FicWad

Chapter 11


Monday was downright boring for Harry. The Slytherins whispered behind his back in the corridors. The Hufflepuffs gave him cautious smiles when they passed him, and Hermione Granger followed him everywhere he went. Well, not to the loo, but he suspected that she made good use of that time by dashing off to the loo, herself.

Her main topic of conversation was Mary Sue and Hermione grilled Harry at every opportunity. Where did Mary Sue get her sword? Why did she not respect authority in general and how did she manage to defy Dumbledore so thoroughly? And get away with it? Where did she get the cool black outfit? Did Harry think maybe Hermione could owl-order something like it? Especially the boots! Oh, and would Harry think Hermione more competent if she acquired herself a bullwhip?

That, and she said, "Oh honestly, Harry!" a lot.

Harry was beginning to think that the bushy-haired witch was in love! He hadn't quite worked out whom she was in love with, however, but he had it narrowed down to either himself or Mary Sue.

Tuesday was not boring at all! The morning owls brought two long, curved parcels to the Gryffindor table. There was a near riot when the two first-year recipients refused to open them in public. The suspense was resolved at lunchtime when the pair walked into the Great Hall sporting matching scimitars in scabbards slung from their waists.

The Hufflepuffs worried in hushed murmurs. The Slytherins cursed and Draco subconsciously reached up to touch his ear, reassuring himself that it was still there. The Ravenclaws could be seen scratching furiously with their quills and if one were privy to the contents of the dozens of small scrolls carried off by the owls, one might think that Hogwarts was preparing for a non-magical battle.

It was difficult to find swords for sale in magical Britain, but several of the Ravenclaws were Muggleborn and knew of some Muggle shops that catered to the Medieval reenactment societies. Those shopkeepers were a bit flummoxed to be receiving catalogue requests by owl, but most of them dutifully attached the catalogues to the owls' legs as instructed. They were British, after all, and were quite proficient at not questioning things, no matter how odd.

"I haven't the faintest notion of how to use a sword," Hermione confessed to Harry in a whisper.

"Just fake it," Harry advised. "I think that's all Mary Sue did."

"I doubt that. Did you see how neatly she sliced off Malfoy's ear?"

"Yes, but how do we know she was aiming for his ear?" Harry asked reasonably.

"I'd like to use my scimitar in place of my potions knife," Hermione considered. "That would really irritate Snape."

"Bit unwieldy for the Potions table, I would think."

"Perhaps we can use them in Herbology, then," the bushy-haired one decided. "As machetes."

