Anyone But Me

Chapter Eighty-One

It was overcast the next morning, a perfect mirror for her sore mood. Hermione had been right, her shame at the behavior from the night before was transfigured into an imprinted duckling. Tiny and almost endearing when compared to her other remorseful sorrows, but still somehow, the loudest and most irksome. She was followed around the castle all morning by the chirping melody of self-loathing.

An incessant mantra at that point. The litany of hatred got longer and longer as more insults were added to her massive collection. Her sacred flagellation continued in silence as she played her part of gossiping schoolgirl with the other Gryffindors at breakfast. Ignoring a random catcall from one of the other tables, she had excused herself as soon as manners allowed.

She found herself grateful to be surrounded by some of the most oblivious witches and wizards to ever grace Hogwarts' halls. The fact that the raucous taunt was meant for her never registered with her companions. Even Ginny was too busy flirting with Harry to feel her body tense in anticipation for the questions that never came.

Counting on the early hour, she went to the Library to claim her secluded table before anyone else could. Intent on losing herself to the safety of archaic books and studying for the upcoming exams, instead of listening to the foul twittering inside her head. She pulled out the reference guide for Herbology and went to set it down but was blocked by some kind of invisible force.

Straightaway, she was suspicious. The feeling of being watched crept up her spine and she kept her eyes on the colorful dust jacket in front of her as she worked through the various possibilities... Highest on the list being some type of disguised vengeance from Parkinson.

Not wanting to give the witch her satisfaction, Hermione shifted the book into one arm and pulled her wand out with the other hand. She poked at the concealed parcel and raised an eyebrow when the silent specialis revelio incantation showed no signs of magic...

After a few more investigative spells with no detection of any kind of curse, jinx, or hex she began to doubt her first hypothesis. Against her better judgment and all of her previous training on unknown (possibly magical) objects, she shoved her wand back into her pocket and plunged her fingers into the unseeable mass.

The familiar fabric triggered a myriad of memories that had been carefully locked to flood her senses. She took a step back and stared at the empty spot where Dumbledore's gift was placed. In that moment her loathing for the wizard, who had destroyed her too many times to count, surpassed any other emotion. All the mortification she had felt towards her last violent outburst the night before evaporated, replaced by a deep longing to have done enough damage to have left him with a permanent limp...

How dare he?!?

There was no doubt in her mind that he was hidden amid the bookcases, watching every move that she made. She pushed the parcel to the side and continued about her business. Unwilling to give him the temperamental scene that was, obviously, expected of her. After all of her supplies were organized, she sat down and picked up her quill.

Only to be interrupted by a mass of orange fur jumping up onto the other side of the table. Crookshanks perched on his haunches and blinked up at her. His thick coat was matted and dirty from his recent hunting trip inside the Forbidden Forest.

"You know you are not allowed in here, sir," Hermione whispered as she reached out and scratched under his chin. "Pince will skin you alive if she sees you."

She grinned as his body started to vibrate with his contented purrs. The cat seemed happy that his morning inquiry brought smiles instead of the usual unshed tears. He tilted his head to the side, moving so her hand slipped behind his ear and she rubbed at his favorite for a couple of seconds.