Harry Potter 1. Wingardium Levio–sa?

**Wingardium Levio–-sa?**

Word Count: 162

The Charms classroom, so usually full of the _Crack!_s _Bang!_s, and _Snap!_s of backfired spells and sketchy wandwork, fell abruptly silent.

All heads were turned toward the third row, eyes fixated on the same thing, or to be more accurate, the same person.

Professor Flitwick, perched, as usual on his stack of three or four precariously set books, turned his head, not at the commotion but at the weighing silence. When he saw what the object of the class's curiosity was, he toppled over in complete surprise, managing a squeak as he fell.

When he reemerged, for once not aided by his students because of the fact that they were all still staring in wonder at the head resting on the desk, he gestured vaguely at the seated figure, a look of incredulity still present on his wizened face.

Taking his cue, some ventured forth uncertainly still not believing their eyes.

For the first time ever, Hermione had fallen asleep in class.


	2. A Lost Cause

**A Lost Cause (Or Should I Say Wand?)**

Word Count: 191

She stormed into the common room, smelling faintly of dried eels' skin, her generally bushy hair in a greater state of chaos. She looked around with a rather frantic look in her eyes, annoyance written on her face.

"Has anyone seen my wand?" she asked stiffly.

When no one answered but only continued to look at her skeptically, she grumbled and continued searching, startling a couple of first years practicing their wand work, overturning piles of books stacked haphazardly on tables, and looking under the armchairs by the roaring fire.

Finally, she paused and stood still, taking a deep, relatively calming breath, and closed her eyes, seeming to count to ten.

Her left eye twitched.

"Argh!" Hermione finally yelled opening her eyes, "Where is it?"

She looked around once more then stormed back to her room to continue her potions work.

Ron and Harry looked at each other, much like the other students currently in the room were starting to do.

"Reckon we should've told her her wand was behind her ear?" asked Harry, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Nah," Ron responded. He picked up his quill and continued writing his essay.


	3. Appendages

**Appendages**

Word Count: 386

Hermione stomped up the steps leading to Gryffindor Tower, her bag, laden with books, bumping erratically against her legs as she moved.

"Changing your ears," she scoffed. "Who in their right mind would want to change their ears?"

She had just finished an unusually trying Transfiguration class in which Professor McGonagall had assigned them the task of changing their ears in some way, either through making them a different shape or color, or by altering their size.

Hermione had thought it would have been simple, given the fact that, in her third year, she had succeeded in turning her pin cushion into a porcupine, but, for some strange reason, she had not been able to complete the assignment.

It seemed that nothing was going her way today.

'Well,' she thought, 'At least Harry and Ron weren't here to see _this_ mishap.'

For the first time in their four years at Hogwarts, the trio had been split up due to the implementation of honors classes in preparation for O.W.L.S.

The now-disheveled young witch continued to grumble crossly. 'They already bothered me enough about losing my wand, and I saw the way they smirked when I woke up after my nap in Charms.'

"Idiots," she said aloud, proceeding to mumble incoherently under her breath. "––stupid appendages––useless magic––ears––worthless…" She climbed through the portrait hole, still muttering.

The aggravated girl looked around the common room, then headed for the staircase on the left.

'If anyone so much as _mentions_ the word 'ear', I'm going to explode,' she thought to herself, fuming. She walked up the stairs leading to the boys' dormitory, knowing that Harry and Ron were probably resting after their Potions class.

Hermione opened the door leading to the spacious room and trudged over to where her two friends were standing––Harry leaning on the bedpost––and sat huffily on the bed, finally able to relax a bit.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her, but Ron continued to look at himself in the mirror. Finally, he turned around, a worried look on his face.

"Do my ears look big to you?"

Hermione threw up her hands and let out a strangled scream, flopping backwards onto the bed and covering her head with the nearest pillow.

Ron looked at her, utterly confused.