"We can use the Room of Requirement to train," Harry informed her. "It should provide everything we need."

~~~

Harry was right. The Room of Requirement provided books and magical instructional charts with moving figures that demonstrated the basic techniques of scimitar fighting when one is pitted against posed fruit set on shoulder-high wooden posts. The Room even provided the posts along with the fruits and vegetables! Melons, celery stalks, cabbages, tomatoes, ripe bananas, apples, pears and passion fruits. Everything except avocados, of course. Their pits were difficult to get through and so they were reserved for the more advanced students.

"You're making quite a mess!" Harry observed.

"And you call that a tidy fruit salad, then?" Hermione smirked over at the mound of mushy fruit flesh surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived. "Honestly!"

"Watch this!" Harry bent down to retrieve a mostly intact melon and a half of an apple. "I'll cut a small notch in the side to secure the apple and voila! It's Draco Malfoy's head and ear!"

"Oh, please let me have the first swing! Please?"

"Remember - upper-cut," Harry instructed. "If you slash downward, you'll take off his shoulder, too."

"AAY-YAHH!" Hermione swung her scimitar at the melon-headed manikin, removing a fair bit of melon along with the apple.

"Ouch!" Harry cringed.

"Lobotomies-'R'-Us!" Hermione laughed off her failure. "You try it!"

Harry was disappointed to discover that he could do no better. "We just need to practice," he said, more to reassure himself than his training partner.

"Yes," she nodded. "Every evening for half an hour. I'll need to revise my revising schedule, but I'm certain I'll be able to fit it in."


Schedule or no schedule, their first evening's practice would have to wait, as Hermione received a note at dinner that evening. It was from the Headmaster, requesting her presence in his office.


-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


"I say! Dumbledore!! What are you...?" the portrait of Armando Dippet recoiled from Dumbledore's wand. That was as far as the late headmaster got.

"Somnus!" Dumbledore waved his wand at the wall of portraits and they all promptly fell asleep. "Can't have you all watching while I interrogate a student," he smiled and tucked his wand away. "Come in!" he intoned as his visitor was about to knock on the door.

"You wished to see me, sir?" Hermione Granger stood nervously before the enormous desk.

"Yes I did. Please sit sown," he gestured to a chair. "Lemon drop?"

"No thank you, sir," the girl shook her head slightly, fidgeting awkwardly with her scabbard so she could take the indicated seat.

"Miss Granger, where did you get that sword, if I might ask?" Dumbledore didn't really ask - it was more of a demand.

"I purchased it via owl-order, sir," the bushy-haired witch gulped. It wasn't a complete lie...

The Headmaster's eyes twinkled as they bore into hers. "There's something you're not telling me," he smiled pleasantly. "Where did you get the Acromantula pincer?"

"Um, from an Acromantula?"

"Obviously, but where would a first-year find an Acromantula, I wonder?"

"In the Forbidden Forest?" Hermione admitted. The Headmaster's twinkling eyes really unnerved her. What is it with those eyes? she wondered.

"So you and Harry Potter ventured into the Forbidden Forest, killed an Acromantula, took the pincers to Knockturn Alley to have them made into swords?" Dumbledore summarized. "Any one of those infractions would be enough to justify expulsion." After several more seconds of staring into the young witch's eyes, he gasped, "And the sword is not only a sword!? It's also an unregistered wand!?"

"You can read my mind?" Hermione deduced. "You can read my mind!? Honestly!" she frowned in indignation.

"Yes I can, Miss Granger, and for sneaking out of the castle, not to mention being more clever than me in having a sword made into a wand, I have no choice but to write up the decree expelling you."

"NO!!" Hermione screamed in panic as the Headmaster drew his wand and summoned a piece of parchment. "NO! I can't be expelled! I can't be! Somebody stop him! Wake up!" the young witch wailed at the wall of sleeping portraits, but they did not stir. "Honestly! You can't all be sleeping!" she shouted. "Someone DO something!"

THUNK!

Dumbledore's forehead made a dull sound as it hit the surface of his ornate desk.

"What!??" the girl turned to gape at the sight before her.

[Heart attack,] the author informed her in a spooky voice. [He's dead. Steal his wand and then go fetch McGonagall.]

"What!? Steal his wand? Why?" she asked, her eyes searching the room wildly for the source of the voice.

[It's the Elder Wand of legend. Hide it well and tell no one that you have it. You'll learn about such things in book seven.]

Looking up to warily scan the wall of still-sleeping portraits, Hermione plucked the Elder Wand from the late Headmaster's hand, stuffed it into her robes, and dashed out of the office.


-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


"Yes, a heart attack, and then the voice told me to run and tell Professor McGonagall. It mentioned something about a 'book seven,' but I have no idea what it was talking about," the bushy-haired one confided to the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Wow! The author spoke to you!??"

"The author!? What do you mean, 'the author'?"

"I told you that we're in a ruddy fiction, here..."

"That's impossible!"

"...but you wouldn't believe me. There are seven books - one for each year at Hogwarts - and this is only the first," Harry continued. "The question is, why would the author have spoken to you directly?"

"And killed off the Headmaster," Hermione added. "That was not my doing, no matter what Professor McGonagall might have said!"

"Yes it was," Harry assured her. "It was definitely your doing! You called out for help," Harry reminded. "The author would certainly have heard you..."

"...And come to my aid in an extra-narrative manner simply because he couldn't invent a suitable intra-plot scenario to kill off Dumbledore? Honestly, that's a bit of a stretch, Harry," Hermione shook her head. "If the author is clever enough to publish a series of seven books, I should think him clever enough to conceive of a logical, believable way of killing off the Headmaster."

"The original author was a she, for one, and as for killing off Dumbledore with finesse, I wouldn't count on that. Our author, on the other hand, is just some yokel who fancies himself a writer. Judging by the lackluster, unimaginative cursing on my part, I'd peg him as an American."

"Great buggering balls of bloody blue Blast-ended Skrewts!" Hermione blurted out unexpectedly.

"Whoa! Where did that come from!?" Harry recoiled slightly from her outburst.

"I have no idea!!" Hermione seemed just as shocked as Harry. "Honestly! I was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming desire to curse!"

"Right!" Harry smirked at the author. "Nice try!"

"So Mary Sue was spot on, then," Hermione returned to their original discussion, but not before casting a gimlet eye in the author's direction. "We're in desperate need of a plot."

