't you ever have any privacy around here?" he asked his sister.

"Well, I live here, where am I supposed to be? Everywhere I go I run into you two snogging. Besides, Mum sent me to fetch you."

Feeling a little awkward, Hermione fell in behind the two arguing siblings as they walked back to the house.

While having dinner with the noisy and lovely Weasley family, she quietly wondered what she was getting herself into. She had tried to be cheerful, but she would miss Ron terribly. Writing owls wasn't exactly the same as being together. She would miss all the Weasleys--their warmth and friendliness. But most of all she would miss the warmth of Ron's body against her and being enveloped in his arms, resting her head on his chest. And she'd miss his sarcasm and energy.

He was making a face at her across the table when Arthur stretched to get more potatoes. She smiled back at him. Arthur was probably talking about the Ministry, giving him advice. She knew he would complain later that all his dad ever wanted to talk about was the bloody Ministry and couldn't he be free from it when he got home at least.

Ron didn't much like working at the Ministry of Magic. She had often found him tired and listless when he returned from work. She tried to encourage him to look for something else to do, but his parents liked the idea of him following in Arthur's footsteps, and he always said it was a decent way to make a living. Unfortunately his N.E.W.Ts weren't nearly good enough to even consider applying at Isobel D'Éry. There were other universities, but he had made it clear that he didn't want to study any more. The years he spent at Hogwarts were quite enough. He had never liked studying and reading very much.

They were different that way.

She also secretly hoped he would try to find someplace else to live, the sooner the better. Although it was generally understood in the Weasley household that she and Ron were an item now, they were still assigned separate rooms when she stayed over. That didn't stop Ron from sneaking over to the guest room and into her bed when he thought everyone else was sleeping. He would come in his funny old nightshirt that had belonged to Percy and almost drive her nuts with his cold feet before she could get him warmed up.

She also wondered why Ginny was giving her such hard time lately. They had been good friends for so long, now she seemed to be biting her head off a lot. She suspected that having her old friend and her brother romantically involved in the same house was getting on her nerves.

The other night she had been downright mean. While helping herself to a generous pile of salad on her plate, she had casually said, "Awfully creaky those old guest beds aren't they?"

Hermione had thought she would die from mortification. She felt the blood rush to her head and her cheeks flare up in deep red. Luckily Molly and Arthur had been preoccupied with a discussion about a new degnoming device that Arthur wanted to buy for the garden and they hadn't caught on. She had stared hard down at her plate, too embarrassed to eat or speak. Ron had been unusually silent, chewing on his food with furious concentration.

Oh well, she just hoped the damned contraceptive spell worked. She'd know in a month for sure.

A few weeks later in the beginning of September, determined to make good on her promise, Hermione found herself sitting at a table outside a café looking at the dome of Sacre Coeur in the distance, quill in hand, trying to put down her thoughts on a piece of parchment. It was a fine day, but the wind kept threatening to blow away her parchment. She was forced to put her coffee cup on it, and the feather of the quill was ruffled unpleasantly.

She had thought sitting outside was the right thing to do when in Paris on a sunny day, but to be honest, it had already begun to feel a little chilly in the air. She seemed to be the only outdoor enthusiast except for a few struggling artists who still hoped to draw a portrait of a passing tourist. But not many tourists could be seen and business was slow. The artists mostly smoked and talked with each other. Some were rolling home their equipment on little carts over the wobbly cobblestone, giving up for the day or for the season.

Well, she was doing everything wrong anyway lately, so she might as well stick it out.

Dear Ron!

She sipped her espresso, thinking about how to continue. She had really wanted tea, but that had not felt right either. She supposed they must have tea in this country somewhere. What kind of beginning was that anyway? 'Dear Ron!': it sounded like she was addressing an aunt. She threw the parchment in her bag and got another piece.

Ron, my love!

That was a lot better.

I share a flat here with a girl called Monique. She is very nice. She smokes a lot and listens to the Wizard Wireless at a very high volume. It is a little annoying when you try to study. The apartment is really small and crummy and when it rains it gets damp and raw. The heating is almost nonexistent so I have to wear a blanket when it is cold outside.

