Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Better Than The Fairer Sex	By : Solenthis Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 28500 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from the Harry Potter Fandom or its characters.

Chapter List
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Author’s Note: At last! I’m sorry it has taken so long but what with writer’s block and insane family schedules, I haven’t had that much time. Please read and review!

Hermione lay upon her bed in her Finchley home, silent tears caressing her face, the pain of the memory burning even now. She hadn’t exactly been friends with everyone in Hogwarts; she wasn’t what one might call a social butterfly, after all. But she had been quite popular amongst the female students in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, especially Ginny. And there were, of course, Harry and Ron.

The thought of Ron brought fresh tears to her face. She had been a fairly popular girl before this. Now, she reminded herself bitterly, she had no friends and no future to look forward to. She had been home only two days and had already considered suicide no less than ten times. She briefly realized that this might have been how Harry felt sometimes, alone, unable to relate to one’s peers. But what was she to do? What?

The owl swooped silently through her window and startling Hermione as it perched on the footboard of her bed. It was a horn owl, gorgeous coloring and deep, sulfurous eyes. It was truly a beautiful animal. Hermione immediately recognized that the owl was a messenger. This owl, however, did not carry its message in its beak or even in its claws. Wrapped around its body, crossing down the breast towards the right wing, was a shimmering scarlet ribbon. The ribbon bore a copper wax seal, even with the owl’s wing joint, emblazoned with a calligraphy of the letters “MS”. The message was contained in a small tube that had its own copy of the seal, which was tied to the ribbon. Hermione took the message from the owl and petted its head before it flew away.

Hermione removed the letter and carefully unrolled it. She didn’t understand why the owl had even come. The parchment was almost totally blank except for that same seal followed by simply:

Thumb Seal

They went to a lot of trouble for some stupid riddle, Hermione thought. Whoever “they” are. Not knowing what else to do, she placed her right thumb upon the seal. The seal felt warm, as though the wax had just been poured. Before Hermione’s eyes, the entire parchment began to glow faintly silver. She continued watching as script appeared phantomlike. Every curve and whorl, every crest and trough illuminated in sparkling diamond light. As the message revealed itself, Hermione quickly realized that the seal had been spelled to recognize her thumbprint. But where could such magic have come from? Certainly not Hogwarts. And she seriously doubted that Durmstrang or even Beauxbaton’s would teach such magic. This letter seemed only to produce more questions.

After a few minutes, the full message was finally legible. Though now finished, the letters still shimmered in their afterglow. The message read:

Dear Ms. Granger

                You have hereby been accepted to Madame Saint-Claire’s International School of Witchcraft. You are cordially invited to visit for a tour of the campus, led by myself. If you accept this invitation, please send a return owl with a response containing your requested time for the tour.

                We look forward to hearing from you.

                                                                                                                          Sincerely,

                                                                                                Madame Sofia Saint-Clair, Headmistress

Hermione was pacing about her living room. Three times in the past hour, she had looked over every photo and knickknack, every appliance, and dismissed it almost upon the moment it had registered. It had been two weeks now since she had received her acceptance letter. The letter had instructed her to send a return owl with a desired time for her tour; she had done that. Now here she was, two weeks later and not a single reply. Had the owl gotten lost? Was it some cruel prank from what passed as her enemies left at Hogwarts? What could be taking so long?

Hermione’s answer came in the form of a bright yellowish light bursting from the fireplace. The force of the blast knocked Hermione into a light blue recliner that faced the fireplace. Smoke filled the room, making Hermione cough loudly. Once she stopped coughing and could keep her eyes open she finally noticed the person standing before her.

A woman Hermione had never seen before had appeared. She looked to be approximately in her thirties. Her skin was lightly tanned, an almost imperceptible beauty mark in the center of her left jaw. She was wearing a dark dress, almost black and shimmering lightly in the light. Her sleeves almost appeared to have been painted on, constricting along her arms until about the middle forearm, and descending into long cuffs. Her fingernails had actually been painted to coordinate with her clothes. Her hair was a fiery red; it must have been incredibly long, Hermione surmised for she saw this woman’s hair was tied into three separate ponytails when she finally turned. The eyes were an almost dull brown, accentuating her hair like the singings of a flame.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” the woman said. Her French was impeccable, her voice practically musical. “Je m’appelle Madame Sofia Saint-Clair.”

Though Hermione couldn’t understand what this woman was saying, she surmised from the last that she must have been introducing herself. She had to get this woman to speak the King’s if any conversation was to be had.

“Je…desole…” Hermione tried in broken French. “Parlez-vous anglaise?”

The woman nodded with a light smile. “Yes, I do. Quite well, in fact.”

Hermione sighed with noticeable relief. “Oh, thank heavens,” She said. “I’m sorry but that was about the extent of my French. Would I be right in assuming you were introducing yourself?”

“Oui,” she said. “I am Madame Sofia Saint-Clair, Headmistress of Madame Saint-Clair’s International School of Witchcraft. I am here to guide you on your tour of the school.”

Hermione now felt rather embarrassed. She remembered the letter had said that the headmistress herself would be leading the tour but she certainly wasn’t expecting to have her come directly to her house via flue powder. Hermione suddenly wanted to disappear out her shame. “I hate asking silly questions, professor, but how are we getting there?”

Madame Saint-Clair chuckled lightly at this. “Why, flue powder of course. You can’t get there by train, and if you went by boat or even plane, the school year would be over by the time you got there.” She held out a small jar of the flue powder. But this looked different from any flue powders that Hermione had ever seen. Usually, the powder looked like ash, as if it had been swept straight from the fireplace a moment before. This powder, however was colored a very pale yellow. Madame Saint-Clair offered the jar to Hermione, taking a handful just as Hermione did.

Madame Saint-Clair stepped backwards into the fireplace as she tucked the jar away into an unseen fold of her clothing. “Suivez moi,” she said to Hermione. After noticing another confused look on Hermione’s face, “After me.” She closed her eyes and shouted “To the school!” Madame Saint-Clair threw down her flue powder and the same yellowish flames enveloped her and whisked her away.

Strange, Hermione thought. I thought you had to say specifically where you wanted to go when travelling by Flue Powder. Resigning herself to go out on a bit of faith, Hermione stepped into her fireplace. She raised up her fist, preparing to throw down the powder and speed off to wherever it would take her. At the last second a small dust cloud puffed from her hand and into Hermione’s face, triggering the beginnings of a sneeze. When it came, it hurt enough to cause a headache. Once the sneeze had abated and Hermione had removed her hands from her mouth, she saw that her powder was gone. She saw it just moments before it struck the hearth beneath her. With that familiar sensation of a hook behind the navel and the flash of the yellow flames she was gone.
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Better Than The Fairer Sex