181: Hermione Granger’s Part Time Job?

Harry Potter was having an absolutely miserable day.

"I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking when he hired that man as our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!" he complained, waving a piece of parchment in frustration as he ranted to Ron in the Gryffindor common room. "I mean, we all know Gilderoy Lockhart is completely useless! Just look at this stupid quiz!"

Harry jabbed at the parchment furiously. "*'What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?'—Oh, yes, that'll definitely scare off a werewolf! Or how about this? 'When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday?'—Because, clearly, knowing that will give me some sort of tactical advantage against a Dark wizard!"

"Er…" Ron hesitated, glancing around nervously. "Maybe you could, uh, keep your voice down? I mean… sure, we know he's full of it, but that doesn't stop the girls from swooning over him."

Harry groaned and dropped onto the couch, lowering his voice. "You know what? Between Lockhart and Nolan, I'd rather the girls be obsessed with Nolan Von Draugr. At least he actually has real talent to back it up, right?"

"I… guess?" Ron said uncertainly. "Speaking of, have you seen Hermione? Last time I checked, she was just as obsessed with Lockhart. I caught her using pink magical ink to highlight all his classes on her schedule.*"

By now, it was late at night, but there was still no sign of their third friend.

"No idea," Harry admitted. "She disappeared after dinner—Professor McGonagall called her away. She did say she'd come back soon, didn't she?"

Ron groaned, slumping forward onto his knees. "I just want Hermione back… At least when she's around, she can insult me and make me feel slightly better."

"Oh, come on, Ron," Harry sighed. "It's not your fault alone. And your dad hasn't lost his job—he's just suspended for a while. Once the Ministry realizes they can't function without him, they'll have no choice but to reinstate him..."

His voice trailed off.

Both boys exchanged a long, heavy look before sighing at the same time.

…

It was deep into the night when Hermione finally returned.

"What happened?" Ron immediately demanded. "Did you do something to make McGonagall mad?"

Hermione arched an eyebrow, looking almost offended. "*Of course not, don't be ridiculous! Professor McGonagall is very pleased with me! She asked me to help her—as her assistant!"

"Assistant?" Harry and Ron blinked, looking at each other. "Assistant for what?"

Hermione's face lit up with excitement. Her voice was almost a squeal.

"For reviewing research papers! McGonagall didn't pick anyone else—just me! She thinks I'm the most qualified!"

"Research?"

"Oh, let me explain," Hermione puffed out her chest proudly, assuming the self-important posture of someone who had achieved greatness. "You may have heard that Nolan invented a spell?"

"We've heard, all right," Harry muttered.

"You've only mentioned it about thirty thousand times," Ron grumbled under his breath.

Hermione ignored the remark, too thrilled to care. "You two think it's a joke, don't you? Well, I'm telling you—you're wrong! Nolan is a genius! No one—no one—has ever managed to invent a spell like this before!"

"What's it called?"

"Ancestris," Hermione declared proudly. "It allows a wizard to transform into anything they want!"

"Even a bench?" Ron blurted out.

Hermione gave him a deeply unimpressed stare. "Why in Merlin's name would you want to be a bench?"

Harry snorted, struggling to hold back laughter. "Maybe Ron's hoping a pretty upperclassman will sit on him," he joked.

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. "Be serious! Stop interrupting me! I'm trying to explain something important!"

"Right, sorry," Harry said, still grinning. "Go on."

"Professor McGonagall wants to compile a book on the theory and application of Ancestris," Hermione continued eagerly. "Nolan has been working on this research all summer. He's practically finished!"

"Oh," Ron cut in with a smirk. "That explains the eyepatch, then. Poor guy must've fried his eyeballs from staring at books all summer."

"Be quiet, Ron!" Hermione snapped, glaring at him. "The book is called Magical Metamorphosis: The Art of Advanced Transfiguration, and it's almost complete! But there are still sections that need reviewing and annotations. McGonagall and Nolan can't do all the work themselves, so they chose me to help!"

She once again puffed out her chest, looking extremely pleased with herself.

Harry, however, frowned. "But why you? Why not ask an older student?"

"Maybe it's because the older students are all busy preparing for their O.W.L.s," Hermione said dismissively. "But that's not the important part."

She flashed them a confident smile. "What matters is that I was chosen—not anyone else! I spent the entire evening working with Professor McGonagall and Nolan. They're both brilliant wizards, but even they needed me!"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look before replying in unison, "That's… great…"

Ron, however, perked up with an idea. "Well then, Miss Granger—the brilliant witch—maybe you'd be kind enough to help us with our Transfiguration homework?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "We're completely stuck on turning a beetle into a button! It's driving us mad!"

Hermione, still smiling, simply shook her head. "You should figure it out yourselves! Learning is an exciting process. As your best friend, I want you both to appreciate that."

With that, she turned away, balancing a huge stack of parchment in her arms as she strode toward the girls' dormitory. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important work to do. Who knows? Maybe my proofreading tonight will change the entire future of the wizarding world!"

Ron scowled after her. "Oh, she's full of herself now!"

"Who knows?" Harry smirked. "Maybe she thinks she's Edison's assistant."

Ron blinked. "Who's Edison? Some famous wizard?"

…

The next morning, it was time for the third-year Slytherins to attend Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Breakfast in the Great Hall was a miserable affair for the Slytherin boys. Miles and the others sighed into their plates, looking thoroughly unenthusiastic.

"I hate this class," Miles muttered. "That peacock makes my skin crawl."

It wasn't just him. None of the boys particularly liked Lockhart—probably because too many of the girls adored him.

Nolan could understand their frustration. But, to his mild annoyance, none of them seemed to appreciate that he understood. Probably because he, too, was a target of this kind of hero-worship.

That was when yet another commotion erupted from the Gryffindor table.

"What now?" Nolan grumbled, still half-asleep.

"Sounds like Potter's fan club is at it again," Eve said absently, her eyes still focused on Nolan's manuscript. She, too, had been dragged into McGonagall's proofreading project. "There are loads of people who idolize him, you know. Even Muggles get scared when they hear his name—'The Dark Lord's vanquisher'? Sounds pretty impressive, doesn't it?"

"Looks like Draco's starting something," Miles said gleefully. "You know he can't stand seeing Potter enjoying himself."

Sure enough, a familiar sneering voice rang through the hall.

"Autograph signing, Potter?" Draco Malfoy drawled, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Giving out signed photos today? Better hurry, everyone! Form a line! The famous Harry Potter is gracing us with his signature—what an honor!"

Nolan sighed. "What a noisy morning..."

He finally picked up the tomato juice that Eve had pushed toward him, taking a sip as he rubbed his temple.

Eve, meanwhile, simply snapped the manuscript shut with a knowing smile. "Oh, come on, you should be used to it by now, right?"

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