She sounded awfully whiny. Maybe he would think she was regretting coming here.

I miss you terribly, although I know you're not far a way, and that I'll see you soon. The lessons here are very difficult, far more difficult than I could ever imagine. The classrooms are a lot different from Hogwarts, and the teachers too.

She remembered her first lesson in Arithmancy of Philosophy. The lecture halls were like huge stages here at Isobel D'Ery. Hogwarts castle was huge in itself, but the lessons had always been sort of intimate. Even in the dungeons, if you didn't mind a little damp, and Snape. She smiled at the memory of him. Here there were large rooms with elevated seats that climbed the walls like at an arena. The professor stood down on the little podium and wrote on the huge blackboard. The rooms were often fancifully decorated with paintings in the ceiling and statues at the entrance. The number of students attending one lecture was staggering. At Hogwarts she had never been afraid to answer questions, here she felt differently.

Her first Arithmancy of Philosophy class had been a little unpleasant. The teacher didn't like her, it seemed. She had heard of him beforehand from Monique.

"Ah, you are taking Arithmancy of Philosophy. Then you'll have Philippe Gaspard."

"Is he a good teacher?"

"He is hot!"

"Hot?" Hermione asked. It was not how teachers were commonly described at Hogwarts, if you excluded one Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Well, he is young, brilliant, charismatic and quite good looking. So at least you will have something to look at if you should find the subject boring."

"I have a boyfriend," Hermione said.

"Does that mean you're not allowed to look at other guys?"

"Well, he wouldn't know. Would he?" she said, with a smile.

"Now, that's the spirit. What they do not know won't hurt them." Monique laughed and shook her head. She had short black hair, very full lips and large brown eyes that she used to feign an innocent look. She looked so convincing Hermione had to laugh too. She suspected that look did not correspond well with Monique's true disposition, although she didn't doubt it could come in handy at times.

"Gaspard only hangs with his little clique of Philosophy students, though," Monique continued. "They have this little club of weirdos. I guess they only talk to each other in equations."

Hermione gave her a worried look.

"I'm sure Arithmancy will be fine though," Monique hastened to add when she saw Hermione's concern, "It is not quite as practical and down to earth as potions, but you like theoretical stuff, don't you?"

"Yeah, I like theory, and I got over the crush on a teacher thing in my second year at Hogwarts, so I'll do fine."

She was getting distracted. She looked down at her parchment and counted the lines. Dismal.

Given your strange attraction to French women in the past it might be lucky you aren't around Monique and her innocent looking doe eyes. She seems to be very nice girl though and I think we will get along nicely.

If she would only turn down that radio and let her study, she added to herself. Monique had been right though; just because she was in love with Ron didn't mean she couldn't look at another guy or have a male friend if she wanted to. Maybe not look at like that, but she had to be allowed to make new friends. Ron couldn't expect her to just sit inside her little flat with Monique and study all the time. Maybe he would meet some nice girl at the Ministry and they could have lunch in the cafeteria together someday. She wouldn't be jealous as long as he behaved.

But now, in the vision of Ron and some pretty young ministry assistant with short black hair and a ministry robe, Ron was taking out her tray, and she was smiling at him. She chased the image away, irritated. She realised that thing about not knowing worked both ways.

I hope all is well at the ministry.

Nevertheless she had been relieved to find that Monique's opinions of Philippe Gaspard had been highly inflated. He did look kind of interesting, but he was hardly good looking, and Ron was much taller.

Gaspard was more the slight and energetic type. He favoured tweed jackets before robes and baggy sweaters or simply a t-shirt over his wrinkly black slacks, if the weather allowed it. His raven black hair fell in curly cascades on either side of his face and down his back. It was parted in the middle and threatened to become greasy should he neglect washing his hair for another day. Often a two-day dark stubble would grace his pronounced jaw making his thin face look even darker. A pair of small, square, gold-rimmed glasses sat precariously at the end of his nose framing his intense blue eyes that seemed to look past you and into your soul. Sometimes he would take off the glasses and gesture with them or point at a person, holding them between the thumb and index finger of his long thin and delicate hand. It was unclear to Hermione what the nature of his vision problem was or if he actually needed glasses. Often he would stick them in the breast pocket of his jacket and they would remain there for the entire lecture.

