Lost

By Veralidaine

Chapter 1

"Pongor Incantatem"

Auriela Corrin strolled down the sidewalk of Rhododendron Avenue, taking in the sweet, warm summer air. Crickets chirruped in the grass, the skies were clear enough to make out every single star, and the breeze played gently about her long, straight, blonde hair. About fifteen minutes earlier, her best friend from primary school, Hermione Granger, had just given her a call to come over for a visit. Apparently, she'd just gotten home from vacation in Spain with her parents.

Auriela hadn't seen Hermione since the previous autumn, when she had left for her sixth year at some school in the North–Auriela didn't know what the school was called, or precisely where it was, but Hermione seemed content, so it must have been a good one. As it was, Auriela was keen to see her bushy-haired, brown-eyed friend again. It had been so long….A small part of her mind registered the faint scent of smoke as she turned onto Hermione's block.

She stopped short, all thought wiped from her brain so fast it hurt. Well, it would have, if she hadn't gone numb at the sight before her eyes.

What had been the Grangers' pretty white suburban house was now nothing but smoking framework. All of the grass near to the house had been burned away; a few flames still licked what had been rosebushes lining the path to the door. But that wasn't the worst of it-lying along the garden path were two bodies, both burned black, that looked sickeningly like Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

Frantic, and numbly wondering what on earth could have done this awful thing, Auriela ran around the blackened remains of the house, trying to find Hermione, but almost hoping she didn't. How could a fire have burned the house down in less than fifteen minutes? Hermione had been perfectly calm and content when she'd called Auriela, and now...

The girl abruptly stopped. Hermione was lying on her back, burned and bleeding, but mumbling something. Auriela vaguely noticed that tears were sliding down her own cheeks, and that the frantically pleading voice was issuing from her own throat. "Hermione! Oh, Hermione, what's happened?"

She leaned down next to the other girl, noticing a long, deep gash across her right cheek. Hermione was still murmuring something in a monotonous voice, eyes clenched shut. Auriela leaned in closer. "...Pongor Incantatem...Pongor Incantatem..."

"What?" Auriela asked wildly. Then it hit her–she was in shock. Hermione had lost it.

Suddenly, Hermione stopped mumbling to herself and slowly opened her eyes. Upon seeing Auriela, the large brown eyes got rounder. "Oh! Auriela, what do you think you're doing? Get away! They'll come back once he finds out that I'm still alive! Run!"

"Hermione, what–?"

"Go!"

"Shhh..." Auriela wasn't sure what to do. She hadn't ever dealt with an insane person before. And what was Hermione talking about, anyway? She acted like someone (or maybe even a group of people) had done this purposely to her house...

"Auriela!"

"I'm not leaving! We have to get you to a doctor..."

Hermione sighed impatiently, seeming to calm down a bit. But only a bit. "I suppose...Wh-what of Mum and Dad?"

Auriela bit her lip, and Hermione closed her eyes, an intense look of pain coming over her face. The sound of sirens filled the air as the police and fire station arrived on the scene. Auriela looked up as a tall, balding, redheaded man walked up to her. He seemed to recognize Hermione, as he gave a quiet gasp when he saw her. He glanced at Auriela, a worried expression on his face. "Did you see what happened?"

"No, but she was mumbling something when I got here, and told me to leave before someone-or-other found out she was alive and came back...I don't know. She was rambling..."

"Mmm-hmm..." He was fiddling with something in his pocket. He pulled out a nine-inch-long polished stick and looked at her. "D'you know what she was muttering?"

"Emm..." Auriela racked her brains, trying to remember as she watched several more men dressed much like the red-headed man put Hermione on a stretcher and float (FLOAT?!?) her away. They'd come up with that stretcher awfully fast...And maybe it was just too dark, but Auriela didn't see any wheels...

"D'you know what it sounded like, at all?" the man pressed.

"Like, 'Pongy Incantation' or something. I don't really know; I was too worried about that horrid gash on her face..."

"Right," the man muttered. "Well, Miss, is that all?"

"I think so..."

He waved the wand, muttering under his breath, and Auriela blacked out.

***

Ron yawned loudly and stretched out, glancing at the clock on his bedside cabinet. The single hand was pointed between You Should Still Be Asleep and Nope–Still Too Early. He agreed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Why had he woken up? It couldn't be any later than five or six o'clock...Then he heard voices downstairs in the kitchen. What was going on? It was too early for all this action...

Resigned to both curiosity and the fact that he was now fully awake, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and padded over to the door. Opening it as silently as he possibly could, he stuck his head out. Yep, there were definitely voices. That sounded like his Dad...What could possibly have happened?

"...Hermione, dear, why don't you have a seat. You're not well at all."

That was his Mum...Hermione?! Why was Hermione here? And what did she mean, "not well at all?" Ron quietly made his way down the stairs, avoiding the step at the bottom that always squeaked, and turned off into the kitchen. His Dad was leaning against the counter, looking tired and worried, while his Mum was sitting, in her dressing gown, across from–

"Hermione!"

She looked up and Ron gasped. There was a long, deep cut across her cheek, and her face was red from crying. She was wearing simple white robes– from a hospital, he assumed–and her hair was disheveled. There were slight burn marks on her arms, like Charlie's, and the moment she saw him, she burst into tears and ran to him.

Ron caught her in his arms; hers went around his neck; and she sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder. He looked over her hair at his father, who shook his head sadly. Still confused, Ron turned his attention back to the girl in his arms.

"'Mione, it's okay. Shhhh..."

Usually, Ron never displayed emotion. Yes, he and Hermione were, as Lavender put it, "a couple." Both Ron and Hermione knew, though, that it was really much deeper than that. Though Ron could be quite relaxed when he and Hermione were alone, in public he was still a little too easily embarrassed to hold hands or anything. Well, that and the matter of Harry, who seemed to find great amusement in teasing him about it. Now, however, no thought of the embarrassment he might face later even crossed his mind as he put his arms around the frightened girl he had come to care so much about in the past six years.

She pulled away, still looking anguished, and he brushed her hair carefully out of her tear-streaked face. She shook her head wildly, biting her lip to keep from crying. "No, no it's not, Ron...It won't ever be okay again..." She broke down crying again and he pulled her close to him again, laying his head on hers and ignoring the hot tears soaking his pajama top.

He lifted his head from hers and looked at his Mum. "Is she going to stay in Perce's old room?" She nodded. "Well, then. I'll just take her up to bed, shall I?"

His Mum nodded somewhat numbly, still looking very concerned for Hermione. His Dad, however, caught his shoulder.

"Ron, don't you go pestering her about what's happened. I'll discuss it with you later."

Ron nodded. "Right. C'mon, Hermione."

Hermione allowed herself to be led to the top of the stairs, but broke down in the hallway and sank to her knees, crying.

Ron sank down next to her and brushed her hair out of her face, careful not to touch the large gash on her cheek.

"Hermione, I–"

"R-Ron, I c-can't stay here! I can't! He-he'll come after me, and if he f-finds you, he'll–" She broke off, shoulders shaking, her hands hiding her face.

"Hermione, I don't know–"

"Voldemort, Ron!" She had taken her hands down and was now almost glaring at him. "This mob of Death Eaters came to my house, a-and–"

Realization dawned on Ron with the force of a rampaging hippogriff. "Oh, 'Mione, I'm sorry..."

She leaned over and buried her face in his shoulder again. He slid an arm around her shoulders and one below her knees and picked her up.

Carrying her down the hallway, Ron noticed that Ginny's door was open, and she was peeking out, looking scared. "Ron, what–?"

He shook his head violently to shut her up and kicked open the door to Percy's old room. He laid Hermione on the bed and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. "Shhh...You need to sleep."

"No..." She shook her head, silent tears streaming down her face, and gave a rather feeble attempt at sitting up. He pushed her back down gently, and she didn't object but to cry harder. "Ron, I can't stay here..."

"Of course you can." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Get some rest." He stood up and walked towards the door.

"Ron?"

He turned around to face her, one hand on the doorframe. "Yes?"

"Please don't leave."

He walked quietly back over and sat down on the bed next to her. "You're safe here; it's okay now." Well. There was an exaggeration. Her parents are dead, you twit! Of COURSE it's not okay! he thought bitterly.

"I know. But...could you at least wait until I'm asleep?"

She looked so scared...What, was he supposed to refuse? "Of course. Now try to get some rest. Seriously, Hermione, you've gotta get some sleep."

Her lips turned up in a half-hearted smile. "Since when have you become so caring?"

Ron smiled gently. "It's all your fault. I feel like I have this obligation to let you know how I feel about you. Or make you miserable. Either one."

"You've not made me miserable in ages. And apparently, I'm the only one who knows you're capable of being this sweet."

"Well, yes, and let's keep it that way." He muttered jokingly, brushing her hair out of her face for what must have been the seventeenth time that evening. "Seriously, though, I'm not that sweet to just anybody, you know."

"I know," she whispered. "I'll take it as a compliment." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"You really ought to be less of a tough-guy. I know you're really a marshmallow."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." At least he'd taken her mind off of her parents, if only for a little while.

She snuggled down under the covers, sighing raggedly. "Just until I'm asleep, Ron. You don't have to stay longer than that."

"No," he murmured, leaning back next to her, "but I will."

Chapter 2

"The Burrow"

Hermione woke up to sunlight streaming in from the windows, and her head resting on Ron's chest. Remembering the previous day's events, she held back the tears that stung her eyes. She was content just to listen to Ron's heartbeat forever and never get up and face the world again. But the time would come, as it always did.

She started as his arms left her shoulders to stretch out. She sat up slowly, looking down at him. He grinned lopsidedly up at her. "'Morning." She offered a half-smile, and he seemed to remember why he was there, as he stopped grinning abruptly. "D'you feel any better at all? I mean, I know you won't ever... But..." He shook his head. "Sorry."

She shrugged, frowning. "Don't worry about it. I feel awful, but that's to be expected, I guess."

He sat up next to her. "You want to get some breakfast?"

"Not really. Truthfully, I'd love to just stay in bed, asleep, forever."

That seemed to scare him. "Don't think like that...Come on. Mum makes really good chocolate chip pancakes." He stood and pulled her up next to him.

"Thank you for staying last night," she muttered, looking at her feet.

He wrapped her in a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. "I'm here for you, okay?" he murmured into her ear. "No matter what."

"Thank you."

He held her for a minute longer, then let go, seemingly embarrassed by this show of affection. "Well, uhm...Let's go get some breakfast, shall we?"

She grabbed his hand and let him lead her down to breakfast. In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley was stirring pancake batter in a large bowl, while Ginny stared at the centerpiece. Hermione assumed that she'd recently been told. The younger girl's eyes met hers, and Hermione knew she was silently apologizing, but Ginny didn't say anything aloud. And Hermione was glad. She was on the verge of tears as it was.

Still disheveled from sleep, she slumped down on one side of the table, hugging the old, tattered blue bathrobe Mrs. Weasley had loaned her tighter around her shoulders. It wasn't as though she was cold-- well, not physically--but more that she needed some kind of reassurance. Ron, seated next to her, kept shooting worried glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She sighed. What was she going to do?

Breakfast was almost a silent meal, except for the occasional "pass the syrup, please." Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were quite tired-looking, and Hermione felt guilty for being such a burden on them. As if they didn't have enough children to worry for and take care of...She was an imposition on them. And she was putting them in danger. She cleared her throat and everyone looked up abruptly. Ignoring the uncomfortable looks on their faces, she sighed. "I can't stay here," she managed; her voice hurt from crying.

"Oh, dear, of course you can stay..." Mrs. Weasley was adamant. "I wouldn't dream of having you stay anywhere else."

"Yes, quite," Mr. Weasley agreed. "You're staying here. At least until we find out who your parents appointed to be your godparents. Then you can choose."

Hermione nodded. "That's very nice of you, but--"

"Don't worry yourself, dear," Molly said kindly. "You're not any trouble at all, and we want you to stay with us. I daresay Ron will worry himself sick if you leave now."

Ron, who usually would blush at an awkward statement like that, did no such thing. He gave her a pleading look and she nodded, resigned. "Will you at least let me help you around the house? I can't just sit around forever while you all work to care for me..."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Ginny shot him a glare and said, "Of course, Hermione. When you're through eating, d'you want to come help me feed the chickens?"

Hermione nodded mutely, taking Ron's hand under the table and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He sighed loudly but nodded. "Right. Well, I've got to owl Harry."

Hermione sighed. "Yes. I suppose. Please tell him not to worry over me. I've got enough people worried. He's got enough to worry about. I don't need to add another weight to his load."

Ron gave her a look that she'd not ever seen before on his face--was it pity? She wasn't sure--and headed up to his room.

"Right," Ginny said, in an attempt to be cheery. "This speckled one here's named Spots."

"How very creative," Hermione muttered, fighting down a smile. She wouldn't ever smile, not after what had happened to her parents.

"Hey, it was Percy's idea," Ginny said, offering a quiet smile. "Now, this one here, the black one, is Mister Filibuster, Junior. That one was George's idea. Oh, and the white one, that's Mozzarella. Fred's idea. I dunno. Just don't ask. That one there is..."

Hermione scattered chicken feed, letting Ginny's sweet little voice sort of wash over her ears. Hermione knew that Ginny wasn't all that fascinated with chickens, and was only doing this to prevent the situation from becoming awkward. Sighing, she watched as a yellow one named Eckeltricity pushed all of the others out of her way and gobbled up most of the feed. While Ginny scolded the chicken, Hermione dipped her hand in the bowl of corn and scattered another handful of feed out for the others, watching them peck it all up quickly to avoid losing it to the large yellow hen.

The days dragged by. One morning, Hermione climbed down the rickety staircase and found everyone huddled around a letter, while Mrs. Weasley tried to keep it out of everyone's reach. As Ron was much taller, it was useless.

"What's going on?" Hermione said softly, and the squabbling ceased the moment her voice was heard.

"Well, dear, this letter came for me--by Muggle post, oddly enough--and I think you ought to read it."

Mrs. Weasley handed her the letter, and Hermione took it, curious:

Hermione folded the letter up, her insides writhing nervously. She'd only met Margaret once or twice, since, after her grandparents had died, she was the oldest person in the family. If her calculations were correct--and they usually were--Margaret was about sixty-three years old. That meant that she was probably retired. It made her very nervous, to say the least. How could she choose to live with someone she'd only met twice? But then, could she really stay as a burden on the Weasleys? She looked quickly up at them all. "I..."

She stopped at the look on Ron's face. He'd not taken his eyes off of her since she'd taken the letter from his mother, and now he looked somewhat like he was expecting her to drop dead any second. He was obviously still worried sick about her. While this sort of thing would normally get on her nerves, she was somewhat touched by it now.

Ginny also seemed a bit worried. She kept glancing from Ron to Hermione nervously, almost like she used to when they would fight. Apparently (and it warmed Hermione's heart even to GUESS this...) Ginny had liked having another girl around the house, depressed and parentless or not.

Hermione sighed. "I'm going to have to think about this. I've never met Aunt Margaret but a few times, and she's really old...I dunno if she could handle having a kid, even if I WAS gone for half the year... She's also a Muggle." Hermione sighed loudly. "But then, I can't stay here--" she ignored the various loud arguments issuing from every other person in the room "--with you; I can't just expect you all to care for me like this." She shook her head. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do..."

"Well, dear," Mrs. Weasley sounded a tad teary. "It's your choice. Take as long as you need to think it over."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, I think I'll...go sit outside for awhile and think, okay?"

Everyone nodded silently and dispersed to whatever activities they were working on. Hermione watched until Ron left the room, glancing at her worriedly, before she went outside, walked across the lawn, scattering chickens, and entered the small patch of woods in back of their house. Granted, it wasn't even CLOSE to the size or density of the Forbidden Forest, but then, what was?

She breathed in deeply and sat down on a fallen tree, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. Before she'd even had time to register why, tears were coursing down her cheeks and she was sobbing quietly. Normally, the cool shade and sound of birds would calm her, but for now the emotion was too much. Where was she going to go? She didn't want to stay with Margaret...She didn't know her. Even though the practical side of her was telling her that maybe Margaret was nice, and that maybe it would be good for her to live there, the other part of her mind was wishing that letter hadn't ever arrived.

She knew she couldn't stay with the Weasleys forever, but she didn't want to think about what would happen when she did leave. Or where she would go... She really needed people who understood her right now. People who knew her; cared for her. And the Weasleys were a better choice than her own Aunt. But still...She couldn't stay with them forever...They couldn't afford it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would never tell her no if she asked to stay, she knew that. They were too proud. But she would be a problem for them, and that was the last thing she wanted to do to these people who had always been so nice to her.

But then, that wasn't all. She was still having nightmares, even during the day, about that night last week. Everything had been so perfect, only to be ripped to shreds, sending her here. She shuddered violently, thinking about it, and kicked herself for not being able to protect her parents from what she herself had brought upon them...

She jumped about three feet in the air as a twig broke behind her. With some difficulty, she quieted her sobs and turned around. Ron was standing, frozen, probably in the position he'd been in when he'd stepped on that twig and startled her. He dropped all caution and walked over to her as she turned back around again, hastily wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "H-hi, Ron, I was just--"

"Don't," he muttered, sitting down next to her.

She nodded. He knew her too well to be fooled. Mind, it was pretty obvious, as she had red puffy eyes and her face was still soaked from her tears. She noticed him looking at her expectantly. It annoyed her greatly, but she knew he was right as her eyes started stinging again. In a rather feeble attempt to hide the tears, she brought a hand up to her eyes, but he just leaned over and pulled her into his arms. Appreciatively, she put her arms around his neck and allowed herself to sob again. It was so much better to be held while she cried than to sit by herself.

"Well," he murmured in her ear, "d'you want to tell me about it?"

She tightened her arms around his neck and sobbed a bit harder. "I--d-don't--know--" she managed, in between the sobs racking her lungs.

"You don't have to," he said. "I'll drop it, if you like. Mum always says it helps, though." He let out a sort of sad, quiet laugh. "Mind, she also said I'm not supposed to be out here now. She wanted me to leave you alone for a bit to work out your feelings."

"I hate working out my feelings," she muttered. She was too tired to sob anymore.

"Well that's what I figured," Ron said, stroking her hair.

She sighed raggedly. "Ron, the other night, I called my friend Auriela over to the house. Mum and Dad--" her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed roughly "--Mum and Dad and I had just gotten back from Spain. I wanted to say hi to Auriela before school started. So, anyway...I hung up the phone, and all of a sudden, from the next room, I heard Mum scream. Dad started yelling for me to run, but I was worried and scared. I thought it was a burglar or murderer or something, and I didn't want to leave them--what if they got hurt? So I ran into the next room only to find--Death Eaters--pushing something heavy out the front door.

"I got sick to my stomach then. I obviously could guess what it was they were getting rid of. So I ran out the back door. But they'd seen me, of course. A few of them came after me, and I got hit by some sort of burning spell. Then, the one that came after me, he took this dagger out of his robes. I don't know why in the world he needed it; after all, he could have just used..." she paused, wiping her tears on Ron's sweater as he tightened his arms around her.