"One that does not require the participation of our recently departed Headmaster," Harry agreed.

"Did you know that Dumbledore could read minds?" the bushy-haired witch informed him.

"And Snape, too," Harry nodded.

"What!!? Professor Snape!?? Honestly!!"

"Don't let him lock eyes with you," Harry warned.

"I shan't!" Hermione gave a brief nod of her head, "Especially once we've decided on a plot."

"Ignore Ron Weasley at Halloween," Harry warned. "I'm not terribly keen on fighting a troll."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Ron will insult you at Halloween. If you run off to cry in a loo, a troll will find you and I'll have to shove my wand up its nose to prevent it killing us both. I've been warned that would void the warranty on my wand."

"Ron Weasley!? Why would I care what that immature bit of boy-flesh might think of me? Honestly!"

"Boy-flesh?" Harry frowned back.

"From what I've seen of him in the common room, his only interests are playing exploding snap and fantasizing with his friends about being Quidditch stars. Honestly! A lump of meatloaf could manage that! Well, nearly," she reluctantly conceded to Harry's narrowed eyes.

"He's quite good at wizards' chess," Harry defended his not-quite-canon-compliant 'best mate.'

"Alright, he's an idiot-savant, then," Hermione shrugged, ending the discussion. "What about our plot? I'll not run off to a loo at Halloween. Where does that leave us, plot-wise?"

"Well, Quirrell is being possessed by Voldemort and he's after a magical stone that Dumbledore was hiding. We were to prevent Quirrell's finding it, as it would give him immortality."

"That's Professor Quirrell," Hermione scolded. "I thought you killed Voldemort when you were a baby."

"Not completely," Harry shook his head. "He's now a disembodied wraith."

"Honestly!! Can't anyone do anything right!?" the young witch sighed in exasperation. "You left a mass-murderer alive to go around possessing people at will?"

"I was only a year and a half old," Harry defended himself.

"That's no excuse! When I was a year and a half old, I could read and perform basic maths! Had I known about magic... No matter now, I suppose. It's spilt milk," Hermione frowned. "What are we to do about it? That's the question!"

"Mary Sue and I conjured a concealed door to the room where Dumbledore was to hide the stone," Harry offered.

"You!?" Hermione's ample eyebrows raised in surprise. "You conjured a door!?"

"She did the actual conjuring, but it was my idea!"

"That's something, I suppose," the bushy-haired one considered.

"If Dumbledore already hid the stone there before he died, we can steal it..." Harry gave her a hopeful look.

"And where would we hide it?" she reminded him. "No, it's probably safer where it is for now. We'll make our play for it just before Christmas break and then smuggle it out of the castle when we return home."

"I'd planned to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays," Harry informed her.

"What do you mean!? Why would you want to stay here?"

"I've no one to go home to, actually," he shrugged.

"You'll come home with me, then," Hermione decided. "We'll need to practice with our swords. When Mary Sue returns to Hogwarts next year, I'll want her to be impressed with my progress!"

"She said a year from September," Harry reminded. He was definitely leaning toward the 'Hermione's in love with Mary Sue' hypothesis.

"Or sooner! We can hope for September next!" Hermione helped to confirm his theory.

"I doubt it, and if not, you'll have an extra year to master your sword! Mary Sue will be so proud of you!" Harry teased.

"Too bad we won't be able to practice using them as wands outside of Hogwarts," she ignored his jibe.

"Of course we can!" Harry replied. "Why do you think I told the wand-maker, 'No Ministry trace'?"

"Honestly? Brilliant!" Hermione shouted as she launched herself at the Boy-Who-Lived to wrap him in a fierce hug of appreciation.

Girls! Harry thought to himself as he tried to decide whether to hug her back. Just when you think you have them figured out, they go and pull shit like this on you!


-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


"Troll! Troll in the dungeons!" Professor Quirrell shouted before collapsing in front of the High Table.

"Oh MY!!" Acting Headmistress McGonagall exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand.

Harry and Hermione watched carefully as Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He jumped up and dashed off in the opposite direction - toward the Grand Staircase. While pandemonium raged in the Great Hall and McGonagall seemed too flummoxed to act, the two first-years followed behind the Potions Master at a safe distance.

"The forbidden corridor on the third floor," Harry pointed up ahead. "He's going to check on Fluffy."

Hermione just nodded and struggled to keep up. Running full tilt up several flights of stairs was not something the bookworm did on a regular basis.

"Alohomora!" they heard Snape's voice as they approached the corridor. They peeked around the corner in time to see the Professor's black robes disappearing through the doorway.

"Come on!" Harry hissed, starting to bolt forward, but Hermione's hand caught hold of his arm and held him back.

"Listen!" she whispered. "I hear footsteps!"

Sure enough, someone else was pounding up the staircase! The pair of first-years crouched behind a suit of armor and held their breath as Quirrell dashed past their position at a dead run.

"We need to get closer!" Harry hissed as Quirrell disappeared through the forbidden door. "Over there!" he pointed to another suit of armor across the hallway and much farther along the corridor.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" three curses were shouted in two distinct voices as the pair scurried to their new vantage point. The curses were not directed at them, however.

"I came up here to check on the protections," they heard Snape's unmistakable drawl. "I suppose I could ask you the same question."

"I l-likewise came to ch-check on the traps," Quirrell stuttered. "I th-thought maybe the troll was a d-d-diversion."

"As did I," Snape sneered. "Would you care to lift the trapdoor? I'll cover this beast with my wand."

The two first-years heard the creaking of rusty iron hinges and then Quirrell's voice, "Lumos!" followed by, "The v-vines seem undisturbed." The iron hinges creaked again and then Quirrell's high voice shouted "Stupefy!" followed by "Ennervate! Ennervate! Ennervate!" The turbaned professor backed out of the doorway and latched it behind himself, then hurried off back down the corridor.

A vicious snarling sound was muffled by the closed door, but it was obvious that the animal on the other side was not a happy one.

"What about Professor Snape!?" Hermione asked in alarm as Harry made to leave.

"What about the three-headed dog?" Harry countered.

"Honestly! It's only a dog, and the professor's been stunned!"

"That 'dog' is eight feet tall at the shoulder," Harry warned, "and by now I doubt that there's enough left of Snape to rescue."

"I see," Hermione reconsidered. "We'd better hurry back to Gryffindor Tower, then, before we're missed."


-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-