The Cupboard Series 2: Hermione's Book Nook

Chapter 14

Wiggling slightly on the old coil of rope to something a bit more comfortable, Harry settled himself and his supplies, ready for some important work. The old board that he used as a desk in his secret cupboard was laid once more upon his lap. Quills, ink bottles and parchment were at the ready. On the floor beside him was the silver Goblin Postal Service box, placed so that the owl motif on top of could be seen even from the corner of his eye.

Knowing that he was ready for what he planned to do, Harry picked up the old copy of The Daily Prophet that he'd kept and flipped through it to the advertisements. His eye roamed down the page, picking out the three that interested him the most. Now it was simply a matter of crafting his own ads.

Dropping the folded-back paper into his lap, he leant back, hands interlocked behind his head. With unseeing eyes, he thought back over the last three days of lessons. Most, of course, simply picked up from where they'd left off the previous year.

Professor Flitwick was his usual effervescent self, managing to make charms seem almost more like a game than a learning experience. Professor Sinistra's midnight astronomy class the night before had unfortunately been cut short due to clouds obscuring the part of the sky that they were trying to observe.

Herbology had been slightly more challenging which only made sense to Harry. In all his years of gardening for Aunt Petunia, he'd never come across a plant or weed that decided to fight back and flat out refuse to do as it was told to like the baby mandrakes that they were dealing with in their very first lesson of the year. It'd taken not only ear-muffs to block out their cries, but also thick dragon-hide gloves to protect his fingers from their strong gums to survive the lesson.

History of Magic, Harry suspected, hadn't changed its formula for hundreds of years. Or, at least, since well before Professor Binn's death. The ghost's monotonous recital of the text book was enough to put almost anyone to sleep within the first five minutes. Harry himself had slept through most of the previous year's lessons.

But this year, he had a plan. Using a set of earmuffs not unlike the ones that they'd used in Herbology, he tuned out the dry delivery and used the lesson as an extra study period. Between their assigned book and the ones that he'd picked up in Diagon Alley, Harry planned on studying the subject at his own pace. He trusted that either Neville or Hermione would let him know when the bell went at the end of the lesson.

Transfiguration though, while remaining the same in what was expected, had an element of difference to it. Professor McGonagall remained the consummate stern task-master. When Harry trudged into the classroom, his eyes slid immediately to the far back table, a place that he felt instantly drawn to. His hesitation must have transmitted itself, though, for, no sooner had he slowed, than Hermione's chocolate eyes pierced his own and, with a small frown, she drew him forward to their usual table.

He may have been sitting where he was. He may have been taking his usual notes. He may have even been performing the required new spell (turning a shallow bowl of water into a mirror) with his usual focus and achieving it only seconds after Hermione, earning Gryffindor five points. But there was one thing that he was not doing. The entire time that he was in the classroom, including the start of the lesson when Professor McGonagall was in full lecture mode, he flat out refused to look at her.

Once upon a time, Professor McGonagall had been his favourite teacher. At Hermione's urging, he'd even taken some of his problems to her and felt a strange sort of warmth when she'd not only listened, but helped him. But that was before the summer holidays. Before she'd assured him that she'd look into it and that Headmaster Dumbledore would make sure that his relatives would treat him better. Before the locks on the door. Before the bars on the window. Before the cat-flap designed to allow a meagre portion of food. Before being locked up tight while his relatives simply drove away.