"He could have killed me much easier," she muttered. "But instead he cut my cheek open." She shuddered, feeling the gash along her cheek. Though Mrs. Weasley had managed to heal it, she'd always have a scar there, she knew. "I don't know why. And I'm not sure, but I think he had a silver hand." She felt Ron tense. "Anyway," she continued in a hoarse whisper, "I just muttered the only spell I could think of, and he just backed away. After a few moments, I heard Auriela coming. And then I sort of blacked out."

"What spell was it?" Ron asked quietly.

"I learned it from...Well, a gypsy girl. Don't ask; it's a long story. Anyway, she said it was a sort of protection spell. She also said it was extremely difficult to do, but I guess when you're that scared you can do all sorts of things. I still don't understand why I'm alive, though. Nothing can block the

Unforgiveables. Anyway, the spell's called Pongor Incantatem."

He sighed. "Never heard of it, of course."

"Well, if you'd read Hogwarts--" she stopped, as he said, "Hogwarts, A History," along with her. She couldn't help herself and giggled a bit, before mentally kicking herself for it. What was she doing, laughing about something like this? Ugh...How horrid...

After about five minutes of silence, save for the leaves blowing in the breeze and the occasional bird chirp, Ron muttered, "Have you decided what you're going to do yet?"

She sighed again, fighting back the tears that were threatening to make yet another appearance. "No."

How was she supposed to talk with him about this? He would tell her, no matter what, that she could--and should, for that matter--stay with his family. And God knows she wanted to...

"Well," he muttered, "don't worry about it. You've got time to figure it all out. D'you want to go in for lunch now?"

She nodded, pulling away and wiping her eyes again. Ron stood up and offered her a hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her up next to him, and they walked back to the house.

Chapter 3

"Lost"

--"Lost," by Sarah McLachlan, from the album Solace

Harry sat up in bed, thoroughly exhausted, and looked at the luminous alarm clock. 6:42 AM. Well. That explained the exhaustion. So why, exactly, was he awake?

Tap, tap, tap.

Oh.

An owl.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and put on his glasses, not bothering to straighten them. There was a large brown owl flapping about outside in the pouring rain, and beside it, getting blown about in the stormy winds, was Pigwidgeon. Harry rushed to the window and opened it quietly, so as to keep the Dursleys from waking.

For once, Pig was a bit too tired to hoot and flap in circles, much to the delight of Hedwig, who had decided to stay inside for the evening, as it was so very unpleasant outside. Pig just flumped down on Harry's bed, panting, and reminding Harry forcefully of Errol. Meanwhile, the large brown owl, which looked as though it was from somewhere important, was preening its feathers in a rather haughty manner, and merely paused to dropped the letter from its claws before returning to its work.

Anxious to hear from Ron, Harry opened the wet parchment and saw the usual messy scrawl of his best friend, only this time it was a bit smeared from the rain.

Harry paused, staring at the letter again without reading it. Hermione's parents? He, for one, knew what it was like to not have parents. But then, he'd never really had them to start with but for a year, and that wasn't enough to really remember it. Hermione'd had nearly seventeen years to make memories.

Still not quite registering this new predicament, he turned his attention to the more official looking letter. It was on thick, yellowing parchment, much like he usually got from Hogwarts, but it was stamped with a different seal, this one with a large star on it, surrounded by the words, "Ministry of Magic

Judicial System--Dept. of Mysteries." Thoroughly curious, Harry opened it and read:

Harry stopped, blinked, and read the letter through once more. Then he blinked again. And then he broke into a grin. "YES!" he whispered.

Well, that explained it, didn't it, that he'd not heard about it? If the Department of Mysteries was working on it, and that made sense, as they obviously didn't want the press in on it, then even Mr. Weasley wasn't allowed to hear about it. But Harry didn't really care about minor details like that-- Sirius was cleared! He could go live with him!

But then, why in the world had Wormtail decided to turn himself in?

***

For some reason, the thought of self-mutilation, suicide, or, in fact, anything remotely violent never crossed Hermione's mind over the next few weeks. The one way she could escape her feelings was to sleep --even reading didn't work anymore. She'd remember how her Dad used to have her sit her little seven-year-old self on his lap while they read "A Wrinkle in Time," or some other science fiction book. She'd loved it, then, even though she didn't always understand what the story was about. She supposed that it contributed to her love of reading. And that much was enough to make her never want to read again, knowing she'd always grow teary-eyed thinking about it.

So she slept. And slept, and slept, and slept. She'd get up for lunch, but wouldn't eat much of anything as it made her feel sick to her stomach to. She'd eat something small, not speak much, and go back to bed, claiming to feel sick again, which was true. Then she'd get up later in the afternoon and help with the chores: feeding the chickens, de-gnoming the garden, and anything else she could think of. She'd work furiously, concentrating on every single detail and trying to make it perfect. She couldn't explain why she obsessed, but at least it took her mind off of her parents, if only temporarily.

And the days dragged on in that same fashion, Ron growing more worried and Hermione growing more tired each day. Finally, he came into Percy's room, where she was staying, and confronted her.

"Hermione, you can't just go on like this."

In response, she pulled the covers up over her head. "Watch me," she muttered, closing her eyes tiredly.

She jumped a bit as the covers were pulled down roughly, revealing Ron's angry, concerned face. She scowled.

"Ron, just leave me be, okay?"

"No, I won't!" he said, keeping a firm hold on the quilt, which she was trying to wrench free of his grip. "You can't just stay in bed forever and not eat anything! It's not healthy!"

"I don't care," Hermione muttered angrily, turning over on her stomach and covering her head with one of the huge feather pillows. "Go away," she mumbled.

"No."

She sighed. Why was he so stubborn? Why? "Ron, just--"

"No, Hermione, I'm not going to let you do this to yourself! Now get up!"

Thoroughly annoyed, she sat up, throwing the pillow to the floor like a small child having a tantrum.

"No! Why don't you MIND your own BUSINESS and LEAVE ME ALONE! You have NO idea what this is like, okay?"

She instantly regretted her little outburst. Ron looked as though he'd just been slapped. He stood up and walked towards the door, not saying anything. He shut the door behind him and Hermione crumbled, sobbing violently into her pillows. Eventually, she fell into blissful, dreamless sleep again, and was liberated from her worries temporarily.

***

He wasn't going to cry. There was NO WAY he was going to cry. Nope. Ron Weasley did NOT cry. It wasn't a statement--it was a law of nature. He didn't cry. And he hadn't since he'd been a toddler. He didn't cry when Ginny got taken into the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't cry when Hermione had been turned into stone. He didn't cry when Harry had gone missing during the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. So why were his eyes stinging now?

Because it hurt.

More than anything else, it hurt. She'd said it just to hurt him, and it had worked. Well, fine. He'd leave her alone. He'd mind his own business. That was just fine for him. He wondered how she'd changed so drastically over the past few days. Last time he checked, she was still a scared little girl, not sure what she was going to do with her life now that this had happened. And all of a sudden, she just wouldn't get out of bed and face the world anymore. And when she did, she was almost violent about it. She cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. And slept and slept and slept. That was her life, right there. And all he'd done was try to help.

He tried reminding himself that she was very depressed and had recently had a horrible experience, but there was another part of him that wouldn't ever be healed after what she'd said. Sometimes, you can't take back what you say, and this was the case for Hermione.

"Fine," he muttered hoarsely, sitting in his room, glaring at the Chudley Cannons. "Fine. I'll leave her alone. If that's what she wants, then fine." He wiped his eyes, furious with himself.

Chapter 4

Hermione sat up in bed, feeling very groggy and very miserable. For a second, she wondered why, then her memory kicked in, and she bit back tears. Why did she have to be so horrible to him? He'd only been trying to help...

She bunched the covers up around her shoulders and sat there, staring at the pillows, for a good five minutes. The house was full of noise, which was perhaps why she'd woken. After all, it was three o'clock in the afternoon, and she was usually awake by then, but today she'd managed to hurt the one person in the world who she shouldn't have, and ended up crying herself to sleep. Again.

She heard laughter from downstairs, and lots of voices talking. Curious, she stepped out of bed, feeling very cold, like one always does when one first wakes up, and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Very quietly, she opened the door to the hallway and shuffled to the stairs to take a peek into the living room.

There was Sirius! And Harry! And Ron, who was sitting with them, smiled occasionally, but for the most part looked preoccupied and sad. With a pang in her heart, Hermione realized that it was probably her fault that he was so miserable. Her eyes were stinging again--she'd gotten used to it by now. It always amazed her that no matter how many times she cried, there were always more tears ready to come out. She had a seemingly endless supply, and part of it was threatening to make an appearance.

Suddenly, Sirius looked up and saw her peeking around the corner. "Hermione! There you are!"

***

Harry glanced over at Hermione's pale little face peeking at them from the stairwell. She didn't look well at all--she had dark circles under her eyes, and her face had lost most of its roundness and looked thin and very, very pale. Still, he smiled, glad to see her.

She stepped out from behind the wall, timidly, and Harry saw that she had a quilt draped over her, so only her head was visible. She offered a rather weak smile and just stood there, eyes flicking from him to Ron, who was sitting in a nearby chair, not looking at her.

Harry walked over to her instead and grabbed her in a hug. She put her arms around him and the quilt fell off, leaving her in her T-shirt and shorts, and Harry noticed how very thin she'd gotten.

"'Mione, have you eaten anything since last school year?"

She shrugged, pulling the blanket self-consciously around her shoulders again. "Yes," she muttered.

Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced at Ron, who seemed to have become very interested in the stack of Witch Weekly magazines on the coffee table. He glanced back at Hermione. "Well, if you'd like, we can talk about this later, okay?"

She nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and sat down on the couch, staring off into space. Harry sighed. She wasn't doing well. And why was Ron so quiet? He hadn't mentioned anything to Harry...

He sighed again. Life was too complicated. No, not life; life with Voldemort. Yes. He was what made life complicated. If it weren't for Voldemort, Harry would never have even met the Dursleys, Sirius would never have been to Azkaban, Hermione would still have parents...The familiar sensation of true loathing came over Harry as he thought about it. One of these days...

He was distracted from feeling hateful, though, as Ginny entered the living room, carrying a tray of chocolate chip cookies and looking nervously from Ron to Hermione. She glanced at Harry and shrugged nervously, setting the cookies down on the table and sitting down on the couch next to Hermione, looking thoroughly apprehensive, wringing her hands in her lap. Harry glanced at Ron again, feeling rather uncomfortable in the silence.

***

Ron stared at the magazines until he thought the words, "Witch Weekly" were probably burned into his vision permanently. Well, she was acting like nothing had happened, still behaving like her spooky self.

Why should he let on that he was miserable? "Because you are," one part of him said. "Don't pretend you aren't, because it's obvious anyway. You've never been one for suffering in silence, have you?"

SHUT UP, he thought, and stared at the magazines once more. Come to think of it, he thought, risking a quick glance at Hermione, she didn't look too happy, either. Part of him, the argumentative part, was still angry and hurt that she'd been so mean to him. The other part of him, though, still loved her more than anything and wanted to forgive her. But she'd have to apologize first. Yes, he knew she'd been traumatized. He knew she was miserable. But she'd also hurt him, and he wanted her to know that.

She glanced at him and held his gaze for a moment before he broke away, and went back to staring at the magazines again. After a moment, he wasn't able to take the pressure, and stood up. "I think I'll go send a quick owl to Charlie. Be right back."

Of course, he had no intention of being "right back." He went up the stairs quickly and slumped down at his desk, sighing. He thought momentarily of actually writing to Charlie, but thought better of it, and instead stood and allowed himself to collapse on his bed. 'Hey,' he thought. 'It worked for her, didn't it? Maybe it'll work for me...'

***

Hermione knew he wasn't coming back down. Not for a while, anyway. She sighed, biting back tears yet again. Harry kept shooting nervous glances at her, and she was not looking forward to having to tell him about what happened. Especially between herself and Ron. That had been totally horrid on her part. And she knew it, too.

But, Harry sighed and turned to her. "Hermione, d'you want to talk?"

She sighed. Well, it had to happen sometime, didn't it? "Okay. Outside?"

He nodded and followed her out. She sat down on the edge of the front porch, still hugging the tattered quilt around her shoulders, and Harry sat down next to her. Neither one said anything, then he turned and looked at her. Without even looking at him, she started crying. She wasn't sobbing, really, but silent tears were sliding down her cheeks and she shook her head, miserable.

"Ron told me about your parents."

So Ron had written Harry about her. Well, that was to be expected.

"But I get the impression that there's something else going on around here. What's up between you and Ron? You guys were awfully quiet back there."

She sighed raggedly and made herself meet his eyes. It was inevitable, after all. He showed nothing but concern. Well, it was nice that she had two--well, one now, she reminded herself, holding back more tears--people who cared about her that much. She closed her eyes and stopped crying. "Did he tell you about...?"

"You sleeping all day? Yes, he mentioned that. He sounded really worried."

Darn it, just when she'd stopped crying. "Well, he came in this morning to try and make me get up and... I-I yelled at him and it was...really mean of me, what I said, and I didn't really mean it but I'm so scared, Harry, and I just wanted to sleep because when I sleep I don't have to worry about anything and that way I'm not so scared anymore and I didn't want to get up and face the world because I just can't take it anymore and so I was just horrible to him and it was just awful, Harry..." Here she took a very deep breath and promptly started crying harder.

"What did you say?"

Hermione hid her face in her hands. She hated repeating it, even to herself. "I told him to mind his own business and leave me alone," she sobbed. Yes, she was back to sobbing now, and she hated herself for it.

Harry slid an arm around her shoulders. "Well..."

She jerked away from him. "I know, I know!" she interrupted, wiping her eyes. "It was horrid of me, and I feel dreadful, and he looked so sad back there, but I couldn't say anything because I'm too ashamed and...And..."

"Well," Harry began again, over her quiet crying, "I'd suggest you do go talk to him. I think you really hurt him, 'Mione."

She put her face in her hands again. "That's not all, Harry...I'm scared to death. What if they come back and want to hurt him? They came after me, and I don't know why the let me live, but they did. So what if it was a mistake and they come back again and try to get me, and they kill Ron in the process? Not to mention his family, and it would all be my fault...I can't stay here, but I've nowhere else to go to, Harry, my home's gone, my family--" her voice caught in her throat, but she continued hoarsely "--is gone, and I don't know what I'm going to do..."

Harry sighed. "Everyone's scared, Hermione, it's not just you. You can't live your life always afraid, you know. Ron doesn't seem too worried about Voldemort right now--just you. Forget Voldemort for just a little while, and concentrate on Ron. Also, don't you have an Aunt? You could live with her, couldn't you?"

"Yes, but..." She wiped her eyes and looked at him. "I don't know her very well, and I'm..." She sighed again, her lungs seemingly shaking with the effort--she'd exhausted herself crying. "I'm too scared."

Harry nodded. "Well, keep in mind that not ALL relatives are like the Dursleys." He smiled wryly. "Just mine, since I have such fabulous luck." He glanced at her, green eyes serious. "I would suggest," he muttered, "that you go talk to Ron. Swallow your pride and do it. You can't just push everyone away, 'Mione. It doesn't work that way."

She nodded, sniffling. "You're right." She laughed a little through her tears. "Of course, when aren't you?"

"Oh, I can think of a fair few times," he said, smiling softly. "Now, go talk to Ron. I've got to have a quick chat with Snuff--er--Sirius."

Hermione nodded and stood up, still holding onto her quilt as though for dear life. She watched Harry go inside and took a deep breath, steeling herself up for what she was about to do. Then, thinking of how sad Ron had looked back in the living room, she nodded to herself and walked inside. Up the stairs, down the hall...There was Ron's room. She knocked quietly and pushed the door open.

He was lying on the bed, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He was obviously asleep..."No!" she told herself. "You're not going to back out of this one! Tell him you're sorry! After saying all you did, it's a wonder he'll stay in the same house!"

She nodded and gently shook his shoulder. He groaned and rubbed his eyes for a moment, then he saw her and crossed his arms again. "Yes?"

Oh, he was being cold. Ignoring the usual threat of tears, she bit her lip and sat down on the bed next to him. "Ron, I'm so sorry..."

"Are you?" he asked tonelessly.

She bit her lip harder and started as she tasted blood. She brought her fingers to her mouth and brought them back down with traces of red on their tips. "Oh..."

He sat up next to her, looking concerned. "Now why'd you go and bite your lip open?"

She shook her head, still just staring at her fingers. Suddenly, and without warning, her shoulders started shaking and she was crying again. Now she was furious with herself. She hadn't even had a chance to tell him she was sorry, and now she was bawling again like a small child with a skinned knee...Which was why she was so surprised that he just took her in his arms and rocked her.

After a moment, she regained control of her aching lungs and took a deep, if ragged, breath. "Ron, I'm so sorry I said that...I didn't m-mean it, but it just came out and I feel horrible and I want you to forgive me so m-much but I know that you probably can't because I was so horrid a-and..." She trailed off as a yawn interrupted her apology.

Ron laughed very quietly. "I don't believe it--you're still tired."

"I know," she moaned, halfway laughing.

"Well," he muttered, "I forgive you, so don't beat yourself up over it."

Hermione let out a deep breath. "Thank you..." she muttered. "I don't deserve you and Harry."

"Oh, now don't start on that, you," he muttered, pulling away and brushing her hair out of her face. "You know perfectly well that Harry and I both love you and aren't about to abandon you. You do too deserve us, if you consider that a compliment." He smiled lopsidedly and she completely melted.

She readjusted the quilt around her shoulders. "Thank you," she whispered. "I..." her voice shook and she took a deep breath. "I love you."

He grabbed her in a hug again and she sighed.

"I love you, too," he muttered.

Chapter 5

"Well, we were thinking..." Harry paused, watching Hermione stir her oatmeal around her bowl listlessly. He cleared his throat and began again. "Sirius and I were thinking that, since he's been cleared and I'm going to go live with him, you could come to, if you like."

Hermione looked up abruptly. "D'you...D'you mean it?"

"No," Sirius said earnestly, before dropping his hands to his sides and breaking into a rather sarcastic smile. "Hermione, if we didn't mean it, would we really offer it? Of course we mean it..."

And, for the first time since he'd arrived the day before, Harry saw Hermione smile. "Thank you..."

Well, at least she wasn't too depressed anymore... She had somewhere to live. Now they only needed to work on her eating habits. And sleeping. Yes, that too.

Ron, sitting next to Hermione, heaved a great sigh but didn't say anything. Harry supposed he'd been hoping that Hermione would stay at the Weasleys. By the way his friend kept glancing at her, Harry was sure that they'd made up over their recent little incident and were back to sneaking nervous little glances at each other when they thought no one was looking. So at least that was resolved...