"What did I say?"

oOoOo

Weee! Maybe if you review Hermione won't smack you with a heavy textbook. I appreciate any suggestions. ;D


	4. Turnabout is Most Definitely Fair Play

**Turnabout is Most Definitely Fair Play**

Word Count: 762

_Hermione's POV_

When we first started school, Ron was always the casual, laid-back, best-friend-of-the-hero kind of guy. He didn't worry much about what people thought––except for Malfoy––although he did care particularly about what people said about his family––_especially_ when it was Malfoy that said it. He didn't care much about class work either, apart from when his mum came into the picture…now _those_ were Howlers anyone would run away from.

I, in contrast, was a typical book worm, obsessed with school and following the rules. Great load of good that did me… thanks to Voldemort. I was also, I'm kind of sorry to say, very, very organized––probably too much so, seeing as I gave both Harry and Ron talking planners for Christmas. Even I agree that's going as bit far.

But, even through the obvious differences in our personalities, I ended up liking Ron Weasley.

I'm not sure when it happened, I just know it wasn't on the train, our first year when I walked in on him trying to perform some stupid spell on his rat. Back then, I just thought he was another thick show-off. Well, it turns out I was sort of right, about him being a bit slow and all, just not exactly in the way I had imagined.

He was clueless when it came to school and common sense and anything that required you to think and use your head for more than about five seconds, including understanding or even having an ordinary emotional range. At least, this was my first impression of him.

It turns out, he could be really nice when he wanted to…and considerate too. Like when I tripped walking down the stairs, and sprained my ankle, or when I had to go to the hospital wing after Pansy Parkinson hexed me behind my back and made my front teeth grow to the size of a small dictionary. Ron didn't laugh once, though he was probably tempted to, and even yelled at that wretch Pansy for me since I could barely speak. He did help me hobble to Madame Pomfrey's however, and came to visit whenever he could; regardless of the fact that he and Harry couldn't always come because of their constant detentions with Snape. It was really nice of him––of the both of them actually, but at the time, I only had eyes for Ron.

I was always the one to act nervous, even if it didn't usually show. My heart would flutter a bit when I saw him (it sounds completely stupid thinking about it now) and my hands would get sweaty and shake a little. Fortunately, the books I always carried around hid this fact. I even tried to sneak looks at him every once in a while. Other than that, though, I struggled to act normally, and not like a complete idiot, in front of everyone else.

Still, I always thought Harry had caught on. He always looked at the two of us with a strange look on his face, that kind when he's trying to think, but the ideas get jumbled up in his head. I suspected he had figured out what was happening, but didn't say anything to me––or to Ron either, for that matter. I was thankful.

Things were like this for a long time. Then, in our fifth year––this one, in other words––everything changed.

Ron suddenly turned into the typical school-oriented, hard-working student, trying to beat his brothers in the race for O.W.L.S., and always putting up 'but's and 'what if's when we wanted to do something even remotely risky, afraid of getting any more Howlers from his mum.

I, on the other hand, turned rebel, setting up the DA and breaking what felt like a million rules––all in one year. I also started to notice that Ron, the prat that he was, snuck looks at me when he thought I wasn't looking, just like I used to do to him, and when we talked, he would stutter and wind up getting his words mixed up, which would generally lead to him blushing beet-red. I thought it was rather cute.

It might seem a bit mean or maybe even arrogant in some people's opinions, but I intend to let him go at it like that for a while, just to see what happens. I've spent way too much time seeing myself act that way, with him just blubbering around, not noticing, in the slightest bit, what I'm feeling. Now it's his turn.

Who ever said life wasn't fair?


	5. A Meeting with Dumbledore

**A Meeting with Dumbledore**

Word Count: 1,547

His eyes twinkled merrily behind his half-moon spectacles, a sight not many got to see up close. He was rarely seen walking around the school. She hazarded a guess that the twinkle in his clear, blue eyes could be seen quite easily even if it was from a distance anyway.

