17. Fly on the Wall
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A dreamy smile stretched Hermione’s face before she sat up and yawned, pushing away the bedclothes. Early morning sunlight was spilling in through the window, warming the room. Only Hermione had awoken. The rest of the Gryffindor seventh year girls remained dozing peacefully.



Swinging herself out of the bed and slipping her feet into her slippers, she wondered why she felt so rested, which was a new experience this term. Hermione’s head didn’t feel so heavy and she didn’t ache to close her eyes and drift away again. She was quite content to get up, get dressed and head down to breakfast.



Was it because it was a Friday? No, she had soon realised a long time ago that this way of thinking only made the following Monday arrive faster. Was there something she was looking forward to doing in class today? She frowned. That didn’t seem to be it. An alarm bell seemed to be sounding in the back of her mind.



Hold on.



Class…



I have Potions his afternoon…



Oh crap, what have I gone and done?



The realisation of what she had done and most of all said last night, hit her like a ton of bricks. She sank back down on to her mattress, not so happy to get on with the day anymore. Thinking about what she had yelled in anger at him just made it worse with each passing second.



A prick. She’d called him a prematurely aged prick. Cringing, Hermione stared at the opposite wall in horror. What on earth had possessed her to let her mouth take control and let her mind, her sanity, take a backseat?



A great yawn from the right of her pushed her away from her panic and she jumped up. Erica, eyes half closed, sat up. “…Time to get up yet..?” She blinked a few times to clear her eyes and roughly tied her hair back, which had escaped from it’s elastic as she was sleeping. Looking slightly more conscious, she noticed Hermione standing by the side of her bed looking half in this world, half in another.



“Hermione?”



Hermione glanced at her, startled again, her eyes clouded with confliction.



“What!” She lowered her voice. “I mean, what?”



Erica frowned. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”



“No, I mean yes…I mean…I’m going to get a shower.” Still looking distracted, Hermione picked up her dressing gown and went towards the stairs. The Gryffindor girls’ bathroom was two floors down. Thoughts of drowning herself in the hot water for her abysmal blunder calmed Hermione slightly.





Harry tugged the plug out of the sink and headed out, pulling his t-shirt over his head and slipping on his school robes. Yawning, he walked down the steps, taking two at a time. A few people were already in the common room, some leaving it to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Planning to follow Seamus and Dean, Harry stopped on his way to the portrait hole when he saw a figure sitting alone in the armchair by the fire.



“Ginny?”



The sixth year redhead jumped. “Oh, morning Harry. I didn’t see you then.” He frowned slightly. Ginny looked quite pale, with grey shadows beneath her eyes.



He gave her a small smile. “I guessed as much. I’m going down to breakfast, are you coming?”



Ginny shook her head. “I…well, I thought I’d wait for Ron. To see if he’s…is he nearly ready yet?”



“He’s still in bed, Ginny,” Harry replied apologetically.



“Oh. Well, if he’s not awake…I might as well.” Ginny stood up.



“He is awake, I think, but I’m not sure he particularly wanted to get up this morning.”



Concern flooded Ginny’s face. “He seemed okay last night when we came back...did he say anything to you?”



“Not a word. But…Ginny, does he think that Ch…” Harry hesitated. “Does he think that this is all Hermione’s fault?”



“What?” She looked confused for a moment, and then it dawned on her. “Oh, he didn’t…” Ginny’s expression darkened at Harry’s reluctant nod. “I can’t believe he…my brother is such a daft, immature…”



She didn’t get to finish exactly what Ron was, Harry stopped her. “Look, I’m sure he’ll be different later. You know how he is-”



“You think I care? Do you see me storming up to Hermione’s room and making a complete prat of myself? If anything, I want to thank her for pulling the wool from our eyes. I don’t give a flying Hippogriff about how much my brother is upset over Charlie…I can only imagine how Hermione is feeling…she’s had more than enough to deal with recently…” Her face twisted into an ugly scowl, Ginny turned on her heel and headed to the portrait hole.



“Are you coming?” she asked Harry over her shoulder.



Harry was still taken aback. “But aren’t you, I mean…don’t you-”



“Right now, I’m hungry, Harry. Are you coming down to breakfast or not?” Ginny climbed out of the portrait hole and Harry hurried after her, his frown deepening. The youngest Weasley was a puzzle, he thought, absentmindedly.





