Monday, September 29, 1944
6:45 P.M.
After a good half hour of being grilled about her previous educational experience by Armando Dippet, Hermione couldn't help but recall Harry's opening words following the time travellers' group meeting with the man in question ("Have I already mentioned that I don't like Dippet?").
Stout and a bit on the podgy side, Dippet sat in the Headmaster's chair with an air of detached indifference unlike any Dumbledore had ever given off and spoke in a higher-pitched voice that reminded Hermione of a droning siren. And that damn grandfather clock was still there.
TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK
Just as Hermione was about ready to let out a shriek of pure impatience, Dippet whipped out a piece of parchment from the same envelope that the future Dumbledore had sent back in time. The new – old - Headmaster professionally went on to smooth it out on the desk, studying the elegantly scripted charts, numbers, and letters carefully.
He seemed to be going through a mental debate in his mind. Hermione could tell by the way his eyes constantly shifted back and forth between the paper he had just pulled out and another sheet of parchment alongside it, comparing them, considering them.
Without being too obvious, she locked her light brown eyes on the upside-down handwriting and tilted her head slightly to the right, her dark chocolate curls again sweeping across her left eye. Unexpectedly, a dizzying wave of déjà vu washed over her, momentarily pulling her back, back to that first meeting with Dumbledore on the night of her graduation...
The meeting that had started it all.
The brunette gave her head a small, unnoticeable shake. Come on, Hermione, back to centre! she thought to herself encouragingly. Squinting, she narrowed her eyes and refocused on the parchment across the desk from her chair.
And blinked in shock.
What in Merlin's name...
Almost immediately, Hermione recognized the writing. It was not Dumbledore's hand; that would have been too easily recognizable to Dippet. No, it was McGonagall's unmistakable, graceful loops that filled out a transcript. A transcript with an elaborate Academy of the Sun insignia.
"As I previously explained to you and the other five transferees," Dippet began, his voice slightly distracted as he every so often continued to ruffle through the parchments, "the student hierarchy at Hogwarts includes two prefects from each year after fourth, and, at the top, one head boy and one head girl. The recipients of the latter titles are chosen from the seventh year as those students with the highest marks. Our Head Boy this year was the most obvious choice we've had in a good many years. Wonderful boy." He frowned and shook his head slightly. "He was the only choice, really..."
Well, how nice of you to say. Really raises all those other boys' self-esteems.
"Our originally selected Head Girl, however, declined her position when she was notified of it over the summer. Her family moved to France a few years ago, and I believe she intends to transfer to Beauxbatons for her last year. My next choice would have been a Slytherin, Miranda Wilkes," Dippet explained. He seemed to hesitate deliberately, and Hermione leaned toward him to catch the punch line, for she was sure one would follow, though she couldn't quite see what was so suspenseful about the conversation...
"That was until I viewed your... extremely exceptional record."
Hermione' sharp mind didn't miss the implied invitation in his vague words. Oh my God! Is he asking me to... He is asking me! Oh my God!
YOU ARE READING
Misunderstood Maledictions | Tomione
Romance"Have you ever really been hated, Nefertari? Have you ever been disowned by your own bloody father before he even met you? Have you ever been cursed by the woman who called herself your mother before you could even crawl? Have you ever... asked a qu...