Hermione picked up a spoonful of her oatmeal, examined it for a moment, then let it plop right back into her bowl, where it was now growing cold. Ron cleared his throat and she glanced at him. "You're not going to eat that, are you?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head, sending the usual whisps of hair into her face. "No, I'm not hungry. D'you want it?"

Ron shook his head, shooting Harry a worried glance. "No...You really ought to--"

Hermione had caught his eyes with hers and he stopped, looking even more worried when she looked away. Hermione turned to Harry.

"Well, when are you two heading back to your house?"

"Well, we've not got one yet," Sirius muttered, cramming a few strips of bacon into his mouth, acting quite dog-like. "So today I'm going to go see what's available. I'll be staying in London, so it'll be you lot staying here for tonight, I think."

"Yes, and you're to behave," Mrs. Weasley added, entering the kitchen and pointing a wand at the sinkful of dishes, which started washing themselves. "I'll be helping Sirius pick out a decent house for you three, since he seems a tad out of practice." She shot him a none-too-serious glare.

Sirius held up his hands defensively. "Look, I thought that flat was nice."

"It didn't have a kitchen."

"And when have I ever cooked?" He laughed. "No, I know what you're getting at, Molly. And you're right. I'm glad for your help."

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes and hung her apron on a hook on the wall. "Well. Whenever you're ready to go, Sirius, we'd best get moving if we want to have all day to house shop." She turned back to the three teenagers sitting at the table. "It'll just be you lot and Ginny, I'm afraid. Your father's out tonight on Ministry business." She glanced meaningfully at Sirius, who nodded. Harry sighed. As if it wasn't obvious--Dumbledore was obviously still working with Mr. Weasley from inside the ministry.

"Anyway," Mrs. Weasley continued, "We'll be getting rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, so you can reach us there. And I swear, if I come back to find the house in ruins or-or Ginny hanging from the ceiling again--"

"Aw, Mum," Ron interrupted, "that was just a bit of fun...And besides," he added, seeing how her eyes narrowed dangerously, "it was Fred and George what did it, not me."

"Right," Mrs. Weasley muttered grumpily. "Well..."

***

At about seven-thirty that evening, Hermione stood up from the kitchen table where she'd been reading the Daily Prophet's latest edition and headed into the living room. Once in the doorway, she stopped, surprised at what she saw. "You guys have a TV?"

Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, sort of. Dad got one about a month ago and we figured out that all you have to do is prod the plug-thing with your wand and it starts up."

Hermione very much doubted that they could pick up any sort of signal with a magically-energized TV, but she was wrong. Within about five minutes of swerving the antennae around with a determined expression on her little freckled face, Ginny sat back, grinning, as a picture fizzled to life on the screen.

"There," she said, glancing up at Hermione. "I think it's a movie, isn't it?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You know about movies? Do you take Muggle studies?"

Ginny shook her head. "Nope. Dad."

"Oh," Hermione said, nodding. "I see. Where's Ron?"

"Up in his room," Harry said, squinting at the TV. "Why don't you go see if he wants to join us."

Hermione nodded and started up the stairs. At the end of the hallway was the familiar door with the plaque on it saying, "Ronald's Room." Ron's door stood slightly ajar, and the fierce scratching of a quill on parchment was coming from inside. Hermione quietly peeked in to see what he was up to. He was bent over his rickety old desk, a recent addition to his room, scribbling something on a sheet of parchment and looking quite busy. Hermione quietly stepped inside and closed the door behind her, waiting to see if he'd notice. He didn't.

She cleared her throat, and he looked up. "Pardon my intrusion," she said, smiling, "but I'm curious as to what you're working on."

He snorted. "'Pardon my intrusion?' What century are you from?"

She grinned, probably for the first time in days, and walked over to his desk, looking at the paper. It was headed, "The Process of Becoming an Animagus, by Ronald Weasley." Hermione looked up at him. "For

Professor McGonagall, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, she assigns too much holiday work, if you ask me."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, well, Ron, I've heard that much from you before." She looked back and started to read through it. "Well, there's a spelling error here--that's supposed to be I before E. And you might want to rephrase this here; it sounds sort of odd. Also, there's--"

"Slow down a bit, Professor Granger," he interrupted, leaning over the desk so his face was level with hers. Those clear blue eyes were almost overwhelming. He grinned at her. "You and your proofreading. How d'you manage to do yours AND correct mine?"

Hermione smiled tartly before something occurred to her. Her eyes grew wide and Ron shot her a confused look. "What?"

"Oh...Oh, no...Ron, I...When the house burned down...My-My homework..."

He took her hand and squeezed it before she could work herself up into a proper fit. "'Mione, I already talked to McGonagall about it. She says that since you always do it anyway, she's sure you did, and so you don't have to worry about it. Full marks, as usual."

She wasn't sure why she was so utterly relieved. Maybe because it was something she DIDN'T have to worry about for once. Or perhaps it was just because he'd actually cared enough to do that for her when she didn't even say anything to him about it. And when she'd been spending the days sleeping. And yelling at him.

Whatever the reason, she couldn't help herself and decided she simply had to give him a hug.

***

Ron was a tad surprised at the way she'd reacted to that. After all, he would have done much more for her if he could have. He hadn't really done it to be the hero; just because it occurred to him that she would get upset when it finally hit her that her homework was gone. Of course, he still hadn't figured out quite what to do when she remembered Crookshanks... He didn't know where the cat was, or whether it was even alive.

But since recently he'd been the giver of hugs and not the receiver, he forgot about all of the other problems and tried to control the rapid beating of his heart as she slid her hands up over his shoulders and around his neck. He'd forgotten how pleasantly nervous it made him, to be touched like that. And how much he'd missed it. For just a moment, he was shot back to about a year ago, when they'd first acknowledged their feelings for each other, and just having her near him was enough to send him into dizzy spells.

As he slipped his arms around her waist, she looked up at him. "Ron, I...Thank you for putting up with me. You're wonderful."

He shrugged, embarrassed. "Nah...I mean...For awhile there I was fairly dreadful to you, but you still were my friend, regardless of what a bleeding idiot I was."

"Watch your language, and you're not a 'bleeding idiot,'" Hermione said softly, smiling lightly. "You've taken care of me, haven't you? The bossy, know-it-all, bushy-haired teachers' pet who is, as I recall, 'a nightmare, honestly.'" Ron laughed at her attempt to mimic his speech pattern. She smiled somewhat lopsidedly. "I mean, if you can deal with me, then certainly you're not a bleeding idiot..." She trailed off there as they had been getting gradually closer to each other, and Ron finally leaned over slightly and kissed her full on the mouth.

They'd only kissed twice, really, since they'd become "a couple," and Ron had to admit to himself that this had to have been the best time yet. He tightened his arms around her waist and she slid her hands down onto his shoulders, and they pulled apart, just staring at each other. Finally, Ron shook his head slightly to clear it and blinked. "Uh...What was it you actually came up here to tell me?"

They both dissolved into soft giggles and Hermione shook her head. "Uh...Oh, yeah. Ginny's set up the TV and they want us to come watch a movie with them, if you're not too busy with homework."

"Depends on your definition of homework," Ron muttered, looking straight into those brown eyes, then he cringed. "Bugger...I just said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Hermione giggled, looking fairly amused. "But then, you never were one for hiding what you were thinking, were you?"

"What?" he said indignantly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She grinned. "Nothing..." she muttered, pulling away from him and slumping down on his bed. "So, about the movie...?"

"Oh, yeah," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Well, I s'pose. But I swear to God, if Ginny makes me watch that one Muggle flick about the boat sinking ONE MORE TIME..."

Hermione laughed right out at this, but quickly caught herself and stifled it. "You mean 'Titanic?'" She giggled again. "Yes, well, I can see how it would get on your nerves..."

"Well, why didn't she just cast a heating charm--he wouldn't've died, then, would he?"

Hermione shook her head, obviously not wanting to go through explaining it to him, and Ron just shrugged and dropped his hands to his sides. "Well, fine. I guess I'll go watch their movie."

"Good. I think they'll be pleased."

Ron snorted, not really looking forward to another evening of watching Muggles make idiots of themselves onscreen. It got old, after awhile. He shook his head, still trying to figure out exactly why they hadn't been able to just waterproof the darn ship.

***

Harry sat on the rather lumpy old sofa and sighed, not really watching the movie. He'd seen Star Wars before, and after a rather long try at explaining to Ginny how "The Force" was a little different than magic, he just gave up and let her yell things like, "Oh, that was stupid, why not just stun him?" and

"Oh, come on, he could've used a summoning charm on him!" at the television screen.

He looked up at the stairs as he heard footsteps, and grinned as Ron and Hermione entered the living room, looking a tad red in the face. As it had been a good fifteen minutes since he'd sent Hermione up, Harry had a pretty good guess as to why they were both looking so very happy. He rolled his eyes and went back to listening to Ginny yell at Luke Skywalker: "Why not just use a wand? It's much easier than that sword thing, I'm sure..."

He was just drifting off to sleep when suddenly, a tiny sting in his forehead made his eyes snap open. It wasn't a really painful sort of sting, just sort of annoying, really. He decided it wasn't much to worry about and attempted to sleep again. Once more, just as he closed his eyes, his scar stung again, but stronger this time. He shook his head and sat up, not sure what to think, but the pain ceased as soon as he sat up, so he slumped back down in his seat, brow furrowed. He'd never had this sort of pain before--it was always immediate and strong, not gradual, like this. What did it mean?

Suddenly, it stung again, and this time it really did hurt. "Ow," he muttered, putting one hand up to his forehead.

Hermione, who was sitting between him and Ron on the sofa, looked at him. "Harry, is something--"

She never got a chance to finish, as suddenly a blinding pain shot through his scar and seemingly all the way down his spine. He yelped and clutched at his forehead, cringing against the pain. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. He sat up, panting, to see Hermione and Ron staring anxiously at him and Ginny, face lit dimly by the TV screen, looking quite scared.

"Well," Ron began quietly, "It doesn't necessarily mean...Because, I mean, doesn't it hurt whenever You-Know-Who's in a bad mood? I mean, it doesn't really mean that he's, like..." He trailed off, looking nervous. "D'you think we're in any danger?"

Harry shook his head, confused. "I'm not sure...I mean, it was different this time. It wasn't all at once, like usual. It got steadily stronger, and it stopped every few seconds. I dunno what it means, really..."

"D'you think it might have to do with...with the Death Eaters?" Hermione asked softly, eyes not leaving his face. Harry had forgotten--she was probably scared stiff of Death Eaters now that she'd experienced them firsthand. He shrugged and Hermione grabbed a nearby pillow and hugged it to her chest, looking rather nervous.

Ron slipped an arm around her shoulders and turned back to Harry, who was too busy thinking to mock his friend. "What d'you think caused it?"

"Dunno..." Harry rubbed his scar again, but nothing happened. He settled back in his chair, pretending not to notice the nervous glances his friends kept shooting at him.

***

Tap, tap, tap.

Hermione sat up just barely, not wanting to leave the warmth that was Ron's shoulder. Groggily, she looked over at the TV. Another movie was playing--Titanic, from the looks of it. Vaguely, she figured it must have been a 24-hour movie channel or something. How they'd managed to get it using the TV antennae was a mystery to her. She snuggled down again, shooting a quick glance at Ginny, who had fallen asleep on the floor in front of the TV, to Harry, who was using the sofa's armrest as a pillow. Then she yawned and let her head droop back onto Ron's shoulder.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was a very soft sound, and she wondered how it had even woken her, as she'd been so deeply asleep. Aggravated, and still a bit scared after the episode earlier that evening, Hermione looked up at the window. There wasn't an owl there, so she could only assume that it was a treebranch, or something equally harmless. Well, she hoped it was.

Tap, tap...clunk.

Now she sat up. That had come from upstairs. Maybe she was just imagining it, but...No, those were most definitely footsteps. Coming down the hallway. She heard someone on the steps and shook Ron awake. He groaned slightly and she shushed him. He sat up as he recognized the sound of footsteps and looked over in the direction of the stairs. There was a rather loud squeak as whoever it was stepped on the last stair, and someone clothed all in black appeared on the landing, pointing his highly-polished wand at them.

Chapter 6

Upon instinct--he supposed that was what happened after spending over six years as "The Boy Who Lived"'s best friend--Ron grabbed his wand and shot a rather badly-aimed stunning spell into the dark corner. It lit up the landing and whoever it was yelped and went into a duck-and-cover position. Ron practically leapt off of the couch, Hermione right behind him, and stalked over to the landing, wand at the ready.

There was much shuffling, then:

"P-Please don't shoot tha' again, mate."

"Who're you?"

The man stood up, and Ron saw, with some relief, that it was just a common Muggle burglar, dressed all in black and carrying a rather bulky sack and a crowbar, and shaking rather uncontrollably. "Please, sir, I was jus'..."

"You 'was jus'' what?" Ron growled, still pointing his wand at the man. "Breaking into the house? Oh, is that all? What all did you take?"

He was fumbling awkwardly with his bag, and Ron just kept his wand pointed at him, not really scared, now that he knew it was only a harmless Muggle he was dealing with and not some masked, violent, Unforgiveable-Curse-happy Death Eater. He sighed, keeping a firm hold on his wand.

***

There was something amiss; she knew it. The trouble was, she just couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Hermione racked her brains, trying to think. What incredibly important, possibly life-threatening detail was she overlooking?

Wand? But Muggles didn't have wands...It must have been the crowbar. But then, this was a Muggle burglar they were dealing with. And Muggles, who did illegal things like this, usually carried a weapon...

Everything slowed down, so she saw every detail. The man fished about in his bag momentarily before his eyes lit up in unmistakeable triumph. He started to take the gun out, obviously at the ready, and Ron was still standing, oblivious, wand pointed at him. Ron didn't know about guns--how was he supposed to defend himself? Finally, Hermione came to her senses and dove forward, pushing Ron away--

BANG!

***

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

Sparks shot from Harry's wand, hitting the burglar, but not before Ron yelped and clutched at his arm, directly after the gun went off. The gun itself fell to the floor, along with the burglar, who looked quite confused at not being able to move at all, save for his eyes, which were darting around nervously. Obviously, he didn't understand why some boy pointing a stick and yelling funny words could do this to him.

Breathing heavily, Harry ran out over to Ron, who had slid down the wall, was clutching his arm just below the shoulder, where blood was darkening his shirt sleeve. One look told Harry that Ron had just been moved in time--one second longer and he could have been shot somewhere in the lungs or heart...Ron groaned and gritted his teeth, looking to be in terrible pain.

"Oh..."

Harry glanced over at Ginny, who, of course, had woken up due to the commotion. She had one hand up to her mouth and looked quite pale. "Ron...Oh, no, oh...What're we going to do? What about...Oh, no..."

Hermione seemed to have recovered from the shocked state she'd been in, sitting on the floor where she'd fallen after pushing Ron away. She sat up, brow furrowed in worry. "Ginny, do you have a telephone?"

The younger girl nodded silently. Hermione sighed. "Take Harry to it, and get him to call the nearest hospital-- Muggle OR Wizarding..."

Harry helped Ginny off of the ground and followed her into the next room. There was an old-fashioned sort of telephone sitting on a table, and Harry picked it up, checking for a dial-tone. Then it occurred to him that they didn't have a phone book.

"How can we...?"

***

Ron groaned, swearing to himself quietly. Hermione crawled over on her hands and knees. "Ron, take your hand off; we've got to bandage it or something."

"'S Harry gone to call a hospital or what?" He shook his head, trying to clear it. His vision was swimming, and he was unable to focus on anything. The pain in his shoulder was overwhelming, though he had a pretty good idea that the--What was it called? Oh, yes, bullet--hadn't gotten stuck in him.

Hermione nodded, looking close to tears. It didn't really annoy him or anything, but he wished she wouldn't. "'Mione, don't go and cry over this, okay? And tell Harry just to send an owl to St. Mungo's. It's the easiest thing to do."

She slapped her forehead. "Oh, of course! How stupid...? Ugh...I'll always be a Muggle at heart, won't I?"

Ron cringed again, squeezing his arm with one hand and trying (unsuccessfully) to ignore the intense pain. Any moment now, he was sure he'd pass out...

Hermione frantically returned a moment later with her wand, and crouched down next to him, trying to pry his fingers gently off of his arm. "Lemme see, just for a moment..."

Part of him was telling him to stop being such a baby and take his hand off, but the other part was far too concerned with the increase in pain if he did. Finally, though, Hermione wrenched his hand off, and he felt his arm stinging unbearably and breathed in sharply, causing Hermione to cringe slightly and apologize.

"Ferula," she muttered, and bandages spun around his arm and shoulder, far more effective than his hand had been. Hermione helped him stand up--it ached him to try--and he felt like collapsing. He vaguely was aware of her leading him over to the couch before he practically fell into it and--blissfully--lost all consciousness.

***

Hermione took several deep breaths--Ron may have been thin, but he was much taller than her and weighed quite a bit. When he'd collapsed a moment ago, she'd been worried he'd injure himself further and had tried to help lower him to the couch. It had proved to be much more difficult than she'd expected.

But then, she wasn't exactly the perfect weight-lifting specimen herself...

She sighed, slumping down on the couch next to him, extremely worried. The bullet had only grazed his arm, from what she'd seen while bandaging it. Granted, she'd only seen it for a few seconds, as Ron had refused to take his hand off long enough for her to get a good look at it. However, it hadn't gone into his lungs or heart, obviously, as she'd pushed him out of the way in time, but he was still in severe pain, and possible danger if he didn't get medical attention. And soon.

So, as could be imagined, she was quite relieved when several wizards--a few from St. Mungo's, and a few from the Ministry--Apparated into the front hallway of the house. The hospital wizards conjured a stretcher and carefully lifted Ron onto it, while one of the ministry wizards performed a quick memory charm on the burglar and the other questioned Hermione, Harry, and Ginny, promising to take them all to St. Mungo's as soon as they'd gotten all of the information they needed.

***

Harry blinked slowly, trying to stay awake as the ministry car zoomed along the roads. They were still underaged, so they couldn't Apparate, and St. Mungo's didn't allow the use of Floo Powder in order to monitor the visitors to the hospital. As a portkey hadn't been previously arranged, they were stuck using the old Muggle way of transportation.

He glanced at his watch. 3:45 AM. It was late. Or early--whichever way you looked at it. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. He had been informed before they left that Ron was doing fine at the hospital, and that his parents had been notified that he was there, and that in general,

everything was okay again. And that kept Harry from worrying too much. However, there was still that nagging thought at the back of his mind: Why had his scar hurt?

He was fairly sure it wasn't the burglar. After all, having a burglar come to the house had nothing to do with Voldemort. So it didn't make any sense. At all. As his tired mind puzzled over this, the car pulled into a rather odd parking lot, in front of a large white building. As Harry stepped out of the car and looked around, no highways were visible--the place looked as if it was in the middle of a forest rather than the city, like most hospitals. But then, Harry reminded himself, this WASN'T most hospitals.