Hermione sat across from the headmaster, ankles crossed and one foot shaking in a repetitive motion, an uncharacteristic sign of nervousness. She was unsure as to why she had been summoned…and to the headmaster's office at that.

She wasn't aware of _really_ breaking any rules––it was only her third year there after all. Before coming to Hogwarts, she had placed it upon herself not get into any mischief. She wanted to make her parents proud, though they were already somewhat astounded that she had been selected in the first place, but most of all, she wanted to prove to all those Muggle-hatters that Muggle-borns could be just as smart as pure-bloods. She had read about all those kinds of foolish conflicts in her books over the summer. She shuddered as she recalled the crimes committed by the so-called Death Eaters on their path of 'racial cleansing'.

Bringing her thoughts back to the case at hand, she worried her bottom lip considering all of the possible reasons for being called. She thought she'd been doing well so far. But she might have been wrong.

'I'm not usually wrong though,' she thought, somewhat proudly, wondering, for what felt like the millionth time, why she was there.

Dumbledore sat quietly, a desk's width from her, his long, thin fingers interlocked in a distinctive gesture of calm. Hermione however, did not know this was so. To her eyes, which were unused to his subtle signals, he merely looked impatient. This thought was magnified further because of her uneasiness.

Harry had always been the one to be called down for one thing or another, not her. If it wasn't for breaking the rules, or doing something monumentally foolish, it was for having strange dreams. If it wasn't the occasional painful twinges of his scar, it was to work out some plans for Christmas vacation.

This, however, this meeting between student and headmaster, was very much new to her.

She had never seen the intriguing trinkets placed on the polished, spindly-legged tables around the room. She had never laid eyes on Fawkes, the phoenix, resting peacefully on his perch by the tall, wooden book shelf. She had never witnessed the awing sight of the interaction of past headmasters and headmistresses––some conversing with each other, others walking casually out of their frames to visit other places.

It was all _very_ new.

"Em…sir?" she asked tentatively, finally breaking the neutral silence that had fallen over them. She was unsure of what to say or how to act. Hermione looked up at him timidly, and he nodded his head, just a small inclination to the right, that nonetheless, encouraged her to continue speaking.

"Why exactly was I called here?" she asked a bit quietly. "I haven't done anything wrong––have I?" She was still uncertain.

The headmaster seemed to have been waiting for her to speak.

"No, no. Nothing of the sort…though it was a wise guess given your past proceedings."

The young witch blushed remembering the trouble––and danger––she, Ron and Harry had been in just the week before. Now that the ordeal was over, she realized they had only two more weeks left at Hogwarts before the summer vacation began.

Dumbledore continued to smile.

"Actually, you were called here today to discuss your current grades…and those of your future, as well, I suppose."

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. Of all the things rolling about in her head, her grades had been the one subject she least suspected to come up in the conversation. That, she was sure, was one thing she didn't think she needed to worry about.

"My…grades?"

His eyes glittered softly.

"Yes. Your grades." He paused. The silence weighed down on them for a couple more tense seconds while she mulled over the thought of what her studies had to do with her conversation. Her face fell. Had she failed some kind of important test?

As if reading her mind, he continued.

"Don't worry, it's not anything unfavorable. I just wished to speak to you about the options that are open for a young witch as intelligent as yourself."

It took her a moment for his words to sink in and for her to realize that the headmaster had paid her a compliment. Her cheeks flushed light pink with pride, and a radiant smile lit up her countenance. She nodded, still hesitant.

"From what your grades have shown us––meaning your former teachers as well as myself––you have much knowledge in all magical aspects, and, even more surprisingly, are graced with a skill in wandwork beyond your years."

"Because of this, you have a unique opportunity to further advance your learning at other institutes that specialize in certain more academically-suited areas. Theses special courses range from science-oriented subjects such as Arithmancy, Divination, and Intermediate Potions to the more hands-on subjects of Care of Magical Creatures and even Advanced Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts III. From there, many new windows of opportunity will be open to you for either career purposes, enrichment, or just to help you go wherever you may want to when you are older."