In the first lesson he had been wearing a scarf in yellow, green, black and brown stripes, as if it was cold outside and he had forgotten to take it off. Possible he was having a cold or a sore throat.

She had taken a seat in the front row so that she would be able to follow the lecture and see everything written on the blackboard. This was a mistake she knew she wouldn't repeat.

Philippe Gaspard entered the room without looking at the class. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and he walked in a jerky, hurried fashion to the enormous blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk and wrote his name in a tiny handwriting: "Alain Philippe Gaspard Monge."

He then plunged straight into the subject without further ado. Hermione thought he might have said 'welcome' or introduced himself a little more, but he was an engaging lecturer. He spoke with a soft but energetic voice that carried across the large auditorium despite the fact that he seemed to almost whisper. He paced back and forth along the enormous blackboard and gestured with his hands to make a point. He was, after all, French. He held the piece of chalk, but he wasn't writing anything yet.

"When we enter a room alone we are the whole world. We are not aware of ourselves because we are taking in the surroundings," He said and put his hands in his pockets. He looked down and continued, "We are our perceptions. Now, if I am alone in the room and someone enters, what happens?"

"She gets lucky," someone called from behind Hermione.

"You wish," said Gaspard, and a grin flickered briefly on his thin face. He did look a little cute when he smiled actually. It was reassuring that he did such a thing, although that comment had been awfully rude. The thoughtful look returned on his face.

"This is the equation that describes the set." He scribbled the equation on the blackboard.

"Simone, since you seem keen on commenting, what do you see in this equation that is worth commenting on?"

"There are two consciousness'," said the girl on the row behind Hermione that she couldn't see. She noticed now that she was the only one who was sitting in the front row, everyone else were seated further back. This was not surprising as there were only about twenty people in the large auditorium. Arithmancy of Philosophy was a small class compared to her French or potions class. Many probably thought this was a too difficult and theoretical subject.

"Quite. Now when a conscious entity shares a room with us we become aware of ourselves, our relation to the other person, and the rest of the world. We have these three equations. Now lets try to simplify this."

He started to scribble at a furious pace and it was all Hermione could do to copy it down on her parchment. It was hopeless to try and understand now. She would have to study it in the evening.

Listening to the complicated lecture in French had gone well enough and it had been really interesting, Hermione thought. Gaspard's magnetic voice filled her with thrill and excitement as he went deeper into the basic topologies of consciousness.

"'Phenomenological Ontology' refers to the study of being through its appearances and the mathematics that describes it is Arithmancy of Philosophy." Gaspard concluded his lesson, turning to the students with his hand outstretched as if he was a magician who had just turned water into wine at a varité.

Hermione felt dazed by all maths and the furious pace. She hadn't understood half of it, but she intended to study her notes carefully in the evening.

"Was there any problems to do?" she asked while gathering up her parchments and books.

"Problems?" Gaspard turned to her with an amused look on his face. "This is the university miss. What was your name?"

"Granger."

"Miss Granger, I do not assign problems for you to do, it is up to you what you choose to study." Scattered laughs and giggles were heard behind her. She felt embarrassed, but angry too, it was a perfectly sensible question.

"All right sir, I'll study my notes then."

"And don't call me 'sir', it makes me feel old." Several more people laughed now. How could there be so many giggling people in such a serious subject?

Hermione continued stuffing her things in her bag without saying anything more. She felt angry and stupid.

"I would rather you call me Philippe, that's what most people do." He hesitated before the blackboard, looking around for the eraser. Turning his back on her he continued, "See me as someone who is here to inspire your thoughts, a tool. I will stand in front of you and tell you everything you would ever want to know about Arithmancy. You should give me a hard time, I'm here for you miss Granger. Deep down you probably know what you want to use your knowledge for, and what you want to do with it."

He turned to her again and his dark blue eyes fell on her. Now she could feel there were some sort of electricity about him. "Can I call you by first name, since you know mine?"

"Hermione."

"You should have refused Hermione," he said, smiling. Laughter was heard again from the people around them who had stopped gathering their things to listen to their conversation. "It would have proved you had recovered if you would have told me that you didn't think such intimacy was proper."