***

Muttering swear words that were fairly nasty, even for him, Ron opened his eyes. Darn it, he'd regained consciousness. And the pain was horrible. However, it wasn't just in his arm anymore. It was all over, and Ron strongly suspected they'd given him some sort of healing potion. This suspicion was confirmed when he found the little pinprick on his uninjured arm--yep, they'd injected it.

He sighed, pulling at a loose thread in the white quilt covering him. Well, now both his arms hurt. How was it that Muggles would keep the pain in one area of your body, and still heal it, but Wizards felt compelled to spread it EVERYWHERE, and then heal it? It didn't make much sense to him, but then, it may have just been the medication. (A/N: We all know the feeling, right? ^_^)

Vaguely, he wondered what his Mum would say. She didn't like leaving her children alone, even BEFORE this little incident. NOW what? She'd probably never let Ron leave her sight. Or Ginny. Ron sighed yet again and stopped unstitching the quilt. So much for freedom. Knowing his Mum, she'd not leave him alone until he was forty-five or so. Speaking of...

The door opened and his rather frantic mother came hurtling through, tears streaming down her face and Sirius following behind, looking nervous. Ron rolled his eyes as his mother threw her arms around his neck, talking a mile a minute about how scared she was, and how dangerous it was to try and deal with it on his own, and how she shouldn't have left them home alone all night, and how... Ron eventually tuned it out after awhile, sighing deeply and shooting glares at Sirius, who was laughing at the facial expression he wore.

Finally, Sirius gently helped pry Ron's mother off of him, leaving a very grateful Ron to lie back down on his bed, shaking his head. "Mum, I'm fine, really." She continued to babble on for awhile, and Ron, feeling slightly insensitive, shushed her. "Mum!" She stopped abruptly and looked at him. Ron sighed. "I am FINE, okay? Keep your hair on."

He was spared from hearing her reply as the door opened again and a very tired-looking Harry and Hermione stepped through, followed by a Ministry wizard.

***

"Are you okay, Ron?" Hermione said, in perfect sync with Harry. She looked at him and they both laughed. She turned back to Ron, who had managed to pull himself into a sitting position, despite the fuss his mother was making about it.

"Yeah. 'M fine." Using his good arm, he ran his fingers through his hair. "It hurts a bit, but I'm okay. What exactly did they give me?"

"They told us it was basically some pain-killer and...uh...something purple," Harry said, rubbing his eyes. "Not skele-grow, but, like, the muscle equivalent. I dunno what it was called."

"Well, whatever it was, it's not pleasant," Ron muttered.

Hermione sat carefully down on the foot of his bed. "So d'you feel ANY better?"

He shrugged. "I guess."

Hermione nodded. "Well, I tried to push you out of the way in time, but I was too stupid to realize what he had in that bag."

"What, you were going to take that bullet for me?"

Embarrassed, Hermione shrugged. "I s'pose." She looked down at the floor, not sure exactly what to say next. A hand gripped hers and she looked up to see Ron staring at her with an odd look on his face. She swallowed the lump in her throat and was about to say something, when the door flew open again.

Everyone turned expectantly, and Mr. Weasley rushed inside, panting. "The house..."

Mrs. Weasley stood up, looking frantic. "What happened, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "The house is in shambles, with the Dark Mark hanging over it. I arrived after most of the officials, and apparently the house was attacked by a mob of Death Eaters. No one was there, though, so they ransacked the house and left." He swallowed roughly and looked at Ron. "I hope you aren't too offended, but I have to contact Dumbledore immediately."

Hermione shook her head. Death Eaters? She shuddered involuntarily. They'd done the same thing to the Weasleys' house as they'd done to hers, only thankfully no one was there to kill. Still...Had it been Harry that they were coming for? No, Dumbledore kept his whereabouts strictly secret. He'd had a special charm put on him so that no one could find him. So then, if not Harry, the only other person there who they would be looking for was...her. So now what?

Chapter 7

Hermione sat on her bed in the Leaky Cauldron, flipping through her new textbooks. Of course, as she had lost all of her notes and background reading, she was panicked about maintaining her usual standards for grades. After all, losing parents, a home, a SECOND home, and having a mob of Death Eaters searching for her for mysterious and frightening reasons was no excuse for not being her usual ahead-of-the-rest-of-the-class self. Not at all.

"Let's see..." she muttered, running her finger down the page, trying to cram as many facts as possible into her already over-loaded mind. "Amphisbaena...Only found in Eastern Europe...Skin is a remedy for

cold shivers..."

She was on the verge of slamming the book shut and screaming at the top of her lungs, "I HATE THIS!" but was prevented from doing so by a soft knock on the door. "Come in?"

Ginny entered and shut the door quietly behind her. "So, how're you feeling?"

Hermione snorted. "Me? 'Scuse me, but I think we're right about on the same level as of now."

Ginny smiled. "Well...That's not the point." Her eyes flicked to the immense pile of books strewn about her matress. "You're excused from homework, you know. You don't have to--"

"Yes, but I DO have to, is the problem," Hermione said, stacking several books on her bedside cabinet. "I can't fall behind."

Ginny sighed exasperatedly. "Hermione, you're practically two years ahead of everyone else as is. You don't have to worry about it."

"No," Hermione said briskly, shaking her head. That need to scream was back. She swallowed it. "I'm...I dunno. It's important."

Ginny patted her hand and said, quite nicely and with a smile on her face (not at all like Ron), "You're mental."

"So I've heard," Hermione responded dryly. "So, why'd you originally come in here?"

"Oh, yes," Ginny said, bouncing up from the bed and inspecting her reflection in the mirror across the room. "Ron and Harry want to go for an ice cream, and want you to come."

"I'm a tad busy."

"Well, they're really quite worried about you. You know...They think you're going to have a nervous breakdown or something."

Hermione sighed. "Tell Ron not to worry about me; I'm fine."

"Well..."

Hermione sighed. It wasn't as if she was really wanting to put up a fight for staying cooped up in her room, just asking for loss of sanity. "Do they have chocolate?"

"Yes," Ginny said, grinning broadly and grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her out the door. "Florean Fortescue's has everything..."

***

"Right," Ron muttered, cramming a chocolate frog into his mouth as he skimmed through the page. "Harry, what's an amphisbaena?"

"Ask Hermione."

They had only one more day in the Leaky Cauldron before they were to leave for King's Cross Station, and Ron, though not really concerned about how much information he knew, didn't want to be left completely in the dark. And, Hermione had been nagging at the two boys, trying to get them to study. Ron didn't know why, but he didn't argue with this point. He just nodded, and then did what she asked, much to the obvious surprise of Harry.

"She'll have a breakdown," Ron said, looking up from his book. "She's trying to memorize the textbooks between now and Wednesday." Two days ago, at Florean Fortescue's, Hermione had been rambling nonstop about her nervousness. Apparently, being a full year ahead of all other seventh years was not nearly satisfactory for her. Ron shook his head. 'That's Hermione for you...'

"She'll have a job, then," Harry replied, scribbling furiously on his parchment. "Uh...What are the twelve uses of dragon's blood again? I can't remember number seven..."

Ron shrugged and turned his glance to his book. He wasn't even really reading it, but thinking. He had no home to return to, after school. Where would he go? Where would his entire FAMILY go? He frowned, thinking and worrying. They obviously didn't have enough money to buy a new house...

And as for Hermione--why were the Death Eaters so interested on getting their hands on her? What had she ever done? That REALLY worried him. His family would be okay once they left for school--Hermione was quite obviously the target that was causing the destruction. Whenever she brought that point up, he denied it, of course, but it was true. And Hogwarts was safe--she'd be safe there. He still worried, though.

He shook his head, trying to find SOMETHING to distract himself from his worries about his family and Hermione. Like school. Yeah, school would do. "So, Harry, who d'you suppose'll be the next Defense teacher?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Hope whoever it is actually knows what they're talking about."

"'S long as it's not Lockhart, I'm happy," Ron muttered. He noticed his friend was smirking. "What?"

"Well, I have to wonder if you weren't just jealous of the git," Harry said carefully. "I mean, I know he was annoying, but he wasn't THAT bad, and--"

"I was not," Ron said indignantly, feeling his ears turn red. "He was a fraud, Harry, we all know that. And he was about as stupid as they come."

Harry nodded, holding his hands up defensively. "Right, right...I'll drop it."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I s'pose you think yourself quite funny, then?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Yes."

"Well, I can be funny, too. About certain Ravenclaw chasers. Named Ch--" He was interrupted by a rather well-aimed pillow. "Fine, have it your way."

"Truce?"

"Temporarily, yes," Ron said. A moment later, all of his worries had returned. Well, at least he'd been rid of them for a few moments.

***

Harry slumped down in his seat on the Hogwarts Express, glancing first at Hermione, who was muttering rather vaguely to herself as she skimmed through yet another textbook, to Ron, who was staring rather absently out the window. He was obviously worried--about everything. And, truthfully, so was Harry.

The Weasleys had been more of a family to him than the Dursleys ever had, that was for sure. And now they had no house, and Hermione, his best friend, now was an orphan, and she had lost her house as well. And all because of the one person that constantly haunted his nightmares and caused him so much grief-- Voldemort. Harry hated him, with a passion.

He fiddled with the top of Hedwig's cage, and then glanced at Pig's somewhat smaller one. Then it hit him that they were certainly missing one of their party: Crookshanks. And Harry wasn't about to bring it up with Hermione--she was on the verge of a mental and emotional breakdown as it was. It wasn't as though he really MISSED Crookshanks; more that he missed the familiar routine. He had become used to his life--survive the summer with the Dursleys, maybe a trip to the Weasley's, shopping with Hermione in Diagon Alley, and then the ride to Hogwarts on the Express, with the old familiar faces and maybe a snack from the food cart...

And then, Harry noted, raising his eyes to the ceiling, an appearance by Malfoy. As if cued by his thoughts, the compartment door slid open, and the three Slytherins were revealed behind it, standing in the hallway. Malfoy sneered, and it occurred to Harry that it must be hard to keep his face in that expression as much as he did. "Potter."

"Yes, that's his name," Hermione said from behind her book.

"I didn't ask you, Granger," Malfoy said icily, turning back to Harry. But before he could say anything, Hermione interrupted again:

"Look, we all KNOW the routine by now. You come and threaten us with the wrath of the Dark Lord, throw a few insults at each of us, and then leave, either because an adult intervenes, or because you've been cursed. We're all TIRED of it, and personally, I'm not that scared anymore." She stood up, and Harry got the distinct impression that she had finally had that long-anticipated mental breakdown.

"My parents are dead. My house is gone. You people were even low enough to kill my CAT, for that matter. If you think I'm still scared of your silly threats, MALFOY," she spat the words and glared at him, "then you are gravely mistaken. I've got NOTHING to lose now. So why don't you drag your sorry carcass back out into the aisle and torment someone who is a tad less jaded than I am?"

Malfoy just stared at Hermione for a moment, tried and failed to sneer, and instead backed into the aisle again, sliding the door shut behind him. Harry couldn't really blame him--he wouldn't have wanted to be on the receiving end of the glare Hermione was sending.

***

"Wow," Ron muttered as Hermione sat down.

"'Wow' what, exactly?" Hermione asked mildly, opening her book again. She was quite red in the face, and Ron was sure she was a tad embarrassed by her sudden loss of composure.

"That was...That was right up there with the whole ferret thing. Did you see the look on his face?"

"I did," Hermione muttered. "I'm just glad he left."

Ron shrugged. Part of her little speech had disturbed him. "So you really feel that you've got nothing to lose?"

Hermione looked up, eyes wide. "Oh, no, Ron, don't take it that way. I just...I wanted him to leave us alone this year. I know he won't," she added quickly, "but I thought I'd have a go at making him. I didn't mean that I don't care about you two...Not at all..."

He shrugged. "So, who d'you s'pose will be the next Defense teacher?"

"Well, we never do know, do we?" Hermione said softly, closing her book. "We've had various teachers, all of whom seem to last up to a year."

"Ron was just saying a few days ago that as long as it isn't Lockhart, he's happy," Harry muttered, as Ron shot him an annoyed look.

"Well, I agree," Hermione said. "Lockhart was a fraud."

Harry snickered, but said nothing. Hermione gave him a rather sour look and picked up her book again, muttering something in which the words "silly crush" and "only twelve" were audible.

Ron knew his ears were a bit red, but he didn't say anything after that, though he was dying to. To make a sarcastic remark right now, after seeing Hermione scare Malfoy away, was not a wise decision. Instead he simply turned and stared out the window, watching the foliage outside growing gradually wilder and less farmed.

A few rather silent hours later, lanterns flickered to life in all of the compartments, and the sky outside of the small window became a rather inky blue-black color. Ron settled down into his seat, sighing deeply. Their last year. Another thing to add to his long list of worries--what in the world was he going to do after graduation? What would he be good at...Well, good enough to make a living at? Snide remarks and chess weren't exactly common in job descriptions.

Everyone in the compartment looked up as the train began to slow. Hermione slipped a ribbon into her book, which was now nearing the last few pages, and glanced at her watch. "It's not nearly time yet," she murmured nervously. "Harry, d'you think--"

"No," Harry said quickly. "It's not Death Eaters, and it's CERTAINLY not Dementors." He shrugged. "My scar isn't hurting at all."

Ron glanced out the window, but it was too dark by now to see anything. "Well, the only place I can think that we'd stop is that one small station--you know, where we picked up the Dementors last time." He grimaced as Harry and Hermione shuddered involuntarily. "It's usually the station where they pick up people coming from farther away."

"Why d'you suppose we're stopping, though?" Hermione asked nervously. "I mean, I can't think why in the world--"

She was cut off by the sound of the pistons starting up, and with a jerk the train began moving again, gathering speed. Ron's attention was dragged from Hermione's confused expression to the rather quiet sound of footsteps outside in the aisle. And then the door slid open.

Hermione had half expected a Death Eater to come barreling into the compartment, shooting the Avada Kedavra in every possible direction, cackling madly, So the short, round-faced, rather kind-looking woman standing there had come as a bit of a shock. She was dressed in long black robes that contrasted with her pale skin, and round, blue-gray eyes took in her surroundings. She brushed a stray lock of wavy brown hair from her face and set down the rather heavy-looking bag she was carrying. "I seem to recall the Express being a tad less crowded. Maybe it's just me."

Hermione was a bit taken aback. The woman had a rather strong Irish accent, and was certainly no taller than her. "Emm..."

"Oh, sorry." The woman held out a small hand. "I'm Professor McLellan. The other compartments are quite crowded, and I was wond'ring if you'd mind sharing?"

Chapter 8

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped out of the carriages and ascended the large stone steps leading to the oak front door, their new professor led the way, shoulders hunched with the weight of her rather heavy bag, which she was seemingly just managing to keep from dragging on the stone floor. Harry stepped into the familiar entrance hall, remembering with a feeling remarkably like dread that this would most likely be his last time doing so.

"Well, thanks for letting me sit with you on the ride," Professor McLellan said cheerfully. "Uhm, excuse me?" she called into the corner. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to look, and saw a small house-elf, which they had overlooked, standing in the shadows near a tapestry portraying a medieval-style princess and unicorn. The elf looked up quickly and grinned, muttering something in a funny, gruff-sounding language, and the professor nodded. The elf picked up McLellan's heavy-looking bag and disappeared into the shadows again. Professor McLellan sighed loudly and smiled at them. "Elves are ever so polite, you know. Well, I shall see you three later, then, alright?" And with a smile and wave, she headed off in the direction of the staff table. However, she suddenly stopped abruptly as she bumped into someone-- literally.

"Sorry," said a voice Harry recognized instantly.

"Professor Lupin?"

Lupin looked over McLellan's head and smiled warmly. "Harry! How are you?"

"Lupin?" Professor McLellan muttered doubtfully, and looked up at the other Professor's face. Both gasped.

"Fi...ona?" Lupin muttered.

Professor McLellan's blue-gray eyes had grown very round, and she seemed at a loss for words. "I--What-- What are you doing here?" she finally managed, in a rather dazed voice. "And why?"

"I'm teaching," Lupin said softly, dark eyes not leaving hers. "You?"

"Teaching," she mumbled, somewhat moodily.

"Oh." Lupin cleared his throat and nodded at Harry. "Well, I'll see you lot later; I've got to...get to the staff table."

He strode off quickly, leaving McLellan standing there, still looking dazed. Finally she looked up. "G'bye, then."

"Bye," Hermione said uncertainly, watching her march off in the direction of the Great Hall.

Ron tilted his head, looking pensive. "What d'you s'pose that was about?"

"No idea..." Harry muttered.

Hermione looked curious about something, but said nothing; merely frowned to herself.

Harry led the way and took a seat at the Gryffindor table, turning his attention to the first years as they filed incredibly nervously into the Great Hall and watched with great apprehension as Professor Flitwick set down the Sorting Hat.

For some reason, the number of Slytherins in the group was quite small. Most of the new students were in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, or occasionally Ravenclaw. Harry wasn't sure why, but it made him wonder...

Dumbledore stood from his seat at the high table and silence fell in the hall. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," he said, looking tired, but overjoyed to see them all there. "I think most of us already know the rules--no students are allowed in the Forbidden Forest, hence the name, and I do believe the list of items not allowed within the school has increased to include the recent trend of Canary Creams resulting from the opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, in Hogsmeade..."

Harry glanced at Ron, who rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"Also, I would like to present our two newest staff members--Professor Lupin, for Defense Against the Dark Arts," --much applause from all tables but Slytherin-- "and Professor McLellan for Potions." This last name got polite applause, but McLellan obviously wasn't paying attention anyway. She was too busy staring in the direction of Lupin, her face somewhere between curiosity and glaring. "Unfortunately, Professor Snape will be absent for most of this year, and Professor McLellan will be taking over as Head of Slytherin house."

Harry quickly turned to glance at the Slytherin table. It was quite emptier than usual, but the students that WERE there were looking scandalized. Malfoy looked like someone had just told him he had been diagnosed with an incurable disease. Harry, on the other hand, was rather pleased. Maybe Potions would be at least TOLERABLE with Snape gone, and Professor McLellan seemed like a nice sort, when she wasn't around Professor Lupin, anyway, for whatever reason...Harry grinned at the look on Malfoy's face again. This was definitely going to be an interesting year.

***

Ron smirked at the expression Malfoy wore and nudged Hermione in the ribs to make her look as well. She offered a swift grin and then was back to staring raptly at the staff table. Ron was curious as to WHY, but quickly found out as Dumbledore continued his speech.

"And last but not least, our Head Boy and Girl. From Ravenclaw, our Head Boy is Mr. Terry Boot, and our Head Girl, from Gryffindor, is Ms. Hermione Granger. Congratulations to the both of you," he said, eyes twinkling, and sat down. Professor McGonagall left the staff table and quickly walked to Hermione, pressing the Head Girl badge into her hand, muttering something, and leaving.

Ron caught the words, "Couldn't send it to you."

