Hermione Granger and the Philosopher's Stone

The Witch Part 2

Hermione winced; the sound seemed to echo throughout the kitchen. Forced to participate in the upcoming conversation, Hermione slowly lifted her head.

Dread pooled together in the pit of her stomach. Desperate thoughts raced through her mind: 'It's not my fault! I can't help it! I promise I'll be normal from now on!'

"Yes, daddy?" she answered with as much innocence she could muster.

"Hermione, after you'd gone to bed yesterday" - had been sent to your room without a backwards glance - "your mother and I, we talked" - argued - "about what that, eh, well, that woman" - witch - "said,"

It was strange seeing her normally composed father shift nervously on his chair. He cleared his throat again and shot her mother a pointed look, as if to say 'Your turn'. Her mom didn't seem too happy with that, though she immediately gave Hermione a smile.

Then she continued the speech as if she'd been the one speaking all along: "And we realized that this wasn't a decision we could make. Now, don't get us wrong, your father and I are completely blown away." She continued to maintain eye contact with Hermione even as she shook her head as if either action would emphasize her point. "Not only are we not properly informed, it is also not our place."

Hermione's eyes widened at the insinuated behind those words. Her parents had always given her a lot of leeway, deeming her intelligent enough to make her own decisions - which she was -, but... No, no but. It simply hadn't occurred to her that she would actually have to choose whether she would go or not. She had been so fixated on the fact that she was a, a witch that she hadn't even considered it.

"Luckily," her father decided to dive back into the conversation, "the professor left us a note. She's going to come by again next week. That way we have some time to think, wrap our heads around things."

Her dad grinned at her nodding, looking her intently in the eye. Hermione understood the unspoken message perfectly. 'Please, smile back' it read. She didn't, though. Hermione remained motionless on her chair.

"We'll probably get some more information then," her mom added after a another few minutes of silence.

They kept staring at her, waiting for her reaction. They were disappointed. Hermione merely nodded. She was thorn. On one hand, the thought of having that strange woman in her house again was making her physically sick. On the other hand, though, Hermione was a little curious. The promise of an explanation was a sweet one and it had ignited that ever present curiosity within her.

Hermione swallowed. She doubted she could really get out of it. Of course, technically she could. It wasn't that hard. All she would have to do was get the waterworks out and look a little pathetic. She tried not to do that to her parents, though. She respected them too much to manipulate them like that. It is why that tactic was strictly reserved for emergencies. Technicalities weren't the problem at all; it were the practicalities that were forcing her to go through with this. The accidents had to stop. Hermione felt she owed the people around her at least that much. The fact that it would make her life an infinity easier was a rather nice bonus as well. 'Yes,' she decided, 'I'll see what this witch has to say.'

Taking a look at her empty plate, Hermione asked: "May I be excused."

"Yes, yes," her father seem surprised at the sound of her voice, "of course you can."

Giving her parents one last curt nod, Hermione stood up and walked back to her room.

Hermione spent the next few days in a haze. She barely said a word to her parents, barely ate and barely slept. She simply felt numb. It was worrying her parents. As much as she ignored them, she wasn't obvious to the concerned glances they shot her when they thought she wasn't looking. They were treating her cautiously as well, as if she could explode at any given moment. They were wrong though. In fact Hermione had calmed down considerably since their little chat in the kitchen. All that was left was indecision.

Standing in the bathroom for the third time that day, Hermione realized that, with the exception of her accidents, she had never had a problem like this before, one she couldn't solve. It was aggravating. Hermione furrowed her brows as she brushed her teeth. That indecision was exactly the root of her problem. Fact of the matter was, Hermione didn't have a clue as to what to do and she wasn't too proud to admit she wasn't handling it well. Her frown deepened as she spit the toothpaste out. Her extensive knowledge of basically everything usually prepared her for any given situation, but Hermione found herself at loss as she contemplated this situation. It wasn't a nice feeling.

After gulping down a glass of water, Hermione checked her pearl white gums in her reflection, carefully inspecting them. Each time she tried to think out a plan of action she drew the same conclusion: she did not have enough information to make a decision. This unfortunately meant that she would have to wait for the professor to return, seeing as there were hardly decent books on witchcraft in her local library. She had checked. This unfortunate fact never failed to bring a scowl to Hermione's face. If she'd waited for adults to teach her anything, she would've been as stupid as her classmates and she found it utterly ridiculous that she had to start now.

Letting out a slightly indignant huff, Hermione left the bathroom. Luckily, the waiting would finally be coming to an end. The professor was coming back at twelve o'clock so Hermione would make sure she stood before the door by at eleven fifty sharp. This meant she still had twenty minutes to prepare for what would most likely be the most important meeting of her life as of yet. Running down the stairs, Hermione went back to the kitchen table to check if everything was still where she'd left it. She carefully expected all the items.

On her place lay the list with questions she'd been preparing during the week since the witch's last visit - when in doubt look for a book or make a list - and a brand new note book accompanied by two pens, one for common use and one spare. Pursing her lips she critically inspected whether they were both still full. Of course, this wasn't the first time she'd done that that day. In fact, Hermione was quite sure this was the sixth time. 'Neurotic.' Hermione felt a dark scowl take over her previously inquisitive face as she thought of what her teachers called it.

'No time for that!' she reminded herself and did her best to shrug it off. Before she could start on the second, spare, pen though, her father's baritone voice penetrated her inward musings.

"You okay, sweetheart?" his said. His normally gruff voice sounded softer. 'Probably from all the worrying', Hermione decided.

"Of course, daddy," She twirled around, a ten kilowatt smile painted firmly on her face, "Why wouldn't I be?"