The shower had done nothing. Hermione didn’t want to cry as much as she wished she had thrown herself off the Astronomy Tower while she had the chance. Her insides twisted up in apprehension, she adjusted her bag slightly and pushed one of the doors to the Great Hall open.



Breakfast was in full swing and with a thankful pang in her stomach; Hermione saw that Snape wasn’t present at the teacher’s table. Still in a slight daze, she approached her usual seat between Harry and Ginny. Not bothering to acknowledge her silent companions just yet, she quickly poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice and downed it; hopefully to absolve the queasy feeling she’d had since she’d woken up with a rather horrifying memory.



“Would it be too much to ask for a little alcohol in this place?” she muttered under her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Harry and Ginny sharing a worried glance.



“Well…Seamus managed to finally Transfigure water into rum last year,” said Harry.



Hermione scowled at him and began to focus intently on the ceramic plate before her on the table.



“Hermione?” She didn’t look up at him. “Are you sure you’re…well, okay? I mean,” he carried on hastily. “It’s understandable if you’re not, but you look like you’ve just had the worst night of your life.”



To his surprise, Hermione began to laugh. When she spoke, it was odd and high-pitched. “”Me? No. Just couldn’t sleep. Toast would be good. How are you?” All this was said very quickly as she lunged across the table towards the toast rack.



“I’m…not bad,” he answered, watching as she crunched her way through a slice of dry toast. He took a quick look at Ginny who raised her eyebrows at him.



“Er…listen. I need to…er…get my…Divination book. See you later.” Harry gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder and hurried off down the table.



Hermione frowned. “What is he talking about? Harry dropped Divination ages ago. Of course, Ron decided to keep on at it, God knows why, the-” She stopped mid-sentence, staring at Ginny. “Oh, I didn’t mean to-”



Hermione was surprised when Ginny gave her a smile. “Don’t you dare. Feel free to insult my brother. He deserves it, the great prat. Treating you like that last night.”



Hermione interrupted her. “Ginny, he probably didn’t mean to-”



“Don’t kid yourself, Hermione. Ron knew exactly what he was doing and he’ll come to his sense soon enough. Charlie was my brother too, y’know, and it scares me that we never saw him for what he really was, but do you see me blaming you? So if that’s what you’re mooning about, you can forget it.” Ginny looked sad at the mention of her imprisoned brother’s name but brightened up again by the time she’d finished speaking.



Hermione nodded but began to gnaw on her lower lip. Should Ron’s behaviour be a bigger worry to right now? Somehow it paled in comparison to what Snape was planning for her in Potions. She shuddered involuntarily.



“What is it?” asked Ginny, frowning.



“Nothing,” she answered automatically. She couldn’t tell Ginny…could she?



Ginny rolled her eyes. “I know you. When ever you start to chew on your lip like that, something’s wrong.” She narrowed her eyes. “And it’s not to do with Ron either, is it?”



Feeling weak by Ginny’s insistent gaze and the impending interrogation, Hermione shook her head reluctantly. The redhead’s eyes widened.



“Tell me.”



Hermione’s came out in a rush.



“IyelledatSnapelastnightandI’mafraidhe’sgoingtokillme.”



“What?”



“Last night, I yelled at Snape.”



“What?” Ginny repeated.



“He…annoyed me and I wasn’t in a particularly good mood so I…just let it all out.”



Ginny raised her eyebrows apprehensively. “You ‘let it all out’? What did you say exactly?”



Hermione hesitated. “I called him a prematurely aged prick.”



Ginny didn’t move for a moment, and then, through a barely concealed laugh, she said, “Oops…”



“This isn’t funny!” Hermione reproached.



“I know, I know. It’s just…Hermione, were you drunk?”



“No,” replied Hermione looking defensive. “I told you I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out.”



“Slipped out? Have you got a death wish? Snape’ll eat you alive during your Potions lesson.”



“Really? I had no idea,” answered Hermione sarcastically, glaring at Ginny. She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I have to go to Charms. See you later.”



Ginny said her goodbyes and finished her own breakfast, glancing around and absently realising she was going to be the last to leave the Hall that morning. She pushed away her plate, slung her bag over her shoulder and quickly left the hall.


Ginny was wrong. There was one more person to leave the Hall late after breakfast, and Pansy Parkinson currently had the most unsettling smirk Ginny would have ever seen, etched across her pale face. She couldn’t wait to tell Draco. Potions class should be fun...if she knew her Head of House.