Hermione, still looking shocked, pinned the badge to her robes with fumbling fingers and glanced at Ron, eyes wide. "I'm Head Girl..."

"Never would have guessed it," Ron said sarcastically, grinning lopsidedly at her. "Congratulations, 'Mione."

She grinned broadly and threw her arms around his neck, making him laugh. Then she pulled away, sighing.

"Wow. Head Girl."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You honestly never saw it coming?"

Hermione shook her head. "No...I kept thinking there had to be at least ONE other person in the school who was a better student than I am; who had broken less rules...Someone better in general. It always comes as such a shock when this sort of thing happens..."

Ron snorted. "You've got some serious self-esteem issues," he muttered. "And I thought I did..."

She smirked at him and crammed a roll in his mouth.

Ron opened his eyes sleepily and pulled back the hangings on his bed. The curtains had been pulled back from the windows, and sunlight was streaming into the circular room, illuminating it in a rather cheery way, although the intense light had not managed to penetrate the thick scarlet hangings of his bed. Ron yawned, stretching his long arms over his head, and looked at the clock on his bedside cabinet. "You're running late," was the phrase the single hand pointed to.

"Late?" he muttered groggily, and instead glanced at Harry's clock. 8:50. Classes started at...when? Nine o'clock. Uh-oh...

He leapt out of bed, swearing to himself as he threw on his clothes, then his robes, all the while wondering why in the world someone hadn't woken him. He usually could hear the other boys getting up, as they made no effort to be quiet in the mornings. Ron grabbed his bag and sprinted down the stairs before running headlong into Hermione.

"Ow!"

"Ouch!"

"Sorry," Ron muttered. Then: "Why are you still up here?"

"Well, I forgot my Arithmancy book, and we were wondering why you hadn't come down to breakfast yet," she said matter-of-factly, gathering the bag of books she'd dropped upon their sudden collision.

Ron bent down to help her. "I dunno WHY I slept in so late," he said, helping her stack books back into her bag. "I usually wake up pretty early..."

"Well, Harry had Quidditch this morning," Hermione said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and standing up to face him. "And Seamus said he and Dean tried to wake you three times but you only told them to go away."

Ron chuckled to himself. "Don't remember it, but I probably did...So, what, they wouldn't let you come wake me up yourself?"

Hermione gave him a none-too-serious look and cleared her throat. "Yes, well...I believe you have a Divination class to be at?"

Ron swore loudly, earning a light smack on the back of his head (Hermione had to stand up on tiptoe to manage it), and raced out of the portrait hole. He sprinted up several staircases and down hallways, and finally reached his destination late enough to hear the rest of the class milling about above him as he climbed the silver ladder and, panting, took his seat next to Harry just in time for Professor Trelawny to make her dramatic entrance.

"Hello, my dears. Welcome to your seventh and final year in my class. As we have gradually progressed from tea leaves to crystal balls, and last year to dream interpretation, we are now going to be working with visions. Though I don't expect any of you to possess the power to have a TRUE vision, I do expect all of you to at least ATTEMPT it, in a SERIOUS manner." She glanced at Ron, who grinned back at her.

She sighed. "We are not going to start off the year with visions. For the time being, we will be working to review. Today we will be using the tea leaves again."

Ron sighed. He had hoped they'd be doing dream interpretation again--he had loved sleeping during class for a grade. However, he stood up with Harry and grabbed the nearest teacup (blue, NOT pink...) before slumping back down in his pouf again.

As they drank down the scalding tea, Harry spluttered a few times, stopping to make annoyed faces. "Why does she insist we drink it while it's piping hot?" he asked, between sips.

"Because she's a miserable old bat who's made a career out of this sort of thing," Ron muttered, draining his cup and pulling a face. "Gah...What IS this made from?"

"Looked like normal tea leaves to me, but then, you never can be sure 'round here, can you?"

Ron nodded, turning his cup over on its saucer. "Well, lemme see yours. Let's see when you're going to die this year, shall we?"

Harry snorted and handed over his cup, while Ron turned it about. "Uh..." he muttered, squinting into the bottom, "I think that's an acorn or something..."

"Didn't you see one of those in my cup in third year? And didn't she say it was a skull or something?"

Ron looked up. "Yeah, but this REALLY looks like an acorn." He glanced back in the cup. "Well, I s'pose it could be, like, a walnut or something, but it's not a skull, 'kay?"

Harry opened his book. "Walnut?" he muttered, smirking. "That's not mentioned here..."

"Well, that settles it, then. It's an acorn," Ron said, grinning. "Right, so, read mine." He set the cup back on the table next to his, and Professor Trelawny swept over to them.

"I do believe you were having trouble interpreting the signs within your cup?" she said mistily, as Ron gave her a rather sarcastic look. "After four years, I should hope you knew how, Mr. Weasley..."

She leaned over and picked up the cup in front of Ron and started turning it, muttering to herself. Ron had to admire Harry--he put up a rather good show of paying attention. Ron considered it a waste of energy to even PRETEND, though, so he just stared at the ceiling, allowing his mind to wander freely. He was jerked back to reality, however, by the nasty look the professor was sending him. "What?"

"I was just SAYING," she said hotly, "that your cup certainly shows some important events. Someone close to you shall die before the end of the year."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Who, Harry?" he asked, desperately fighting a grin.

She looked quite flustered. "No, a GIRL."

Ron paled at this. Okay, so he knew she was a fraud. There was no way all this nonsense with tea leaves was accurate. No possible way. But then...Hermione...

He swallowed roughly. "Uhm...Thanks?"

Looking quite annoyed, the professor swept (rather less-airily this time) over to Lavender and Parvati's table. Ron glanced at Harry, who also looked slightly worried. Harry raised an eyebrow. "So..."

"Yeah. What do we tell...?"

Harry shook his head. "She'll think it's all silly, you know."

"Yeah, she probably will."

"She's probably right."

"But still..." Ron bit his lip. "I'll talk to her."

Chapter 9

Harry dragged a rather nervous Ron out of the North Tower and towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, hoping that once removed from the fogginess and perfumed smoke, their minds would clear. Surely Professor Trelawney was being her usual ridiculous self, and this meant nothing. Well, Harry HOPED that this meant nothing...

Ron looked rather pale, and kept shaking his head, looking pensive. When they finally arrived at the Defense Classroom, Professor Lupin was running late, and Hermione had already saved their table. The two boys sat down on either side of her, and Harry looked at Ron pointedly. Ron gulped.

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Well," Ron muttered, "we were just in Trelawney's class, and she made a prediction..."

"Oh, not AGAIN," Hermione sighed. "Look, however she's decided Harry's going to die this year--"

"She said you were."

"Me?" Hermione said, and Harry couldn't help noticing that her voice sounded a little less confident-- but only a little. "Well, that's ridiculous. Harry's still here, isn't he? And she said he'd die, didn't she?"

Yes, Hermione was obviously still skeptical, but after the summer she'd had, Harry could tell that she was pretty shaken up. Though she wouldn't ever admit it, he knew she was actually contemplating whether or not to believe Trelawney's prediction. He sighed.

"You're...probably right," Ron said quietly. "I--We just were a little worried."

"Well, I'm glad you care," she said, smiling lopsidedly at them both, "but you needn't worry. I'm not going to just kick the bucket right here."

Ron sighed and glanced at Harry over Hermione's head, and Harry nodded. She was probably right; they were most likely being silly about this. And yet...For some reason, Harry had the distinct feeling in the pit of his stomach that something wasn't right, and that perhaps, for once, Trelawney might be right...

***

Ron looked up as Professor Lupin entered the classroom. A few students couldn't stop staring at him, now that they knew he was a werewolf, but Lupin seemed to be putting forth a valiant effort to ignore it. He walked to the front of his desk and leaned back on it, surveying his class. "Hello, again. You might remember me from third year; I think I taught most of you."

Dean Thomas raised his hand, and Lupin called on him. "Professor, is it true that you're a werewolf?"

Lupin sighed, obviously having known this would be the main topic of today's lessons. "Yes, I am."

Dean grinned. "Cool."

Lupin fought a laugh. "Thank you, Dean. On to more important things...Let's start off with roll call."

He proceeded to call out the familiar names, obviously knowing them anyway, and then stacked the heap of parchment on his desk and looked at them all again.

"This year, we'll be working with the most advanced Defense possible. I do believe you've all been taught about the Unforgiveable Curses?"

Ron glanced at Harry in time to see his eyes go rather blank. He sighed, feeling sorry for his friend. Year after year, Harry had to go through the same torment in Defense class. Ron knew, for one, that HE wouldn't want to keep going over the way his parents had died, if he'd been in that position.

"Good. We're going to be working with defending oneself from dark wizards. We've covered creatures, and I daresay you're getting your fill of defending yourselves from them in Care of Magical Creatures?"

"Are we EVER..." Seamus muttered, causing some members of the class to laugh.

"Well," Professor Lupin continued, "we all know that with the recent threat of Death Eaters--" Ron noticed Hermione shiver "--we must know how to properly defend ourselves, and those we love, to the best of our ability. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to help teach this class, as I was an auror during the first rising."

Ron raised an eyebrow. Lupin had been an auror? Well, that was a new bit of information...

The rest of the class was mostly discussion of what they were to study. By the sounds of it, Ron thought, EVERYTHING...From sending curses to blocking them, and what "cancels them out." He noticed that Hermione, who usually was quite eager to learn new and important topics like this, mostly stared at her desktop and didn't raise her hand very often.

Just before the bell rang, Professor Lupin stopped by their table, and cleared his throat to get their attention. "Harry?"

Harry looked up from packing up his supplies. "Yes?"

"I'd like a word, if you would, after lunch? I've got a staff meeting now..."

"Sure," Harry said. "Should I come to your office?"

"That would be fine," Lupin said, and went back to his desk, packing up his supplies in his tattered old briefcase.

Ron shot Harry a sideways look. "What was that all about?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably something to do with the fact that I'm me, don't you think? Isn't it always?"

Ron smiled grimly and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Buck up, Harry. We'll all manage somehow...We always do, don't we?"

Harry sighed. "Yep. Thanks. Let's get to potions, then."

Ron turned around to see if Hermione was done packing. She had crammed all of her supplies in her bag, but was still sitting and staring at the desktop. "'Mione?"

Her head snapped up. "Hm? Oh, time for potions, isn't it? Sorry..." She hurriedly stood up, dropping half her books in the process, and Ron bent down and helped her pick them up.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine. Everything's fine. I'm okay," she said quickly, in a rather higher voice than usual.

"You're lying," Ron stated quietly, stacking her books on the desk and straightening.

She looked up at him. "I..."

"We'll talk about it later," Ron muttered. "C'mon, let's get to Potions." He helped her up and they followed Harry out the door.

Ron was the first to enter the dungeon where they usually had potions, and his mouth dropped open in shock. It was...bright...and airy...and so...so un-Snape-ish.

The small windows near the stone ceiling had been opened, allowing the cool autumn air to filter into the dungeons, making it a much more fresh, less-dank atmosphere. Now everyone's attention had been drawn to this, and it wasn't until Dean Thomas cleared his throat loudly that they turned to see a rather short woman standing up in front of the class. Everyone immediately became silent and turned in their seats to face her. Of course, Harry, Ron, and Hermione recognized her from the train.

Professor McLellan sighed, and gave them a half-smile. "Right, I'm your new Potions master, and though I never was the best at it, Professor Dumbledore insisted that I take the job for at least one year. Fear not, your beloved Snape will return eventually." She smirked. "He'll be back sometime at the end of the year, I think." She smiled sweetly. "I know you all must miss him most terribly..."

The Slytherins in the room started muttering mutinously at this statement, obviously having caught the sarcasm. The Gryffindors, however, were positively delighted that Snape was gone for the moment. And Seamus Finnigan looked absolutely beside himself for some reason. He raised his hand. "Professor, where are you from?"

She grinned and slid up to sit facing them on her desk, swinging her feet idly. "Dublin, actually."

"Oh. That's where me Ma and Da live, too."

"'S a nice city," McLellan said thoughtfully. "Well, this year we're just going to be doing the basics. I s'pose we ought to start off today with something fast..." She picked up a book from her desk and flipped through the pages for a moment. "How about sleeping draughts? You must have done that in first year...Can't be too hard..." She snapped the book shut and looked at them all. "Call it a review, until I can get Professor Snape's lesson plan."

Every Gryffindor in the room was cheering inwardly, glad to be rid of Snape. Maybe seventh year wouldn't be so bad, after all...The Slytherins rolled their eyes, but obediently got out their cauldrons, making faces and muttering to each other. Malfoy, in particular, looked quite disgusted at having McLellan for a potions master. And then it occurred to Ron that she was also head of Slytherin house for the time being... But then, she would have had to have been in Slytherin...But that was impossible...

Ron shrugged it off and he, Hermione, and Harry began working on their potion. Hermione seemed to have recovered from her state of nerves after Defense class, and was now running her finger along the list of ingredients in the book, telling Harry what to add, as Ron carefully stirred the potion.

"Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing?" The professor's voice rang out across the dungeon, and the entire class turned to look. Malfoy had frozen in the position of getting ready to chuck something across the dungeon. Very slowly, he took his arm down and set the shrivelfig on the desk. Professor McLellan picked it up and looked at him. "You do know that these cause explosions when mixed with unicorn tail hair?"

Malfoy just stared mutinously up at her, and she gave him a tight smile. "Obviously so." She glanced at his cauldron, in which a bright blue potion was frothing madly. "And what's this? Shouldn't it be a more purple-ish color?"

Crabbe, who was sitting next to him, said, "I TOLD you we shouldn't've added so much dragon liver..."

Malfoy promptly turned around. "Shut UP!" he hissed.

"You know," McLellan said softly, and Malfoy turned around again. "Your father always managed to get his potions done properly. As I recall, he always got top marks." She met his glare squarely. "I doubt he'd be very impressed if he were to know that you cause trouble in this class."

"You don't know my father," Malfoy spat. "And you never did."

She crossed her arms defiantly. "Your father is Lucius Malfoy, your mother is Narcissa Mueren. I went to school with the both of them. Now, if you would be so kind as to turn around and fix your potion, I would be ever so grateful."

Malfoy finally broke the staring contest and turned angrily back to his cauldron. Professor McLellan, apparently satisfied with this, resumed her path around the tables, checking on various students and answering questions.

Ron sniggered and looked up at Harry and Hermione. "Well...THAT was interesting, wasn't it?"

Harry was busy measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, but he grinned just the same. "I think I'm beginning to like Potions."

***

Harry knocked quietly on the large wooden door to Lupin's office, and was greeted with the familiar, "Come in!"

Several stacks of thick books were now occupying the space where the grindylow tank had been, but other than that, the office still looked the same. Professor Lupin smiled at Harry as he shut the door behind him. "So, how've you been?"

"Oh, well enough," Harry said, sitting in a nearby chair. "Sirius has picked out a house, and I'm going to go help him move in sometime over the Christmas holidays."

Lupin smiled. "That's great. So, I take it he had help?"

"Mrs. Weasley."

"Ah," he nodded. "Well, that's probably for the better, knowing ol' Padfoot..."

Harry grinned. "We'll have it in a state of complete chaos after about a week."

"I don't doubt it," Lupin muttered, smiling. "Now, to the point: I know you've been through the Unforgiveables lessons far too many times for comfort, and I know you don't want to go through it again. So, I was thinking that when I went over them, you could go and study in the library, if you like. Do a research project or something, perhaps."

Harry sighed. "That'd be great...You've no idea how...Well, how much I hate...Well, you know..."

Lupin nodded. "I didn't particularly want to teach it. Dumbledore insisted, though. Said he needed as many capable teachers as possible, in case...Well, in case of accidents."

Harry sighed again. "Why d'you suppose he's been waiting so long?"

"Well, did you expect him to attack when he was weak? You may not have noticed it, Harry, but the entire magical community has gradually gone downhill. The dementors are still putting up a great show of being loyal to the ministry, but they're ready to leave whenever they're given the opportunity. Voldemort has many supporters, and not all of them are obvious, as we well know..." He grimaced. "At least Hagrid got to the giants in time..."

Harry nodded, and both were silent for some time. Finally, Lupin interrupted: "Would you like some tea? I was just going to make some..."

"Déjà vu..." Harry muttered, and Lupin laughed.

"Yes, well..."

"So," Harry said, taking the tea Lupin offered, "you know Professor McLellan?"

Lupin visibly stiffened. "Yes. She...went to school with me."

"She said in potions today that she knew Lucius Malfoy."

Lupin sighed. "She did...She was in Slytherin, after all."

Harry set down his teacup with a clatter. "She was in Slytherin?"

"Well, yes," Lupin said mildly. "Don't look so shocked..."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry...I just didn't expect that..." He was quiet, thinking, for a few moments. Then something occurred to him. "So...If she knew you, then...She knew my parents?"

Lupin sighed. "Well, yes...Your mother, in particular, thought a lot of her." Lupin sighed again, his face clouding over. "Well...I've not spoken to Fi-Professor McLellan in years, and I certainly did not expect her to be teaching here. So I was a tad shocked yesterday when I ran into her in the entrance hall..." He glanced at his watch. "Well, you've got Care of Magical Creatures in about ten minutes, and if you want to run up to your dormitory, I'd suggest you go now." He stood and opened the door for him.

Harry had the impression that there was a subject the Professor was avoiding. "Why haven't you spoken to her in so long?"

Lupin paused and stared vaguely at the floor. "Long story."

Yep. He was definitely avoiding something. And Harry had a pretty good guess why. "Alright, then. Thanks for letting me skip the Unforgiveables..."

"Of course," Lupin said, looking up at him. Well, good luck with the skrewts..." He smiled. "Sirius said you complained endlessly about them in your letters. Do you suppose Hagrid's still keeping them?"

"Oh, I hope not..." Harry muttered. "I thought we were DONE with those..."

***

Chapter 10

The rest of the classes were relatively normal, save one minor alteration in Charms--they had an assistant teacher. By the name of Cho Chang. And, Hermione discovered, Harry still had it bad for her.

Ron kept sniggering at Harry, and though Hermione tried to make him stop, spent most of the class period teasing him. Harry seemed not to notice, though, so Hermione merely sighed and went back to her note- taking, occasionally sending Ron a Leave-Him-Alone look, which, of course, he ignored.

After class, Harry stopped to talk to Cho, and Hermione pulled Ron out into the hallway, elbowing him to make him stop laughing. "You leave him alone..."

"Aw, c'mon, Hermione," Ron laughed. "He didn't leave me alone back in the summer before fifth year..."

Hermione stared. "before fifth year? THAT long ago?"

Ron went a bit red around the ears. "Well, he didn't."

Hermione sighed. And to think she'd had to wait a whole year before Ron finally plucked up enough courage to ask her to Hogsmeade...

Ron turned around, ignoring Hermione's giggling attempts to make him stop, and shouted, "Oy, Harry! You

done yet?"

"RON!" Hermione said, tugging on his arm and grinning. "Leave him be...He'll come down to dinner when he feels like it."