"Er, What?"

"You do have a sense of humour don't you?"

"Yes, I believe I do, although it might differ from yours, Philippe."

"OK, Hermione, since you want to do problems, here's one for you."

"Precedence of existence over essence." He wrote on the blackboard.

"Next lesson you can start by explaining this to the rest of us. I will sit here and listen. I will be most interested to hear your thoughts on the matter. You don't need to look so worried, these are only the most basic things. We can then do the mathematics together. How is that?" He looked at her with an amused smile playing on his face.

"Sounds like fun. I look forward to it Philippe." Hermione said in a very strained voice. She was terrified by the prospect of talking in front of the whole class, this class, but she was determined to not let it show. She took her bag under her arm and walked out of the auditorium without looking back.

Hermione looked down at her espresso. It had gone cold, and she had been lost in thoughts for a long time. She didn't want to write down all this for Ron. She didn't know exactly why, but somehow she felt she wanted her first letter to sound more positive. Something nice had happened after class though.

My first Arithmancy lesson was a little difficult, but on the way out a guy named Jean-Paul stopped me and introduced himself. He was really friendly. He looks somewhat like a turtle. He is tall, thin and has a long thin neck and round glasses. His blond hair is a mess and he walks around in sandals and always carries a backpack. He drives a magic scooter that is pretty wicked. He said it is needed in Paris traffic or he would never get anywhere. Why he doesn't just Apparate I don't know. He said he would explain a little about the stuff in an assignment I was given at the end of the lesson, so we went for coffee and talked about philosophy. It was fun.

"Never mind Philippe," Jean-Paul had said. "He thinks he's so deep and profound all the time. He likes to impress how egalitarian he is on all the new students. If you actually ever win an argument he'll bash you over the head with how he is older than you or something stupidly authoritarian like that." Jean-Paul looked even more like a turtle when he grinned.

"How come you know him?" Hermione asked. "There seemed to be a lot of people in the class he knew by name. Like that girl who made that really rude remark."

"Oh, Simone. I think she fancies him a little." Jean-Paul sighed when he said this. Hermione wondered if maybe Jean-Paul didn't fancy Simone just a little bit, but since she had only known him an hour she didn't feel like it was any of her business. "Some of us were in Philippe's class on classical mathematics last year: me, Simone, that Danish guy, Soren and Renè, of course--that really big fellow who sat at the back."

"I didn't see anyone since I was sitting in the front row. It was very convenient, that way I didn't see when all the people laughed at me."

"Don't worry about it," Jean-Paul said. "They probably laughed as much at Philippe and his little silly routine."

Hermione thought he probably just said that to make her feel better, but it was nice that someone took the trouble to do that. She had a feeling Jean-Paul was a really nice and easy-going fellow. She liked him already.

"Besides, Philippe sometime throws pieces of chalk at people when they do not understand or pay attention. It is better to sit in the back rows."

"Are you serious? He throws chalk?"

"Well, only when he's in a bad mood." Jean-Paul displayed his winning grin again. Hermione felt uneasy thinking about the assignment she had just gotten. She'd better prepare. She had so many things to study for her other classes as well.

Now she remembered something fun to finish the letter with.

Ron, you should see how the students here get to the university in the morning. That is if they live higher than the second floor. You and Harry would really like it. The fashion here is to jump out the window with your hands outstretched and your robes flapping in the wind, fall one or two stories and then Apparate in mid air to wherever you are going. The closer you are to the ground when you Apparate the cooler you are. They call it drop and pop. It is quite dangerous of course. If your Apparation fails you'll be smashed against the sidewalk. It's not allowed either, since it is dangerous and since the Muggles can spot you disappearing in thin air, but everyone is doing it anyway.

I prefer the stairs. Monique and her friends wondered if I hadn't taken my Apparation test. I told them I could Apparate just fine, but I prefer the stairs, thank you very much.

To be honest I'm a little afraid of heights.

It is getting cold now Ron, I think I must go back and study some more.

I hope all is well with you and all the Weasleys. Tell them hello from me.

Many kisses,

Your Hermione.