He waited expectantly as she processed all the information that had been thrown at her.

Finally, she spoke.

"So there are other schools, besides Hogwarts that can teach––different––students?" She paused then added. "Well, I mean other than Beauxbaton's and Durmstrang."

The headmaster nodded. "Yes…though I would probably not use the word 'different'. I like the ring 'talented' or 'gifted' has more."

She nodded, a small grin gracing her features. The headmaster's next words, however, wiped the smile off her face as quickly as it had come.

"This, of course, means that you will board at the institute of your choice for the next four years, or, in other words, until you finish the rest of your academic pursuits. If you were to choose one of these schools, your classes would begin in September of this year. You will have the same vacation times as when you were in Hogwarts, which also means you will have a chance to see and catch up with your friends back home."

The word 'home' jolted her more strongly than the rest of his speech. _Home_.

"The only change would be that there are more classes in a day than here at Hogwarts, and, of course, that it will be a different school with a completely different setting. It may take some time getting used to, but if you and your parents think it is a good choice for your future schooling, then I will stand by and help you through the whole process."

He trailed off, seeing the look on her face.

Hermione didn't know what to do. She had been very excited at the prospect of a special school, with new classes and teachers and scenery, but when it hit her––that she had to leave all her old friends behind and start anew––her mind had gone into overdrive.

On one side, she had her career and future learning, and on the other, she had her old life and old friends. What had been her home for the past few years. She couldn't just leave them behind. Sure, she would meet new people and probably make new friends, but how could she leave Harry and Ron behind after all they'd been through?

'Wow, I sound like such a sap.' But she knew it was true. She couldn't do that to them…or to herself for that matter.

Dumbledore's words interrupted her jumbled thoughts.

"In the end, the decision will ultimately be yours, as to whether you would like to stay and complete your schooling at Hogwarts or travel abroad to a new institute to learn more about the topic of your choice."

Your decision._ Your choice_.

She smiled sadly, recognizing that it was a great opportunity, but realizing, also, that she had a greater duty to attend to…one that didn't focus entirely on education. She looked up, meeting Dumbledore's clear, understanding eyes, and knew, in her mind––and hazarded a guess that the headmaster probably knew as well––that the decision had already been made.

"Thank you, Professor, but I think I'm fine where I am now. I know this would be a great chance for me and for my future as well, but I don't think I'd be able to leave everything behind."

'It means too much to me,' she added silently.

Dumbledore looked at her gently, giving her a small, knowing smile. He nodded.

"If you think that is best, then that's all there is to know. If you are certain––"

"Yes," she said, conviction heard in her every word, "I am."

"Then, it's settled. You may leave if you wish."

She stood and walked uncertainly to the door, then, at the last moment, turned and gave the headmaster a bright smile.

"Thank you."

He just nodded reassuringly as she walked out, closing the door behind her.

oOoOo

Hope you liked it ;)


	6. Boredom

**Boredom**

Word Count: 956

She was bored. Very, very bored. Heck, if there were ever a time to use the phrase 'bored to death,' now would be the perfect time.

She had finished all the school work that she had pending, rewritten her notes, finished any essays she needed to have done, practiced her wand and spell work, and had even poured over a couple upcoming reading assignments, including the next two weeks' lessons, just in case.

But now she was bored.

Hermione sighed and got up from the armchair in front of the fire, walking across the packed common room. Even the sights and sounds of her boisterous, laughing comrades weren't enough to entertain her at the moment.

She needed something to do.

Hopping lightly out of the portrait hole, she listened to the telltale groan of the painting swinging shut behind her. She wondered what the 'something' she was looking would turn out to be.

Harry and Ron were at Quidditch practice––again––only adding further to her boredom. Honestly, she didn't see what those two thought was so fascinating about flying a hundred feet above the ground, dangling from a broom and chasing a little ball that was practically invisible. At this point, she didn't even have the always-productive option of starting a row with Ron to amuse her.