"Oh, I know," Ron said. "I'm just doing this to annoy him."

"Well, you're annoying ME, and we don't want that, now, do we? Come on, let's get something to eat."

Harry arrived in the Great Hall about ten minutes after Hermione and Ron had, and looked positively thrilled with himself. He sat down across from Ron, who leaned over the table and muttered, "So?"

Harry broke into a grin. "I've got a date!"

While Ron and Harry exclaimed over this, Hermione couldn't help but disapprove slightly. Cho was, after all, a teacher, not a student. Yes, she was only a year older than Harry, but still...Well, it wasn't an action Hermione would take, anyway...Hermione didn't know much about Cho, except that she was a very good seeker, and, apparently, was beautiful and popular and intelligent (according to Harry, anyway...). Hermione sighed. Well, she had Ron, he had her, and Harry had no one. So it was probably a good thing that he had a date. Maybe it would take his mind off of Voldemort's uprising...

"So, when is this date?" Ron asked, grinning.

"Tomorrow night."

"Where're you going?"

"Hogsmeade; she says she can get special permission." He paused. "What are you two going to do?"

"Oh." Ron glanced at Hermione. "What d'you want to do now that he's abandoning us?"

"Well..." Hermione shrugged. "I dunno...Play chess?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "We'll figure something out," he told Harry, grinning.

***

Harry walked rather casually to the library. Only one more hour until he went with Cho to Hogsmeade... Only one. And he got to spend it in the library! Granted, he was still doing work for class, but at least he wouldn't have to endure another class period watching the clock as he listened to long, rather boring lectures...

Harry yawned, sitting in one of the rickety oak chairs near a large window at the back of the library. He chose this particular spot only to avoid Madam Pince's staring--he honestly wondered WHY a woman like that would want to work in a SCHOOL if she hated having children around--and busied himself with a book Hermione had reccomended: "The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."

He'd never thought to read it before, and now that he was, he wondered why he bothered to waste his time speculating about all of this as he had for so long, when it was readily available right there in the library...Hermione and her endless discussion about books deserved more credit than they got...

There he was. Harry blinked at his own name, which appeared more than once on the page he was reading. He skimmed through it and frowned--it made him sound like...Well...Something Professor Binns would lecture about. It was utterly unreal, there on the page. Just another chapter with famous names in it. It held no real meaning.

And there was Voldemort.

Son of Tom Riddle, the Muggle, and daughter to...Violet White, the witch. Harry wondered vaguely whether she'd gone to Hogwarts. There weren't any records, as far as he knew...He'd just have to ask someone. He didn't know quite why it was important to him, but it was. Maybe just so he could make sure Voldemort DIDN'T have any relatives left. Not that Harry didn't trust Dumbledore...He just wanted to be sure...

For the time being, though, he stored the name Violet White in his brain and set down "The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts," bored. There were only about twenty minutes left in class, and he really needed to reply to the owl Sirius had sent him...He'd wait 'til tomorrow for the records.

And yet...

"Madam Pince?"

The librarian looked up sharply, not bothering to disguise a glare as she snapped her book shut. "What?"

"Uhm...Are there...records of the students who attended school here?" he asked carefully.

She eyed him beadily and nodded. "In the back, near the restricted section. Why?"

"I'm doing a research project," Harry said quickly. Well, it was true, wasn't it?

She stared at him hard for a moment longer, making him exceedingly uncomfortable, and then stood up and walked around her desk, leading him into the back of the library. There was a rather small side room full of, well, books, and in the center was a large wooden podium with what had to have been the thickest book Harry had ever seen. It was at least one foot thick, maybe more, and the worn leather cover sported a huge, fiery opal, about the size of the glass in a hand-mirror.

Madam Pince blew a layer of dust off the top and looked at him. "It is indestructable, so I'm not too worried that you'll ruin it, but I do want you to watch what you're doing..."

Harry nodded. "These are the records?"

She sighed exhasperatedly. "Yes. Look." She turned to the book, looked into the opal, and said, "Potter, Harry."

The book's cover snapped open, and the pages flipped violently as though being blown by a very strong wind. Suddenly it stopped, and when Harry looked closer, he saw his name, birthday, and his parents' names, all written in miniscule writing. The heading at the top of the page was "Magical Births--1980"

Madam Pince cleared her throat, and Harry, startled, looked up at her. "I'll check back with you in a few moments. Don't touch anything--just say the name and it will find it." And with that she scurried out of the room.

Harry turned back to the book. "Weasley, Ron."

The pages flipped for a few seconds, and Ron's name came up, next to October 4, and Molly Connor and Arthur Weasley.

"Granger, Hermione." September 19, Cassandra Johnson and Paul Granger.

He thought for a moment. "Riddle, Tom." December 31, Violet White and Tom Riddle.

"Violet White." December 7, Elise Corren and Fred White.

"Fred White." February 18, Mary Kelley and Albert White.

"Albert White." Nothing.

"Okay...Mary Kelley, then." May 8, Alice Burns and Johnathan Ellis.

This went on for some time as Harry kept notes on a spare bit of parchment, drawing up a sort of family tree. Finally, he got to Johnathan Ellis' parents, Margaret and Tom, and yet there was no record of any other siblings of Johnathan, who was about as far back as Harry could get without suffering severe confusion. Dumbledore had done all this--why was he bothering? But then something occurred to him: What if Voldemort's only living relative was a Muggle? No one would ever know that they were related, really, because magical records wouldn't show Muggles...

Harry sighed and looked down at the book. Well, it was something, anyway. He had most of Voldemort's family tree written down, and now if he could just verify that that was ALL there was to it... "I wish you showed siblings," he muttered.

The book, which had still been pointing to Johnathan Ellis, suddenly started flipping its pages violently to the very back, and here the heading was, "Graduated."

And there, in the middle of the page, was Johnathan Ellis, and next to his name was "Siblings: none"

Well, that was something.

Maybe he was running in circles. He kept trying to tell himself that it was extremly likely that he was merely doing extra work--Dumbledore must have already gone through with all of this. And yet, there was something bothering him...And he wasn't sure why...It was as if something was crouching in the shadows of his mind, and refused to come out, and he couldn't shed any light on it at all...

He glanced at the clock. About five minutes until his date with Cho...He needed to pack up his supplies. He left the small room that held the book of records and started shoving his various bottles of ink and rolls of parchment, all the while thinking hard...

***

"Okay," Ron said, shutting the broom shed's door behind him and shouldering his Nimbus 2001. "Right. Now, you can't very well be a witch if you can't even fly on a broomstick, can you?"

Hermione crossed her arms, the breeze lifting her hair slightly in the dim evening. "I took flying in first year, just like you did. And Harry."

"Yeah, only you never actually got more than four feet in the air, did you?" Ron said, grinning. "C'mon, it's not going to kill you..."

"Actually..." Hermione muttered, but trailed off, obviously realizing he was ignoring her. Which he was.

"Who knows?" Ron muttered after a moment of adjusting the tail-twigs. "You might actually need to know this someday. I mean, it could be important. What if it was an emergency?"

"I'd Apparate," she muttered sullenly. "Ron, why--?"

He'd shoved the broomstick into her arms. "This is much better than the school ones; it should be easy."

He waited for a moment, watching her stare, bewildered, at the broomstick, and sighed. "You hold onto the handle--that's the long wooden part--and then you swing one leg over it and--"

"I KNOW, Ron."

"Then why aren't you DOING anything?"

"I'm...I don't want to."

"Scared?"

"Y--No."

He laughed. "You are, arent' you?"

"No," Hermione said defiantly. "I'm not afraid. After all, it's only flying, and I've read loads of tips for it, after all."

"Then fly."

"No," she whined. "Ron, I don't WANT to..."

He looked at her, smiling slightly and crossing his arms. "Are you going to make me ride with you?"

"No, I--"

He grabbed the broomstick back and sat down on it, raising it a few feet off the ground. "C'mon." He offered her a hand.

She looked at him as if he were insane. "Ron, we'll be too heavy."

"Nah," he said, grabbing her wrist. "Look, I'm not going to drag you up here--climb up."

Hesitantly, Hermione climbed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Ron, I really don't know if this is a good idea, I mean--"

He ignored her babbling for a moment, then turned the handle of the broom straight up in the air--

"Ron, this isn't going to work, we're too heavy and we'll faAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--!"

He laughed as that last word ended in a yell and she tightened her grip around his waist, almost cutting off his breath. He let out a whoop and did a few sharp turns, and then, grinning rather evilly (A/N: Give him a break, guys, he's a teenaged boy...^_^), took a dive from about twenty feet in the air, causing a rather high-pitched shriek to issue from behind him as he pulled away from the ground just in time.

He finally evened out the flight at about twenty feet from the ground, refraining from dives and loop-the-loops. Being too high to crash into anything, he turned around slightly and glanced at the top of Hermione's head. "You okay?"

She looked up as he turned back around to steer. "I'm...I'm okay...That was..." He felt her shudder slightly. "That was...fairly amazing."

"Oh, just fairly? I'm hurt..." He landed rather hard, catching them with his feet and allowing the both of them to climb off. "Okay, your turn."

"What? No, Ron, I don't think--"

"Aw, go on."

Hesitantly, she took the broomstick. "I'll fall..."

"No, you won't." She opened her mouth to argue, and he sighed. "Look, let's pretend it's an emergency. You can't Apparate yet, and Harry and I are going to die. The only way you can get help is by broomstick--"

"Ron, that's just stupid. There is no situation where--"

"JUST work with me here," he interrupted, grinning at her. "So you have to fly on a broomstick in order to save us. But you don't know how, do you? So now what?"

"Ron, this is beyond idiotic..." she looked at him and sighed. "Oh, fine, then."

She brought her leg up over the broomstick and gripped the handle so hard it made her knuckles turn white. She swallowed roughly and glanced at him. "I can't do this..."

He grinned. "I'll borrow another broom from the shed. We can fly together."

***

"So, Harry," Cho said, grinning at him and pushing her shiny black hair behind her ears, "how are your classes?"

"Oh, pretty good," Harry said nervously, trying to find some way of making intelligent conversation. "I like having Professor Lupin back."

"Yes, he's nice, isn't he?" Cho said softly. Then she grinned. "Isn't it nice not to have Professor Snape teaching Potions?"

Harry laughed, feeling much more relaxed. "Yeah, really. I don't know much about Professor McLellan, but she seems awfully nice, and she's not Snape, so I've got no problem with her..."

Cho nodded. "So I heard you get to skip Defense?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I get to do research in the library. That's about it."

"What are you researching?"

Harry thought for a moment. Was it...WISE...to discuss this with her? Well...She WAS a teacher...And he DID trust her, after all... "Vo--sorry--You-Know-Who's family. It just made me nervous..."

Cho's face clouded over. "Yes..." she muttered. "I understand why it would..." She looked up. "Is there any living relative?"

"Not that I can find," Harry muttered. "Dumbledore says there isn't, and he's probably right, it's just that I'm...I dunno...paranoid, maybe."

She smiled lightly. "You're not paranoid, Harry. You've got every reason to want to check up on that..."

"Thanks, I guess..." Harry said.

Cho leaned across the table in a conspiriatoral manner. "So...Did you find anything interesting?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I traced it back pretty far..." He pulled the crumpled bit of parchment from his pockets and showed it to her, tracing his fingers along the lines, until it came to Johnathan Ellis.

"This is as far as it went. It said he didn't have any siblings, but I wonder if that's wrong..."

"Did you use the record book in the library?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah..."

"Well, that's never wrong...I don't think, anyway..." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Hmmm..." Suddenly, her face lit up and she snapped her fingers. "Aha! What if...Well, maybe not..."

"What?"

"Well, what if they were, you know, a squib, or something?"

Harry shook his head. "They'd still be listed under siblings, wouldn't they?"

Cho smiled triumphantly. "What if they were, like, given up for adoption or something, though? Wouldn't that legally keep them from being considered siblings?"

Harry's eyes widened. "You know...you're probably right..."

Cho grinned. "See? I'm not the mindless idiot most people think I am..."

"I don't think you're a mindless idiot," Harry muttered, smiling.

"Thanks," she said brightly. "Shall we get some butterbeer?"

As Madam Rosmerta set down the tankards in front of them, Harry's mind was reeling. Okay, so if Cho was right--and it was quite likely that she was--then the living heir would be a Muggle. And unlisted. So Dumbledore wouldn't have known at all...But how on earth was Harry supposed to figure out who it was?

"So," Cho said softly, interrupting his thoughts, "How's your friend? You know, the red-haired one?"

"Oh, Ron's good," Harry said. "He's always worried about Hermione, though."

Cho nodded. "Yes, that was rather odd, that whole thing about Hermione, wasn't it? I mean, why would the Death Eaters want her?"

Something clicked in Harry's brain, and the thing that had been hidden in shadows suddenly was flooded in brilliantly bright light.

And he promptly fell out of his chair.

Hermione was Muggle-born. The other side of Voldemort's family tree was made up of Muggles. And Hermione had to have had some magic SOMEWHERE in her family, in order to have inherited the traits and become a witch... "Oh, God..."

"What is it? What's wrong?" Cho asked worriedly, helping him up. "Are you alright? Does your...Does your scar hurt or something?" she asked nervously.

"No, no, it's not that..." Harry murmured. "It's just...Hermione's Muggle-born, and..."

Cho's eyes widened. "Oh...Wow...So that's why...?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I think so..." He glanced at her. "You won't tell anyone yet, will you? I think I ought to discuss it with her first, don't you?"

Cho nodded quickly. "Of course! Wow..."

Harry slapped a few coins on the table. "D'you mind if we head home now? I'm kind of anxious to tell Ron and Hermione about this..."

"Sure," Cho said amiably. "Madam Rosmerta! We're done..."

***

"That's it!" Ron yelled from across the field. "You've got it! Now, just turn the handle up a bit--yes, that's it exactly!"

Hermione giggled to herself, involuntarily enjoying the giddiness, and the soaring feeling in her stomach. Without meaning to, she let out a little whoop as she soared upward about ten feet, making Ron laugh. "What?" she laughed, glancing down the field.

"You're doing great!" he called. "But it's getting a bit dark, don't you think?"

"Okay," Hermione said, gliding as gracefully as she could manage to the ground, and stumbling as her feet hit the grass. Laughing, she dismounted and jogged over to the broom shed, where Ron was storing his broomstick. She leaned hers up in its proper place and grinned at Ron. "Thanks for teaching me," she muttered.

"Well, sure," he said softly, shutting and locking the broom shed door. "You were doing great by the end, you know."

"Well, at least I don't have to constantly worry about how to save you and Harry if ever there arose an occasion where I could only escape by broomstick..." She giggled. "That was really lame, Ron."

"Yeah, I know," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked up to the castle. "But you would have, wouldn't you? Gone for help, I mean."

Hermione sighed. "Ron, I would've gotten on the stupid broomstick regardless of whether or not I knew how to use it. I probably would have fallen flat on my face just TRYING, but..."

He smiled and his arm slid down from her shoulder to her waist. "Thanks, 'Mione."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Least I could do..."

***

Chapter 11

Hermione woke up slowly, in the light-purple room, soft, gray winter sunlight streaming through the lavender-colored curtains, which were drawn shut gently. She sat up and slid to the edge of her bed, dangling her tiny feet over the floor, grinning to herself. That sense of absolute giddiness came about her, just thinking about Christmas morning...What had Santa brought? Hopefully that set of Madeline L'Engle books she'd asked for...

She slid off the bed, adjusting her pajama pants (the pink ones with the little purple stars), and very carefully let the door creak open. Her little feet barely made any noise as they descended the stairs and turned into her parents' room. On one side, her Dad's muffled snoring could be heard, and on the other, a frizzled mass of brown hair was just visible.

Hermione giggled and, with some effort, as she was quite small, climbed up on the large bed and stumbled across the mattress, trying to avoid stray limbs under the sheets. She flumped down between the two slumbering forms, shaking the bed, and both woke up with groggy groaning noises.

"Hermione, sweetie, I think it's a bit early, don't you?" came her Mum's voice, rather muffled by the pillow. "What time is it, Paul?"

"Five-thirty," came the equally muffled and groggy reply. "Sweetheart, why don't you go back to bed for another hour or so–"

"Aw, Paul, it's Christmas," her Mum said, stretching and sitting up. "C'mon, we can get up early." She stifled a laugh as she took in Hermione's appearance. "Look at her, honey, she's obviously not going to be able to go back to sleep!"

Hermione grinned and bounced up and down on the springy mattress until her father relented and sat up as well. Then, with a cheer, she slid off the bed and tottered into the living room, her parents following behind, muttering something about making some nice strong tea.

There were the books, as expected, and a pretty china doll, as well as a pretty little silver locket, which, upon closer inspection, contained a picture taken the previous summer of herself and her parents at the beach one Sunday. Hermione had only been five at the time...She slid it around her neck and her mum did the clasp for her.

"Thanks, Mum..." Hermione threw her little arms around her mother's neck, taking in the smell of roses–it was from the pretty-smelling bath oil she used. Sometimes, when she got the chance, she'd put a drop or so in her bath. Letting go, she proceeded to hug her father as well, giggling as he tickled her, and then let go to let her move on to the presents under the tree...

As she sat by the fire later that evening, flipping through A Wrinkle in Time, she couldn't help but think to herself that it had been quite possibly the best Christmas she'd had in ages. Not that she could remember much, being only six years old. But it had been simply wonderful.

And then she woke up.

Hermione sat up abruptly in bed, the smell of rose oil and the fireplace still vividly teasing her senses. She looked around, half-expecting her lavender-colored room, or maybe to have woken up next to the fire with her books...But instead she could see the dark red velvet hangings of her four-poster bed. In Gryffindor tower. And her parents were dead, and her house was burned to the ground...Even the locket was gone.

She was concentrating hard on refraining from sobbing–she didn't want to make noise. Hot tears stung at her eyes and began spilling down her cheeks, though she made no sound. She didn't want to wake Lavender or Parvati, or they'd be sympathetic, and she'd cry even more. But she couldn't just stay there...She had to get up. Where she had to go, she didn't know. She only knew she couldn't stay in her dormitory.

She padded down the stairs, trying in vain to ignore the horrible sense of déjà vu, and plopped down on the couch, shoulders shaking slightly. She'd not told anyone how badly she missed them. She hadn't wanted to worry Ron or Harry, or indeed anyone, and she didn't want sympathy. But she missed them so badly...It hurt so much.

It probably wouldn’t be that hurtful if it weren’t a few days before Christmas. There was to be a Yule Ball-type dance on Christmas. They didn’t call it outright "the Yule Ball" since it was technically a tradition reserved for the Triwizard Tournament, but it was very similar, Hermione thought. Basically, all of Hogwarts above the age of thirteen was staying over the holidays just to go the stupid thing. Ron hadn’t asked her yet, but she had a pretty good idea that he would. And hopefully it would be a bit less fitful than last time…

But that wasn’t what concerned her right now. It was nearly Christmas, and her parents were dead. So she was miserable.

