Hermione felt her cheeks burn.
What was wrong with her tonight?
“Ho hah!” the witch crowed triumphantly.
“So you have!”
“I… I couldn’t possibly betray my lord’s secrets.”
The group nodded knowingly, mentally filing away the respectful “my lord” for later discussion.
“Charlotte.”
She turned.
It was Harry.
“May I borrow you for a moment?”
“Oh, of course. Please excuse me,” she said to the slightly disappointed circle.
Harry led her toward the refreshment table.
She felt that strange tingling sensation again when he touched her arm.
Her face flushed.
“How are you holding up?”
“Managing. It’s actually not as bad as I expected. Most people seem shocked that someone ‘my age’ can quote from the magical canon.”
Harry snickered.
“There’s a chance I may have over-prepared you.
But that was the point.
I wasn’t joking when I said you have the potential to become one of the greatest witches of all time.
And as your new friend over there said,” he nodded toward the second wizard in the group, “many people think they can get by on nothing but loud explosions and puffs of smoke.”
She nibbled on a delicate pastry.
Harry really did have excellent hearing.
“Anyway, I’ll be right back. I need to take care of something.” With that, he slipped away.
Strange.
“Hello, Miss Timberland.”
Hermione turned to find herself addressed by a girl.
A very pretty girl with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.
She looked about the same age as Hermione… though normally she was much smaller.
“Hello, Miss…?” She let the question hang. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
“Greengrass. Heiress of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass.” The newly introduced heiress stared up into her eyes with unsettling intensity.
Of all the witches and wizards Hermione had met that evening, none had regarded her with a more calculating gaze.
She felt as though she were being measured, weighed, and judged.
Two months of relentless drills and training kicked in, feeding the perfect response directly to her mouth.
“Heiress Greengrass, thank you and your family for hosting tonight’s festivities. And thank you for extending an invitation to a foreign witch such as myself.”
“Nonsense. You are a guest of Lord Slytherin. Any guest of his lordship is a guest of House Greengrass.” The young witch smiled.
“Though I must admit, I find myself curious about how well you truly know his lordship.”
Hermione stared at the precocious pureblood heiress—a girl the same age as her and Harry, and the daughter of the lord hosting the very party Harry was using for his political maneuvers.
The wheels in her mind spun rapidly.
“He is my teacher. He has taught me many things.”
“You are very lucky, Miss Timberland. Lord Slytherin is an extraordinary person.”
“I know that.”
“I would hate for him to place his trust in someone who does not fully appreciate his value.”
She bristled at the remark.
“I do understand his value,” she replied, the last word laced with distaste.
“He is one of the most remarkable wizards of his generation. He can do things many adult wiz—” She clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified by the words that had slipped out.
Greengrass offered a cool, knowing smile but chose to ignore the slip.
“The fact that you are still comparing him to ‘those of his generation’ shows you do not yet fully appreciate his value.”
Hermione tried to regain her composure.
“But do not let it trouble you too much,” Greengrass continued.
“You really are doing remarkably well. I can see why he invests so much effort in you.”
Hermione remained silent.
She didn’t dare speak.
“I hope we meet again soon—before our paths cross more permanently.”
Hermione watched the annoyingly precocious blonde walk away.
She felt as though she had just received a very elegant backhanded compliment.
What had the girl meant?
That she didn’t truly appreciate Harry?
She had completed every task Harry had ever given her—often ahead of schedule and always to his satisfaction.
Lost in thought, she failed to notice her teacher’s approach until he was right beside her.
“A Knut for your thoughts.”
“Ack!” She jumped, heart racing.
“Don’t do that!”
Harry, still wearing his emerald-green mask, chuckled.
“Ready for the next round?” He gestured toward the various groups of witches and wizards still mingling throughout the grand ballroom of Greengrass Manor.
“You’re causing quite a stir, you know. Everyone wants to know where such a beautiful, well-mannered, and cultured young witch came from.”
She blushed.
“Sure. Okay.”
Still flushed from the strange, fluttering feeling inside her, she allowed herself to be led across the floor toward another group.
Despite her recent slip, she permitted herself a small moment of satisfaction.
She was doing well.
And Harry was pleased with her.
≤○≥
Back in her ten-year-old body, Hermione stood before the mirror on her desk and thought about that night.
The feelings that had raged through her all evening had been terrifying.
She had felt completely out of control of her own mind and body.
Every other thought had drifted toward Harry—for no logical reason she could identify.
Just… because.
The blonde girl’s comments hadn’t helped.
The moment she had returned home, still wearing her ordinary jeans and t-shirt, she had grabbed the book on puberty her parents had given her a year earlier and reread it cover to cover.
The first time through, she had understood the concepts on an intellectual level.
Living it, however, was as different as the gap between a river and an ocean.
The strange feelings were slowly fading back into the background.
But she understood now that she had been given a glimpse—a taste of what it would be like at twenty-two, when the chaos of puberty was supposed to be behind her.
What on earth was it going to be like over the next few years?
She shivered.