109 Year Five - Chapter Five

There was little that I felt was more invigorating than standing with squeaky rubber boots and a proper fishing rod by the lake's shore, fishing. Hermione was hugging herself, her expression telling me that the cold was bothering her quite a lot.

"You're not going to try to fish?" I hazarded, watching as she hadn't even moved to grab her own fishing rod, which I had taken the liberty of bringing and leaving near her.

"I...you're serious about this?" Hermione mouthed, her teeth chattering from the cold.

"Why, yes," I replied, "I woke up at three in the morning to fish quietly, because when Squiddie wakes up she'll throw me the fish and that kind of defeats the point," I grumbled. "She's a lovable Giant Squid, but she doesn't understand that sometimes it's the fishing itself which is the prize."

Hermione's mouth gaped open, "I can't believe I went along with this."

"You can't believe what, exactly?" I retorted. "I said I was going to fish and invited you along. You're a smart witch. You should have come prepared with proper boots," I continued.

Her cheeks reddened, if not from the cold, from the embarrassment at least. "I thought we were going to practice spells," she whispered. "Some...Something for the bloody cold at least."

"The only thing we're going to learn is how to give and remove wax from the floor," I said. "For the cold, there is good coffee," I acquiesced, pulling a thermos to me with my fingers, and extending it towards the girl. Hermione looked ever so briefly in my direction.

"Give wax? To what floor?" she mumbled, "Wait," she blinked. "It's a movie citation, isn't it?"

I gave her a small nod, and let the coffee thermos float towards her. She made to grab hold of it with her fingers, but I quickly floated the thing away from her grasp. "Hermione," I chided her, "Don't be silly. You're a witch."

I extended my other hand, and quickly thrust my index and middle finger downwards. The fishing rod planted itself on the shore, and rested there amiably. "I'm offering you some perfectly warm coffee," I continued with an amiable smile. "Take it."

"I will," Hermione huffed, glowering in my direction. She pulled out her wand, and just as quickly it flew off in the air. My own wand was already in hand, my other holding the thermos afloat. "H-Hey!"

"No wand," I said, summoning her wand by my side. "Wands leave traces. Traces that can lead to trouble. I am a honorable Prefect who commits no fouls and no wrongs. If I'm giving you coffee, I expect you to take it with your hands."

Hermione's scowl darkened. "I feel silly," she muttered, extending her hand. "How does it even work?"

"Feel the Force, Luke," I quipped, shaking my head. "Are you cold? Do you want to be warm? Call forth the coffee, Hermione." I glanced at the fishing rod, and in that instant I felt at tug at the fishing line. Hermione looked positively silly, both hands extended trying to pull the thermos by her side while the thing didn't move.

"Accio Thermos!" she said, both hands extended. Nothing happened. "Accio Thermos!" she continued, her voice growing hoarse as the minutes went by. "It's positively rubbish," she said in the end, she sniffled from what felt like a bad case of cold. Seriously, these students and their weak bodies to the changes of the weather. Not like me, who got sick only when the seasons changed, and never in the middle of them.

I sighed, and called the thermos forth to pour two cups of hot coffee, of which one I wordlessly handed over to the Gryffindor girl. "Well," I said as I took a sip of my cup, "I can't teach you spells, Hermione."

"Because I can't make a thermos float without a wand?" Hermione asked, blithely, drinking avidly from the coffee cup.

"No," I replied with a chuckle. "Because you're an earnest girl," I exhaled, "but I don't want that kind of trouble to befall any of you. If Umbridge realized what I was doing, then she'd have, or find, the way to make things worse." I looked at the surface of the lake, "And if that happened, then I highly doubt my ability to remain rational."

"You speak as if you met her already," Hermione said, "She's that bad of a person?"

"Oh," I answered innocently enough, "The absolute worst, I couldn't loathe someone more even if I tried." I took another sip. "You could try asking Harry if he wants to help you all. He's not bad with Defense Against the Dark Arts, no?"

"Well, no," Hermione said, "But you'd be..."

I shook my head, interrupting her. "I am, I hope, a good wizard, but that does not make me a great teacher. Being able to do something and teaching it are two completely different things, and I'm sure Harry would be a great one if given the opportunity." I grinned. "Some heroes rise naturally, others need to be forged in the anvils of hardship."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Is this something Dumbledore wants Harry to do?"

I blinked, owlishly. "What? No, why would he want that? He's happy enough in knowing that Harry's been having some peaceful school years. If the worst that can happen is flunking an OWL exam, then so be it."

Hermione huffed, her suspicions not dropping an inch. "I lost hours of sleep because of this," she said in the end, draining her coffee cup in one long gulp. "The least you can do is pay me back by studying for the OWLs."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not going to practice spells."

Hermione sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Fine, but Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, I could use some more study partners."

I gave her a nod, and with that our dealing was sealed, and an agreement reached.

That morning breakfast tasted delicious, and not just because the smoked salmon had been actually fished by me, but also because I had some excellent eggs with it, and some bacon. My good mood remained chipper through the next lessons, and even professor Umbridge's lessons weren't that bad, once you got used to scribbling down on your parchment random thoughts or doodles.

That lasted for two weeks.

Then, of course, trouble began.

The Daily Prophet's article mentioned the biased favoritism in teachers towards selective students, and due to this unfair grooming, there were rumors that the tests weren't given fairly. It wasn't because Fudge was afraid of Dumbledore, I realized as I finished reading the article. Cornelius Fudge was afraid of me. He was afraid that someone groomed by Dumbledore, with more bite, more ability, and more wisdom could come along and actually take his post after-no, this wasn't Cornelius.

Cornelius wasn't scared of me, because he didn't know me, and he didn't think I'd ever be a political contender. This was a move by those families who preferred the status quo, and felt that if I ever got to power, they'd have their own diminished. It felt kind of amusing how they wouldn't move a finger to discredit the Boy-Who-Lived, but would do their best to find any chink in my armor they could exploit.

Of course, these were merely prodding actions. If I didn't do anything, then nothing would happen. I was just a good student, a good Prefect, and there was no way I'd ever hurt anyone, in any way whatsoever.

Thus when Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe flanked me in the corridor, I exhaled quite loudly.

Draco, please, you need to learn your lessons properly.

Don't force me to ram them down your throat.