She settled herself down on the couch and sighed, curling up and trying to be as small as possible. Maybe she could sleep out here, where she was away from the memories. Well, as much as she could be. She closed her eyes, her last sight being the embers glowing in the fireplace. And she drifted off to sleep again…

She was in her room again, an essay on Animagi in front of her, yellowish parchment curling up at the ends. Wait, this was familiar…

Crookshanks mewed quietly and leaped up into her lap. Hermione smiled, setting down her quill as she pondered the next sentence. Suddenly, the cat made a low, guttural sound and jumped off Hermione’s lap, digging his back claws into her thigh as he did so.

"Ow," Hermione muttered, examining the small cuts on her leg. "Crookshanks, what–?"

But the cat had promptly scurried out of the room and down the stairs. Standing up from her chair, Hermione followed him down to the landing, and then to the front door, where he mewed loudly. Curious as to why he needed to be outside at that particular moment, but not wanting to experience more scratching, she opened the front door and Crookshanks streaked past her into the night.

Hermione closed the door, curious about what exactly had prompted the cat to leave, but forgetting it as the phone rang. It was Auriela, a younger girl from the next block over, who Hermione had known for ages. Auriela was one of her few friends outside of Hogwarts, and apparently was anxious to see her after her trip to Spain. After a few minutes of the usual "how are you"s, Hermione invited her over, and then headed into the kitchen to investigate what was available for snacks. There was a light knock on the door.

‘That’s Auriela,’ Hermione thought. ‘Well, that was fast…’ "Mum, would you get that, please?"

Then, not thirty seconds later, she froze as she heard her Mum scream. And her Dad yelled, "Hermione! Get out of the house! NOW!"

Everything seemed to slow down, and Hermione sprinted out of the kitchen, ignoring the instructions she’d received. There were yells and screams coming from the other room, and pushing open the dining room door, she saw something that made her heart stop. There were at least a dozen Death Eaters, and they were pushing something heavy-looking out the front door and…laughing…

Hermione felt herself retch, and turned to run, but then one of them turned a hooded face and saw her, and she turned around and ran for the back door. But, of course, it had to be locked. And the lock had to be stuck. She could hear one of them coming up behind her and starting to yell a curse, and she screamed "ALOHOMORA!" at the lock, which promptly clicked (she had no time to marvel at the fact that she hadn’t even used her wand), and she slammed into the door and ran outside into the summery night.

Yells issued from the house, and she could see flames dancing outside the windows on the second story. She turned back around and tried to run into the next yard to ask for help, but she knew the neighbors were out of town on vacation, so they wouldn’t be there. The next house had a huge yard and was farther away, but she could make it if she ran quickly enough–but then, she couldn’t run very quickly…She had to try. She set off, tripping over her own feet in fear and the kind of life-or-death desperation that must have been so familiar to Harry, but was almost completely unknown to her.

She tripped, cutting her knee on a small, sharp stone, and then stood up again, ignoring the pulsating pain in her leg. She started to run, but it hurt, and she could feel blood running down her shin from the cut…She could still make it. She had to. But then someone lunged at her from behind and caused her to go careening into the grass, screaming.

Looking up, she saw a glint of silver in the shape of what she recognized as a hand. Hadn’t Harry mentioned that Wormtail…?

She stopped thinking of it as the silver hand pulled out a long dagger. This was a surprise, as Hermione had merely expected the Avada Kedavra curse. Instead, she cried out as the hooded figure swiped the blade against her cheek, bloodying it, and stood up, looking down at her.

She mumbled the only spell that came to mind at the time–a silly, useless, and most likely false protection spell–and the figure backed away, looking annoyed. He pointed his wand at her, sending a flame spell, but it only barely managed to lick her skin. She yelled again, extremely glad through the pain for the rather meager protection the shielding charm apparently offered, and watched as the Death Eater just left to join the others. He walked up to them, showing the bloody knife and murmuring something. Then he turned to one of them that was holding a burlap bag which seemed to contain a squirming animal of some sort, said something Hermione didn’t hear, and then the entire troop Disapparated. And then Auriela showed up, about thirty seconds later (or was it longer? She couldn’t tell…), looking panicked and afraid, and murmuring to Hermione as she blacked out, still murmuring that ridiculous charm…

Whimpering, Hermione sat up, blinking furiously as she tried to ascertain her surroundings. The couch, Gryffindor common room, at Hogwarts… Okay…It’s okay, Hermione, don’t be stupid. You’re back at Hogwarts and everything’s okay now…For heavens’ sake, don’t be a dolt.

She’d been having this nightmare for ages, and no matter how often she went through it, it was always terrifying and horrible, and it always played all the way through in her mind, and no matter what she did she couldn’t stop it, and she couldn’t change it. Her dreams were haunted with the Dark Mark and Death Eaters, and her mother’s scream…

She heard rather loud footsteps on the stairs and quieted her whimpering. She needn’t worry anyone with this nonsense of nightmares…Although, this was not exactly something she’d just dreamed up. It had actually happened, and that made it even worse than the most horrific fictional nightmares.

Glancing over the back of the couch towards the staircases to the boys' and girls' dormitories, she saw a tousle-haired, yawning Ron. He stretched his long arms over his head, and froze in that fairly ridiculous position as he spotted her. "Oh, didn't know you were up. It's late–why're you still awake?"

Hermione shrugged. "Couldn't sleep, I guess," she said, wishing her voice sounded less frightened. Ron had caught on; she knew he would.

***

Ron raised an eyebrow. He'd come down originally because he couldn't sleep. He'd gotten an uneasy sort of feeling in his stomach and decided to come down and ask the nearest house elf for a cup of tea or something. Mind, he often felt uneasy after Harry had informed him that it was very likely that Hermione was related to Voldemort. Hermione had taken it with a rather surprisingly calm attitude, but later Ron had found her crying out by the lake.

He'd assured her that everything would be all right, and that he didn't care whom she was related to. After all, she wasn't Voldemort, and neither were her parents. That had seemed to help a bit. It made Ron's blood boil to know all that she'd been through. Hermione had lost her home and her parents, was in top classes and expected to get top marks, had just found out that she might be related to possibly the most dark and evil wizard ever in existence, and now she was having to deal with Christmas without her Mum and Dad. From now on.

And now she was sitting, curled up on the couch nearest the fireplace, hugging herself for warmth and whimpering as quietly as she could manage. She obviously didn’t want him to worry about her, but she was scared about something.Though, Ron noted, she had a lot to be scared of, really. She looked up at him, doing her best to give him a smile. "R-Ron, what are you doing down here?"

"I needed a cuppa tea," Ron said, letting his hands hang down by his sides. "You okay?" What kind of stupid question was that? Of course she wasn't...

"Oh, I'm fine," Hermione said, voice quavering slightly. Her lip trembled and she looked away.

So he just settled himself next to her on the couch and looked at her. "Feel like talking?"

She shook her head quickly. "Not…Not particularly."

He raised an eyebrow. "’Mione, you’re shaking. You can’t just keep it to yourself–please tell me."

She stared at him for a moment, as if deciding what to do at this point, and then nodded. "Okay," she whispered. He slid an arm around her shoulders, scooting closer so that she could lean up against him. She sighed deeply. "I was remembering... I was remembering Christmas when I was about six. And Mum and Dad." Her lip trembled, and Ron was sure she'd start crying. She wiped her eyes furiously, but didn't. "I...Ron, I just miss them. So much. And lately...it's been so hard to keep from crying, and I'm really tired of it all."

Ron sighed and leaned his head on hers. "I know."

"But that’s not all." She seemed to be steeling herself up for what she said next. "I’ve been having these horrible nightmares…About the night my parents died. Over and over and over again. They never stop. And it’s so scary, Ron, it’s just dreadful. I can’t stop it, no matter what, and it always is the same. And it scares me so much…" She glared at the fireplace, self-disgust evident in her voice. "And I hate that I’m scared. I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’ll just make you get all over-protective and I don’t want to be treated like that. I can’t have you two feel like you have to rescue me all the time."

Ron wasn’t quite sure what to say to this. He knew that while Hermione wanted to be recognized as a girl, she didn’t want the whole Damsel-In-Distress bit that came with it. Obviously she didn’t want he and Harry to worry about her, or to get neurotic about her safety. He hadn’t realized she had been having nightmares…She’d told him once about the horrible happenings of that night, but the details were left out, and to dream it over and over again had to be simply…well…nightmarish.

Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed rather raggedly. "I’m scared to go to sleep, you know," she muttered, obviously having pondered whether to say this or not.

"Well, you need to sleep. Maybe you should head back up to your dormitory…"

"No, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be alone right now." She shivered and he tightened his grip around her shoulders.

"Well, I’ll stay with you here, if you like." Oh, as if you’d let her out of your sight now that she’s told you all that, you great prat. She’s right–you ARE a marshmallow. Just don’t let on that you’re scared for her or she’ll get annoyed.

"Thank you," she muttered quietly. "But please…Don’t go and tell Harry, okay? I don’t want you two getting all…Well…The way you tend to get. Just don’t. I don’t need to cause any worry to anyone."

"Well, we have to worry. We care about you, as corny as that may sound."

Hermione managed a small smile and sighed. "Honestly, Ron, I dunno what I’d do without you two."

He smiled slightly and sighed. "Likewise…I hate to see you suffer like this, though" he muttered to the top of her head. "I wish there was some way I could help you, or make it easier for you. Unfortunately, I’m just me, and I can’t. All I can do is…well…be me and try to make it a little easier, even if it is only a little. I may be contradictory and annoying, but I do love you." Hermione snuggled closer in response. "’Mione?" No response. She was asleep.

Ron sighed, wrapping his arms around her, and closed his eyes, hoping everything would be better in the morning.

***

Ron woke up next to the now smoldering fire to a faint tapping noise on the window. Carefully removing himself from Hermione's grip and laying her gently back down on the couch, he stretched and let the owl inside. It was from his father, and as he opened it, a small charm fell out, followed by a silver chain. It slid into his hand like liquid, falling open in the process and revealing a picture of a small, bushy-haired girl he recognized as probably a five-year-old Hermione, and two smiling people who could only be her parents. Setting this aside, Ron opened the letter curiously.

Well. This was an interesting development. He wasn't sure exactly what to do about it–he was going to give it to her, of course, but he didn't want to get her upset right now, not after she'd been dreaming the night before about her parents...

He realized with a start that it was the day before Christmas Eve. He’d ask Hermione to the not-quite-Yule Ball as soon as she woke up. And then he’d go to breakfast. Yes, that sounded good. Maybe afterwards they could go play out in the snow–they had obviously acquired a good three inches overnight, and that added to the leftover snowfall from last week culminated in perfect snowball fighting conditions.

Ron was vaguely wondering what time it was when Ginny came hurtling through the portrait hole, a roll of parchment clutched in one hand, the Daily Prophet in the other, and a frantically scared expression on her little freckled face. After a half-second of wondering what on earth was wrong, Ron managed to find his voice: "Ginny!"

She stopped just at the foot of the stairs to her dormitory and turned to face him, looking somewhere between relieved and frantic. "Ron, oh, you won’t believe this, Ron, it’s just…Oh no oh no oh no…" She crammed the article into his hands and clamped one small hand over her mouth, brown eyes wide. Ron, curious and with a sense of definite foreboding, scanned the article.

Ron promptly went into a fit of swearing. There was a soft noise over on the couch and Hermione sat up. "Ron, what–?"

"Dammit! Oh, for the love of–What are we supposed to–What of Mum and Dad–What the hell do they mean by ‘hopes to recover’? What the hell?"

He promptly flew into another spell of swearing loudly. Hermione curiously grabbed the article from his shaking hand and read it, eyes wide. "B–Bill’s been taken?" she whispered.

Ron had now managed to calm down enough to only mutter under his breath, taking shallow, quick breaths. "My God…" He looked up. "Ginny…Ginny, you’d best owl Mum and Dad. I know they’ll have read the article already, but…"

Ginny nodded, looking as though she’d gone into a sort of shock. "Right…" She vaguely waved the bit of parchment she had clutched in her hand. "That’s what this is for. I’ll…I’ll go write home."

She slowly started up the stairs and Ron, suddenly dizzy, swayed for a moment and then collapsed into a nearby chair (which had been hastily directed there by Hermione’s wand). She practically flew over to his chair and sat on the armrest uncertainly. "Ron, are…are you okay? I mean, of course you aren’t, but…I mean…"

"I know what you mean," Ron said honestly. "I just…" He began another string of cursing, but quieted it at the cringing look on Hermione’s face. "What…What are we going to do? I mean…"

"Ron…" Hermione sighed. "Ron, there’s nothing we can do just now. We’ll find a way, but as for right now…" She squeezed his hand gently. "He’s not dead, Ron, or at least it’s highly unlikely."

He refrained from making a bitter comment–this wasn’t Hermione’s fault. "How d’you know?"

Hermione shivered. "Well…I think I’ve an idea as to why Voldemort"–Ron flinched–"attacked that particular bank."

"Why?" Ron asked, genuinely curious.

"Well…" Hermione said softly. "They tried my house, but for some reason I escaped. They tried your house, didn’t they? And no one was there. They’re looking for some way to get to me, and since I’m at Hogwarts, they can’t as of now. Dumbledore put a special charm on the cottage your Mum and Dad are staying in so that Voldemort can’t find them,"–Ron forgot to flinch over the name, as this last bit confused him; he’d not heard about this–"so he had to go to the only Weasley that wasn’t staying in your house at the time, and wasn’t wandering around Romania, unable to be found. He just is doing this to get to me. Or Harry. Or both."

Ron gritted his teeth. "Well, don’t I feel like the fifth wheel, then. I’m just here to provide ways to piss you two off?" He laughed bitterly. "Oh, good, I knew I was here for something. Glad to know I’m useful."

"Ron, please…"

He glanced back at Hermione and softened a bit at the pleading expression on her face. "Sorry, ‘Mione…It’s just that…Well, the least he could do is have some issue with me before he starts taking my relatives hostage."

"Ron, might I remind you that neither Harry nor I has any close relatives left for him to take? He’s set on getting at us somehow, and you’re the only way…"

"That’s…Well, don’t get me started."

She shook her head. "Ron, I’m so sorry…This is all my fault…Mine and Harry’s. It shouldn’t have happened to your family; you had nothing to do with it. It’s all because you know us–Harry and I. I just…I wish…"

"…we’d never met?" Ron finished. "What, that Quirrel hadn’t ever let that great ugly troll in? That we’d never done our homework together or watched Harry play Quidditch or–or–or any of the trips to Hogsmeade? Or that first time we ever went to the Halloween Feast together? Hermione, I hate Volde–" He stopped and swallowed, but decided to go through with it. He closed his eyes. "I hate…Voldemort. I wish he’d never been born. No, more than that I want to kill him. I wish we already had killed him. It would make all our lives so much easier. Unfortunately, he exists, and for whatever reason feels that it’s necessary to torture the three of us, as well as everyone else in his way. That’s no reason to wish we’d never met. For heaven’s sake, Hermione," he said, looking at her, "at least enjoy the few good things we’ve got…"

Ron realized he’d been sitting so painfully straight in the chair that it had cramped his back up, and he collapsed back into it, head spinning. Whoa, that was emotion. He wasn’t supposed to display emotion. No way. That was really weird…Oh, bugger, she’s looking at me again. Oh, for the love of–is she going to cry? God, I ALWAYS mess things up…

This last thought had been prompted by Hermione looking at him in an I’m-Going-To-Start-Crying-In-A-Moment sort of way, but she didn’t. She pulled him into a hug and whispered, "Thank you," into his ear. Ron hugged her back of course, seeing as he just couldn’t help himself, but mentally he was scolding himself for showing so much emotion. It made him feel like a sentimental idiot, and he certainly didn’t like that. On the other hand, this was Hermione, so it was okay.

"D’you want to go get some breakfast?" she asked softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes in a motherly sort of fashion.

Ron shrugged. "I’m not particularly hungry, but I s’pose. I’m also not too anxious to see Malfoy; he’ll have read the papers already, and–"

Hermione shook her head, interrupting. "Trust me, Ron, if Malfoy dares to even look at you funny, I’ll hex him so fast it’ll make his head spin. Or maybe I’ll turn him into a ferret–I’ve figured out the spell."

Just the memory forced Ron to smile a little, despite the circumstances. "Oh, I’d love to see him as a rodent again…"

Hermione smiled lightly and patted his hand. "Well, let’s get down to the Great Hall, then, okay?"

Ron nodded, standing up and feeling a tad better. "Right. Also, d’you want to come to the Christmas Ball with me?"

She feigned a look of surprise. "Why, Ron, that was almost… almost dignified." She grinned. "I’d love to. Now, you head on down to the Great Hall, and I’ll go find Ginny and see that she’s okay. We’ll be down in a moment."

Ah, yes, Ginny. In his own panic, he’d nearly forgotten her, and now he felt extremely guilty about it. Hermione wouldn’t let him come with her to comfort his little sister, though, so he decided to head down and find Harry. Privately, he felt Hermione could do a better job, anyway.

***

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, thoroughly spraying the article in front of him with the sticky, orange stuff. William Weasley? BILL? Oh, no…

At that moment, Ron seated himself next to Harry, scowling deeply at the article. Harry glanced at Ron, worried that he’d not read it yet, but Ron nodded angrily and muttered, "Yeah, Ginny brought it up."

"Oh…" Harry wasn’t quite sure how to voice how he felt. Okay, so far, Voldemort was responsible for countless innocent people’s deaths, and this included his parents, Hermione’s parents, and quite possibly Bill Weasley. He was beginning to get that sort of angry, lost, hopeless feeling in the pit of his stomach. Again, he chased it away, worried that it might drive him insane.

He wasn’t scared of Voldemort, really, but more of what he might do to Ron and Hermione, or those close to them. He was afraid for them, and for the few close friends he had. And he was so angry… It wasn’t fair. And somewhere in there, he was aching from all the losses–especially his parents. It was such a range of emotions that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, so he just buried it away whenever it surfaced, hoping (though he knew it wouldn’t ever happen) that it would just go away.

Harry and Ron were both silent for a moment, but the peace was interrupted as Seamus Finnigan seated himself on Ron’s other side and looked at them both, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his freckled face. "Uhm…You guys? There’s…Uhm…an interesting rumor flying around that I thought you might want to know about…"

"What’s that?" Ron asked in a bored tone, swirling about a half-inch of pumpkin juice around the bottom of his goblet.

"Uhm…"

"Well, spit it out," Ron said exasperatedly.

Seamus, apparently having given up on the careful approach to this, looked at Harry, as he couldn’t quite get eye-contact from Ron, who was busy glaring at his empty plate. "Well…They’re saying over at that end of the table that Hermione Granger’s…Well, that she’s related to You-Know-Who."

Harry blinked. "What?" he asked, not quite sure he’d heard correctly. How on earth could they know that?

