“I know. And I appreciate it.” He returned the embrace.
“I trust you, Hermione. Maybe one day I’ll tell you. Just… not right now.”
“I understand.” She offered a small, watery smile as she drew back.
“Now—who exactly is this ‘Shiva’ person?”
Harry grimaced.
“I didn’t mean to use the name out loud. Shiva is Professor Babbling.”
Hermione’s eyes widened.
“How on earth do you get Shiva from Babbling?”
“Apparently it’s been her nickname since second year. She said she blew a few things up—including herself. Something about a Hindu goddess of destruction.”
“Of destruction,” Hermione murmured, squinting as she worked it out.
“And her first name is Bathsheda… which could shorten to Sheda… which is only a hop, skip and a jump to Shiva. Still—” She fixed him with a stern look.
“It is not appropriate to call a teacher by a nickname.”
Harry held up both hands.
“I know. It’s only in private. She’s only a few years older than us, and she made a decent case for it. And… well…” His voice dropped so low she had to lean in.
“It’s just a lot easier to let her help me—and to trust her—if I can call her Shiva instead of Professor.”
Hermione sat in silence for a long moment, arms folded, studying him.
Harry could almost see her fitting the pieces into the picture she was building of him.
“You can trust her more easily if she’s a friend rather than an adult?” she asked at last, very softly.
He nodded.
She sighed and hugged him again.
“All right. I won’t bring it up again. But I do expect you to tell me where this is coming from one day. And try to remember to call her Babbling when anyone else can hear.” Follow the newest chapters on novelping dot com.
“Thanks, Hermione.” He managed a very small smile.
“I promise.”
She released him, opened her own book, and settled in to read quietly beside him.
“Well, I certainly hope that doesn’t happen every time I play!” Harry snorted once the Quidditch match was over.
His broom had jerked and bucked so violently he had nearly been thrown off.
“Harry,” Hermione whispered from his left.
The common room was still roaring with celebration, so he had to lean in to catch her words.
“We think you were being cursed.” Neville nodded grimly from his other side.
“What?” Harry looked from one to the other.
“Neville saw Professor Snape muttering and staring straight at you the moment your broom went wild.”
“Some persistent jinxes and curses require continuous eye contact,” Neville explained, wringing his hands.
“And not many things affect brooms other than those.
Brooms have to be highly resistant, otherwise professional matches would be a farce.” “So hating me isn’t enough—he’s actively trying to kill me now?
Perfect.” Harry glared at the fireplace, already wanting his rune notebook.
“Why did he stop, then? He almost had me. I was starting to lose my grip by the time I got control back.”
“Well…” Hermione’s cheeks turned pink; Neville’s face went scarlet.
“I… may have set fire to his robes.”
Harry’s mouth fell open.
Every thought of runes vanished.
“I set fire to his robes,” she muttered.
“Neville said we had to break the eye contact, so we ran over. Neville knocked Professor Quirrell— who was sitting next to Snape—out of his seat to distract him, but I was already casting Incendio.”
Harry stared at them both in open astonishment.
“You two are amazing!” Hermione’s head snapped up; Neville began to shuffle awkwardly.
“Neville—you knocked over a teacher for me! And Hermione—you set another teacher’s robes on fire! Best friends anyone could ask for!” He laughed and pulled them both into a quick, fierce hug.
“Well… you’re welcome?” Hermione managed in a small voice.
She did not feel she deserved praise for attacking a member of staff.
It was so wrong.
“No problem, Harry,” Neville said, drawing a steadying breath.
“We look out for each other, right?”
“Yeah. We do.” Harry beamed at them.
“Do you think this was retaliation for overhearing Hagrid the other night—about Nicolas Flamel and the three-headed dog?”
“How would Professor Snape even know Hagrid mentioned that?” Hermione demanded.
“Completely aside from the fact that we still don’t know who Flamel is—and that the dragon egg Hagrid is hiding seems a far more serious detail—I can’t see why Snape would try to kill you over a name.”
“Remember to breathe, Hermione,” Harry said with a laugh.
“And this is Hagrid we’re talking about. I love the man, but we all know he can’t keep a secret longer than five minutes.”
“I’m with Harry on this one,” Neville agreed.
“Hagrid’s kind, but he’s not—what did Gran call it?—’a player of the game.’ And what are we going to do about that dragon, anyway? It’s going to hatch soon, then it’ll grow, and then it’ll either eat him or one of us!”