Jörmungandr

Family Dinner

Breakfast was those greasy potato pancakes and warm chocolate chip muffins. With butter and apple juice and a side of mandarin oranges. The Prophet had nothing but shlock. Again. Balderdash did not spill any food on his way in and Hermione rewarded him with a sausage. He nuzzled her to beg for two, and she folded like floppy bacon.

The raven didn't show.

Claudia Macmillan sat across from her and watched her eat surreptitiously. She was doing her best to be discreet about it, only looking out of the corner of her eye when she spoke to Flint or Avery. Glancing over when a person on the team called out to her. If Hermione's instincts weren't honed so painfully sharp, she would have dismissed it.

As it was, Hermione had experience being watched, stalked, and hunted. By things a lot more terrifying than a sixteen-year-old with a mean hook.

She ate her potatoes, read her paper, fed treats to her owl.

The girl's eyepatch was gone after the first day, and the Slytherin team had won their quidditch game. Hermione hoped she wasn't the type to hold a grudge. But if Macmillan wanted to retaliate, Hermione could duck a punch.

"Have you ever had a bird before?" Macmillan said as the table started to clear out. Her Scot's brogue came in harsher when she whispered.

"Errr..." Hermione's fork stopped halfway to her mouth, "What?"

"Your familiar," Macmillan pointed to her eye where she had been scratched, "She's untrained. You haven't ever had a bird before have you?"

"No, I guess not, " Hermione said, confused. Was this what she wanted to talk about?

"Thought so."

And then, Claudia 'Terrifically rich and the Quidditch captain and related to most of the Board of Governors' Macmillan pulled out a book from her giant robes and dumped it into Hermione's lap. Fair & Fowl: A Field Guide to Your New Feathered Familiar.

Hermione blinked.

"Thank you?"

This was obviously some sort of play or manipulation or bribe. Hermione still wasn't going to refuse a book.

"Don't." Macmillan finished her food and got up from the table, "I just don't want your poor bird killed because of your own stupidity. If something like that happens when the Governors are here, it'll be both your heads."

"Right." Hemione nodded absently and began leafing through it, "Cheers. I'll keep that in mind. It'll be trained soon."

When the fuck would she find time to train a familiar she didn't know, but she couldn't have it be so fickle all the time.

Macmillan lingered at the table a second, looking down her nose at her, and Hermione was reminded of Riddle's grand haughtiness. She wondered if that was where Macmillan learned it from.

"What's her name?" Macmillan asked begrudgingly, like she didn't want to speak to Hermione another moment but couldn't help but ask.

"Er... I haven't actually named it yet." Hermione said sheepishly.

"Well then ask her, aye?" Macmillan scrunched up her face as if stating the obvious, "A good familiar always has one. And—" She looked at Hermione up and down and frowned, "—your connection seems strong.

____

Alphonse Prewett was in the infirmary.

Not because of Hermione. Probably. He was on the quidditch team and had an injury from the match. Completely unrelated to her knocking his head and hexing him into a stupor. Defense mishaps happened regularly, and the infirmary was well stocked for accidents. Surely, the Madam would have been able to get him back into shape for the game. And if not, she wouldn't have cleared him for it.