Disclaimer: The Characters and situations of Harry Potter depicted in this story are the legal property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made off this story and it is being used for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Notes: A short snippet of a scene from HBP. Chapter Eleven, I believe. Spoliers abound. A Hermione POV about the little spell she cast during Quidditch tryouts. Slight R/H. Read, Review, and most of all enjoy!
She wouldn't do it. She just wouldn't. Not that she couldn't do it-- the fact that she could was so blatantly obvious to anyone who cared was neither here nor there; she could do it and she could do it well. Very well in fact.
But she wouldn't do it.
She was after all Hermione Granger. She was a sixth year. A prefect for Merlin's sakes! She was suppose to be setting a good example for others to follow, not paving one that promoted anything less than the honesty and righteousness Dumbledore expected from his students that, Merlin help them all, just happened to be the future of the wizarding world.
Hermione wouldn't… especially not after she harped on Harry for using that blasted, no good, cheating potions book (the fact that he had outshone her in the process didn't even begin to factor into this equation, of course) for the past month. But it would be so easy… so easy to just…
NO! Her mind reeled, and Hermione, being the good natured, honest person that she was immediately chastised herself. Mentally slapped her hand away when it moved-- just a fraction of an inch-- towards her wand. She wouldn't be able to stand it if she had done that to Ron or worse, if he found out about it. Even if it did give him that tiny extra nudge-- even if he didn't deserve it.
Which wasn't really the issue at hand at all, but honestly carrying around with that half wit Lavender Brown the way he did. Who is he trying to fool? He better bloody well hope it wasn't her-- because she, no- nonsense Hermione Granger, was not easily fooled. Even-- and she is very, very reluctant to admit this and would only do so under severe, extreme circumstances-- if it was beginning to sting just a tad bit. The tiniest bit actually.
Ron had been two times to git he usually is lately. But he was still Ron.
The spell would be simple enough… her resolve started to slip and she had to mentally shout at herself to get it back on track. It was a bad idea all around. Could have disastrous consequences. And besides all that-- which, she knew somewhere inside of her, was all very important indeed-- she would probably end feeling down right guilty afterwards too.
The mere thought of it actually made her feel rotten. Rules were meant to be broken, Ron had always said and it was no secret she thought that was just plain rubbish. Rules were put there for a reason, and she, Hermione Granger, sixth year prefect, should do the right, moral thing and follow them.
Of course rules andher two best friends have never really been on the best of terms, but each and every time she had broken one she had felt that tinge of guilt swim through her and sting her like a jelly.
She wondered, for a brief moment, how Harry's conscience could let him cheat his way through that potions class-- sure the only thing he was hurting was essentially himself--(and her reputation as a genius with the cauldron took a hit the size of a bludger in the process) but surely Harry-- good, honest, and wholesome Harry-- must have felt an inch of what she was feeling right now.
Probably not, she knew.
Harry and Ron's consciences didn't seem to have the same moral repercussions that hers had. Guilt must be a foreign feeling for them, she thought snidely as she felt the wand burning a whole in her pocket. Hermione Granger didn't envy Harry and Ron much, but she couldn't help but admitting she did envy them that simple thing.
Hermione glared in the two boys in question, even though they were completely oblivious to the movement.
But all of that was forgotten as Cormac McLaggen dropped into a seat near Dean Thomas and just within ear shot.
"Must be proud of her, mate," the good looking seventh year said lowly as he gauged the sixth year's reaction as Dean watched Ginny make her way towards him as the Keepers began to slowly but surely take the field. "Only reason she and her asshat of a brother are getting on the team are because the chosen one likes them."
Cormac sniggered like a fool while Dean glared angrily.
Hermione's shoulders stiffened in response. It was impolite to glare (eavesdropping is a very rude habit after all) but she still did, and the effect of it was obviously felt for that damn McLaggen turned in her direction.
And-- the gull of him-- had the nerve to grin at her in a way he probably thought was charming.
A few comments later as Ginny stopped to chat up Katie Bell, Hermione could tell Dean's patience was running thin. He was good natured, sure, but there was only so much a person could take really. She would know this all to well… she had two best friends that drove her to her wits end on almost a daily basis.
"Oh, sod off you prat," Dean seethed shoving him dangerously. Dean shoved him so hard in fact thatMcLaggen actually stumbled backwards slightly. Hermione knew that she wasn't the only one that hoped he fell with his broom stuck up in a very unfortunate place.
Obviously the stupid git got the idea-- he made his way onto the field, making sure to check out Ginny's bottom on the way down. Which, Hermione decided, was really just the last bloody straw. She watched in agitation as tryouts for Keeper finally began. Seethed silently.
Felt the wand burning through her pocket and searing her skin.
Felt her fingers twitch to grab it.
Felt them actually begin to move towards it…
And in a single fleeting moment as she watched McLaggen save three consecutive shots in a row Hermione, as inconspicuously as possible, felt her nimble fingers wrap securely around her wand.
A silly little spell never hurt anyone, she thought wickedly.
Well, usually they didn't anyway.
However, for her own pure amusement, this one just might.
End.