'Hey,' she reflected somewhat appreciatively, 'That almost rhymed!'

She walked along the empty corridor, down a flight of steps, and pushed aside a large, hanging tapestry that blocked a shortcut to the third floor from sight. She hummed absently, occasionally repeating her previous, fairly poetic statement of 'row with Ron' out loud.

'If Luna could see me now,' she thought, chuckling softly at her obvious state of ennui.

She strolled through the deserted passage, looking around vaguely, taking note of the minute cracks in the wall, dust on the stone floors, and even the signs of what might have been dried blood, but could just as well have been a syrup stain from a couple years back—anything to keep her wandering mind occupied.

She huffed in mild annoyance. _Now I'm thinking about syrup stains._

_Hmm…Come to think of it, some pancakes would probably taste really good right now._

She berated herself for going off on a tangent, but then realized she hadn't exactly been focused on any topic in particular anyway. Except boredom…and pancakes.

She shook her head to rid herself of the idea before she got hungry and traveled (completely unaware of course…S.P.E.W would never allow her to do so otherwise) down to the kitchens. She needed to find something to do. And soon.

A perfect example of 'something' suddenly turned the corner into the empty corridor she was currently standing in and looked at her in a quick, moment's surprise.

_Perfect_, she mused. _Just what I need to get rid of my boredom._

Draco Malfoy stood stock still for a couple of seconds, seemingly rooted to the spot, then leaned casually against the wall. His ever-present air of practiced grace, however, did not fade. It seemed as if his very purpose that day was to stand in a dusty hallway, lounging.

"Humph, I thought I smelled something foul." His upturned nose wrinkled in mock disgust.

She grinned to herself, glad at the chance to have some fun, but hid it under a mask of shared hatred.

"Well, if it isn't our favorite ferret boy. Bullied any more second years lately?"

He sneered in response, taking his wand from his coat pocket before Hermione could react.

"I don't have to answer to a Mudblood like you." He paused and made a point of looking around. "Where are Potty and the Weasel? Tired of tagging along already?"

She smirked, now actually trying to conceal her anger. "I should ask you the same thing."

She took a decisive step forward, disregarding the fact that she was wandless. She found that didn't really care. Goading Malfoy had definitely been the 'something' she had been searching for. At least it had put an end to her boredom.

He reciprocated her brazen action, walking forwards haughtily until she was forced to back up. The statue of the one-eyed troll behind her wobbled imperceptibly. She continued to stare up at him, the fact that he was almost a head taller than her not intimidating her in the slightest. At least not yet.

"What brings you up to a deserted corridor at this time of day?" she said, struggling not to stumble over her words. She paused for about half a second, then proceeded without a second thought. "Come to cry about your daddy perhaps?"

She almost gasped at the words that spilled out of her mouth, shocked at her bravado, but kept it down. Before the Christmas vacation had ended, Ron's father had told them that Lucius Malfoy had been apprehended for possession of various Dark objects and suspected involvement in the increasing bouts of Death Eater activity. He was now serving a four-year sentence in Azkaban.

Malfoy reeled back as if slapped. He blinked his silver eyes in astonishment, attempting to fix his face back into his usual leer.

"So," the blond said, dragging out the word a bit painfully, "The Mudblood Granger has finally grown a backbone."

"Oh, I've always had one. Maybe you've just never noticed." She smiled to herself, pleased with her comeback. "It looks like you're lacking in that department, though, seeing as you hide behind Crabbe and Goyle everyday."

His eyes narrowed dangerously, about to spring back with a spiteful retort, when Hermione interrupted him. Something else had caught her attention.

His lashes…they were so long…and thick, too, and, before she knew it, the question had popped out of her mouth unheeded.

"Do you use mascara?"

oOoOo

Happy New Year :D


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Harry Potter