Court Cases and Cafes

Ch. 3

Looking once more at her watch, Hermione sat down in an armchair with a huff.

"Six minutes till the doors open, and I already want to go home," she sighed, and Pansy, sitting down in an armchair herself, heartily agreed.

Sahana came to join them, as the kitchen staff was well managed for the moment.

Hermione studied the young witch as Pansy asked bluntly, "What does your name mean? I know it's Indian, but...." she trailed off.

"It's okay," the pretty girl replied. "My name means 'name of a raga'. Strange, I know, but my mother had me the day my father brought home plane tickets to America. So the name, while strange in Sanskrit, sounded like 'Sahara' in English, and Mum figured we should get better acquainted with the language," Sahana explained. "Then again, we ended up moving back across the sea after I finished school at Ilvermorny..." She trailed off thoughtfully.

She had beautiful wavy hair, a mix of dark and light brown, with intense grey-brown eyes, a nicely-shaped nose, and full lips. Her voice was rich, gentle, and very accented. The way she dressed made her appear young, but her face conveyed a sense of maturity not many adults had, much less a 17-year-old witch working part-time in a cafe.

"It's very beautiful," Hermione commented, and Pansy echoed the sentiment.

"Thanks. My father used to tell me I annoyed him like only sand could - his clever nod to my name." The other two chuckled along with her until Hermione heard the grandfather clock bong 8 times. Magical folk began to trickle, stream, and then flood into the Nook Cafe, looking for a warm drink, books for school, or transport via Floo.

The staff was kept on their toes until lunch break, and even then, there was not much relaxation to be had.

Hermione caught a glimpse of Blaise holding the hand of a gentle-faced Latina woman. Both waved to Hermione, and she returned the gesture, smiling.

Blaise opened his mouth to speak, but his words would have been swallowed up by the cacophony of shoppers, and he could not find the words anyway.

Hermione nodded. She understood what Blaise's lips could not say.

She would do as he had asked of her. She would do anything.

"Alright, everyone. We need to talk," Hermione addressed the crowd in her apartment authoritatively.

Ginny was melted onto Harry as the pair reclined on Hermione's couch and Ron was spread out on her bed, eating her cereal. They all gave her their full attention.

"I have recently been in contact with an old schoolmate, who has presented me with quite the dilemma. Please don't interrupt until the end," she said, looking pointedly at each of them.

"We would never," Harry muttered sarcastically.

"Shush. This old schoolmate has a friend in Azkaban. This poor man has a common Muggle illness, however, St. Mungo's refuses to recognize it as a real illness since no magical folk has ever been recorded as having it. This illness is of the mind - "

"So he's mental?"

"Ronald Billius Weasley. I told you to put a lid on it, so shut up. Now, as I was saying. This illness is of the mind. It is not something he can control, so it makes him dangerous. He cannot control his physical reaction to said illness either, and he almost killed a man before he got his emotions in check."

"What kind of illness?" Harry asked curiously.

"The man who is in Azkaban is bipolar." Harry nodded, having heard of this disease many times, as he had lived among Muggles.