Seamus raised his eyebrows. "I didn’t think it was true, but–"

"Doesn’t matter," Ron cut in. "Where did you hear it?"

Seamus shrugged. "There was this Ravenclaw talking to us about it…Ackerly? Yeah, Stewart Ackerly. Why? It’s not true…Is it?"

Ron and Harry had both stood up, ignoring Seamus’ sputtering disbelief at what, apparently, was true. Ron beat Harry to the Ravenclaw table and almost immediately had a very nervous-looking Ackerly standing in front of him, wringing his hands. The third year was obviously unaware that the subject of the rumors he’d been spreading happened to have a very tall, very easily angered boyfriend.

As Harry jogged up to the two of them, he caught a snatch of what Ackerly was saying (well, more like stuttering):

"Honestly, I d-didn’t know if it was t-true or not; I was just t-telling my friend Denis…He musta told ev’ryone else…"

Ron was looking supremely annoyed, and it was obviously frightening the other boy, so Harry spoke up.

"Uhm…Well, Stewart, where did you hear the rumor?"

Ackerly, apparently very glad for the distraction, turned to Harry nervously and shrugged. "I heard it from a Hufflepuff seventh year girl–don’t know her name–who heard it from Professor Chang. I’m sorry, I guess…" He trailed off nervously, obviously unsure of what to say.

Harry’s stomach dropped about three notches. Professor Chang? Cho? But she wouldn’t…Would she?

Ron was looking at Harry oddly. Not quite making eye contact with Ackerly, he nodded. "Just don’t spread ridiculous rumors, okay? Oh, and sorry ‘bout being so quick to judge…" He paused, looking somewhat sheepish. "Uh…I didn’t mean to be so harsh."

"’S okay," Ackerly said slowly, sidling back to his seat and giving Ron a cautious glance.

As they walked back to the table, Ron muttered aside to Harry. "You told Cho."

It wasn’t a question. Harry swallowed. "I…I sort of realized it while on that date with her. I couldn’t really help it."

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, in a kind of furious whisper, not looking at him. "What did you think you were doing?"

"What d’you mean, what did I think I was doing?" Harry whispered back, nearly as harshly. "It was Cho!"

"That’s exactly my point!" Ron muttered, sliding into his seat.

Harry did the same. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in a warning tone.

Ron crossed his arms defiantly. "Harry, look, I know you’re all moony over her, but I don’t care. I thought you knew she was the school’s resident Princess of Gossip."

"She is not!"

"Harry, look," Ron said slowly. "I know this is difficult, but Cho and Dumbledore are the only other people who know. Obviously Dumbledore’s not the one spreading this around the school, so that leaves me, you, Hermione, and Cho. And it wasn’t me or Hermione, and I certainly doubt it was you."

Harry just stared at his plate, not really wanting to believe it. Hermione was going to be really angry. And it was really his fault.

Suddenly, the hall fell silent, and Harry looked up. Hermione and Ginny had just entered, both looking confused at the sudden lack of noise. Then the whispers started, following Hermione as she curiously seated herself next to Ron in Seamus’ vacated seat. "What’s going on?"

Ron looked meaningfully at Harry, and Harry wanted to throttle him. "Uh…Hermione…"

All the first years, as one, got up from their end of the table and went down to the other side, as far from Hermione as possible. She looked thoroughly confused and turned to Ron, a questioning look on her face. Ron sighed loudly and Harry, grimacing, murmured what had happened.

Hermione’s eyes widened and, resting her elbows on the table, she put her face in her hands. "Oh, for heaven’s sake…" she murmured, sounding muffled. "No one will want to come within a mile of me now, will they?"

Harry was extremely annoyed as Ron slipped an arm around her shoulders and glanced at Harry tiredly. Oh, so this was his fault now, was it?

At that precise moment, the worst possible person decided to make an appearance right next to them. "Harry?"

Harry snapped his head up and looked at Cho, who was standing, oblivious to the chaos she’d caused, next to him.

"Harry, you know how that Christmas Ball is coming up in a few days?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, knowing all too well where this was headed. Cho looked at him expectantly, and he realized she was waiting for him to ask her. "Oh! Oh, Cho, I’m…Uhm…" He glanced at Ron, who was giving him a

Whose-Side-Are-You-On look, and then at Hermione who was determinedly not looking at Cho, and then at Ginny, who was determinedly not looking in their direction at all and was slightly pink.

He sighed. "I’m really sorry, but I’ve already agreed to go with someone else. You know, since I thought you weren’t going to be allowed, since you’re a teacher…" he trailed off lamely.

Cho nodded brightly. "Oh, that’s fine, Harry," she said, and turned, heading back to the staff table.

Harry cringed. He couldn’t just leave it at that. He stood and jogged after her. "Cho?"

She turned back around. "Yes, Harry?" she said, smiling at him. Somehow, she didn’t seem quite so pretty anymore.

"Uhm…Well, I think we ought to break it off," he said quickly, and Cho looked a bit surprised.

"That’s fine, Harry…" she said casually. There was a short pause. "Why, though?"

"Uhm…" Harry paused, unsure of quite how to explain this.

"Is there someone else?"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Why’d you tell, Cho?"

She looked highly affronted, and blushed. "Oh…Uh…Harry, I’m really sorry…I didn’t think…Okay, well, I’ll see you in class, then, okay?" And she turned and practically flew to the staff table.

"I hate this," Harry said hollowly, knowing full-well that no one heard him. He stalked quickly out of the hall. Once out in the Entrance Hall, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His life was a complete mess right about now, and he was getting tired of all these…complications. As if it weren’t enough to have the darkest, evilest wizard of all time after his blood, now Ron was angry with him. And he was angry with Cho.

"Harry?"

He turned around, startled to see Ginny standing nervously a few feet away. "Oh, hi."

"Hi," she said softly. "Sorry about the whole thing with Ron. He’s…He’s very protective of Hermione, you know, and he doesn’t mean to be a big git, but sometimes he just can’t help it…"

Harry smiled slightly. "Oh, Ginny, you don’t have to apologize for Ron. I’m not angry with him, really. More with the situation. And Cho. She said she wouldn’t tell anyone…" He trailed off, rather uncomfortable discussing his crush of the past four years with Ginny Weasley. She didn’t need this, what with Bill getting kidnapped and all…On the other hand, she seemed to be a much better listener than anyone else he’d thought about talking to. "Anyway…You don’t have to take the blame…"

Ginny nodded. "Well, I know, but Ron…Well, he’s really worried for the two of you, especially Hermione. She’s ‘on the verge of going crackers,’ apparently." Harry smiled at her Ron-imitation. It was pretty good. "I can’t say I disagree…She’s been really stressed lately, what with school and this whole Vol–Voldemort thing." She looked thoroughly proud of herself for saying it. "We’re all pretty worried about her."

Harry nodded, scuffing his feet on the flagged stone floor. "So ‘m I. I really wish none of this had happened. I wish…" He went ahead and said it. "I wish I hadn’t even gone on that stupid date with Cho." He slid down the wall he’d been leaning against and fell into a sitting position, sighing.

Ginny was obviously unsure of what to say to this, so she came and sat down next to him. "Well, it’s not your fault, you know, Harry…"

"It kinda is," Harry muttered, looking at his hands. "I mean, if I hadn’t told her, none of this would have happened. And now Ron and Hermione are angry."

"No they aren’t," Ginny said, shaking her head. "In fact, Hermione gave Ron the what-for after you left. Said he was being insensitive. Ron got all embarrassed then, because he didn’t mean to be, you know. I expect he’ll apologize to you before the day’s out."

Harry nodded. "I was stupid. You know, I always liked Cho because she was older and a good seeker, and…Well, because I could, mostly. I didn’t know her at all. What was I thinking, going and telling her something like that?"

Ginny sighed. "Do you have anyone to talk to, Harry?"

He looked at her, startled. "What?"

She sighed again. "Well, Ron has Hermione to talk to. He’s even cried in front of her–but don’t tell him I told you," Ginny said quickly. "Hermione talks to Ron, he talks to her…And you’re sort of alone, when it comes to that. And I’m pretty sure you’ve got lots on your mind, what with Hermione and Vol…demort, and all the nonsense you deal with. I get the impression that you sort of…bottle it up."

Harry looked at Ginny incredulously. She was looking away, obviously thinking she’d said way too much. Harry couldn’t believe what she’d said, though–she had him completely understood.

"How…Did…You…?"

She looked at him, offering a small smile. "I spend a lot of time around teenaged boys, Harry," she said softly. "Trust me, you lot are as transparent as Nearly-Headless Nick."

Harry smiled. "Well…That’s impressive." He paused, thinking. "I shouldn’t have you worrying about me, though. I mean, Bill’s gone missing and everything…"

Ginny nodded, smile fading. "Well, Hermione and I talked about it. There’s nothing I can do right now, so all we can do is hope."

Harry sighed. "I’m sorry."

Ginny looked at him, a worried expression coming over her face. "Why on earth should you be, Harry?" she said incredulously. "It’s not your fault!"

Harry shrugged. "No, but sometimes I feel like it is. You know, I can’t talk to anyone, because I don’t want to put this on them. This is my life, and these are my problems. No one else should have to deal with them."

"Still…" Ginny said softly. "Still, you shouldn’t bottle it up like this…"

He sighed. "I just…Well, I don’t want to go into it right now, but–"

"No, Harry, tell me," Ginny said decisively.

Harry stared. "You’ve got enough to worry about; you don’t need my problems–"

"No, don’t do that. Just…Tell me what’s on your mind."

So, grudgingly, Harry did so. He told her about worrying about Hermione, and how he hated fighting with Ron, and how Hermione was related to Voldemort, and that Cho had told, and how he was angry with her now… How much he missed his parents and worried for his friends, and how much he despised himself for being the cause of such misery. And the entire time, Ginny listened attentively, offering nods and small comments in between.

Harry felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he drew a great, shuddering breath when he’d finished. "Now d’you understand why I’ve never told anyone?"

Ginny shook her head at him and glanced down at her watch. "Harry, you’re impossible…Well, you’ve talked for two hours straight, and it seems to me that you needed it. D’you feel at all better?"

"Yes, actually, I do," Harry said honestly, glancing at her gratefully. "I’m sorry I’ve gone and put all this on you, Ginny, I shouldn’t’ve…"

"No, Harry," Ginny said. "You’ve not gone and put anything on me. I wanted you to tell me all of that, remember?"

"Well…" Harry sighed, giving up on trying to apologize. "Thank you, Ginny," he said appreciatively. "I really do feel better."

She smiled at him. "If you ever need to talk again, just tell me. You don’t have to keep it all to yourself, you know…" She stood up and headed towards the staircase leading to Gryffindor tower.

"Ginny, wait!" Harry called, scrambling to his feet and jogging after her.

She stopped, halfway up the stairs. "Yes?"

"Are…Are you going with anyone to the Ball yet?" Harry asked, not quite sure what had possessed him.

Ginny shook her head, smiling lightly. "No, not yet."

"D’you want to go with me?"

Her eyes widened–whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. "Well…Well, of course, Harry, but…Aren’t you going to go with…Parvati or someone?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I would…rather go with you, really…If you want to, that is," he added quickly. "I mean, if there’s somebody else you’d rather go with…"

She shook her head. "No…No, there isn’t. I’d love to go with you, Harry."

He smiled, greatly relieved, and still not quite understanding why he’d spontaneously decided to ask her. "It’s just…I really…uhm…liked being able to talk to you, you know, and…"

She nodded, smiling widely. "Absolutely." She glanced at her watch. "Well, it’s almost lunchtime. Should we head back into the Great Hall again?"

Harry smiled and let her lead the way.

***

Chapter 12

Hermione had never been one to prepare herself for dances. As far as that went, Hermione had never been one to go to dances. It all seemed quite ridiculous to her, all of the soppy music and slow dancing, and the pretty little airheads giggling and dancing with the equally dim-witted prettyboys. Overall, Hermione would rather be reading.

The one time she had ever taken care to make herself look…nice…was during the Yule Ball in fourth year. That had turned out horribly, and as Hermione applied a light shade of lipstick (just because her lips were chapped, of course…), she tried not to think of it. This time, she was going with Ron, and he wasn’t a clueless, insensitive, fourteen-year-old prat anymore. He was now a semi-clueless, relatively sensitive, seventeen-year-old prat. But she loved him anyway.

She sighed and glanced at her reflection. She’d managed to stop at Madam Avalon’s Robe Shop in Hogsmeade and pick out a nice set of dress robes. Madam Avalon wasn’t nearly as handy with fitting as Madam Malkin, and so the clothing there was pre-made and sized, which made for quicker, but not necessarily better-fitting, outfits. Hermione had seen a pretty, floaty material much like her periwinkle robes from fourth year, only in a lovely sort of deep turquoise color. They were the only ones left, and she disliked the plunging neckline, but other than that, they fit her miraculously well and she decided that she simply had to have them.

Now, looking at herself in the mirror, she twirled her wand idly and wondered vaguely what she should do with her hair, which was currently flying about her head in a most annoying and difficult fashion. She jumped slightly and turned as the door flew open and banged against the wall. Parvati, long dark hair halfway up in rollers, scampered inside and started rummaging through her trunk. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Need some help?"

Parvati looked up, just taking notice of Hermione’s presence. "Oh. Hi. No, thanks, I’m just looking for–yes! Found it…" She pulled a small bottle of bright purple nail polish out of somewhere in the depths of her trunk and shook it gently, making a small snapping sound. "Want a manicure, while I’m at it?"

"No, thank you," Hermione said quickly, eyeing her short, cleanly cut nails. There just wasn’t much to paint. "Your hair looks nice," she said jokingly.

Parvati grinned and curtseyed. "Yes, it took me ever so long to get it this way; d’you think Dean will like it?"

"I’m sure," Hermione laughed. She turned back to the mirror and made a face at her own somewhat…lacking…hairdo. "Actually, I was just trying to decide what to do with my hair."

Parvati looked at her thoughtfully. "Well…It looked nice in fourth year, why not do that again?"

"No, I don’t think so…I mean, I thought it looked nice, but I rather wanted to do something different." She twisted her hair back into a bun, then let it swirl down again to fall over her shoulders. Picking up a hairbrush, she tried to comb through the mess, but it seemed to have decided to tangle up on purpose. Hermione sighed loudly. "Well."

"Here, let me." Parvati grabbed her hair and, rather painfully, began braiding. When Hermione was allowed to turn her head and look in the mirror again, she had a sort of braided crown around her head, and grinning, looked back at Parvati.

"Thank you."

Parvati shrugged nonchalantly. "That’s what my mother always does to my hair when we go to parties. I find it rather tediously long and painful, but it looks nice."

"Yes…" Hermione agreed, looking at her reflection again. Parvati, apparently satisfied with her work, took out the curlers (which had, until then, been ignored), and headed into the bathroom to change into her robes.

*

Hermione attempted to ignore the look of complete awe on Ron’s face as she practically glided down the stairs and took his arm. Harry just covered a smile at his friends obvious amazement and gave Hermione an approving nod. "You look nice tonight."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said, and turned to Ron. "You going to say something, or are you too busy gawking mindlessly?"

Ron lost the glazed-over look and shook his head. "What?"

Harry laughed. "And she’s not even part Veela…"

Shooting his friend a quick, rather un-serious glare, Ron led Hermione from the common room and down the corridors to the Great Hall.

"Harry’s right, you know…You do look…nice…"

Hermione giggled inwardly and grinned.

"Thank you, Ron. So do you, actually. The color suits you."

Ron shrugged self-consciously and straightened the navy-blue velvet. "Thanks."

The Great Hall had been decorated beautifully, with little blue ice-pixies flitting here and there, and holly and ivy strung in banner-like crisscrossing patterns across the ceiling. Mistletoe floated around the ceiling, centering itself just above unsuspecting couples, and the golden plates were piled high with the richest and most delicious delicacies. In one corner of the Hall, a stage had been erected, and several instruments set atop it, though there were no musicians yet. The students were all dressed in their finest, and some of the teachers had even dressed for the occasion.

Professor McGonagall was rather grudgingly enjoying herself as she talked to Professor Dumbledore. The strict professor still had her hair in its tight bun, but she was wearing crimson velvet dress robes and a matching hat, and looked quite festive. Looking down the table, Hermione noticed the other teachers were dressed equally nicely. Professor Dumbledore was wearing forest green robes, and Hagrid was in what Harry had dubbed the "Hairy Brown Suit." Flitwick was dressed in navy blue robes that looked just a tad too big for him, Sprout was wearing bright gold velvet robes, Cho was wearing something silver and clinging, and Professor Trelawney had descended from her cave in the North Tower and was currently wearing a sequined purple thing.

Professor Lupin was sitting next to Trelawney and looked as though he was trying very hard to look interested in whatever she was going on about. He was dressed in deep blue robes that looked relatively new (they had no stains or patches sewn in), and Hermione noticed him looking down the table towards someone at the opposite end as he nodded vaguely to Trelawney’s prattle. Following his gaze, Hermione saw Professor McLellan, looking bored and using her wand to balance her silverware end to end into a sort of Eiffel Tower-ish thing, with the soup spoon crowning the top. She’d worn light, sea-green robes of a floaty material not unlike that of Hermione’s robes, and was talking quietly with Hagrid as she constructed the cutlery tower (though he was doing most of the talking, and she most of the listening).

Hermione turned to examine the students’ robes (she saw that Malfoy was once again in his vicar-robes), and noticed a green-clad Harry come into the Hall with Ginny. Waving, and wondering how Ron would take this, as he didn’t know about the Harry/Ginny situation, she smiled and pulled Ron over.

***

Harry grinned as Ginny waved Hermione over to them. Ron was looking as though he couldn’t quite make up his mind as to what to think of this arrangement, but he kept quiet, whatever he thought. It made Harry nervous, to say the least, but he let the thought leave his mind as Ginny grinned prettily at him. She’d worn lavender silk robes that Harry had been sure must have cost quite a bit to buy, but when he complimented her on them, she told him that she’d sewn them herself, which left him thoroughly impressed.

"Ginny, you made those?" Hermione said, echoing the very question Harry had voiced earlier. "They’re gorgeous! You’re my tailor from now on, okay?"

Ginny giggled and blushed quite a lovely shade of red. "Oh, don’t…They’re not that good…Oh, look at Professor Trelawney’s outfit!"

Hermione laughed right out at this. "Oh, I know! Is she glittery enough, d’you suppose?"

While the girls began discussing the teachers’ fashion sense, Harry turned to Ron apprehensively. Ron had one eyebrow raised and was looking at Harry differently–almost appraisingly. "So."

"So…" Harry echoed.

"I didn’t know you’d asked Ginny."

"Well…I did…" Harry shrugged nervously. Then he took a deep breath. "Look, Ron, I know what you must think, what with the whole Cho thing, but I really did want to come with Ginny, and I’m not just leading her on, or anything, because she was really nice the other day–"

"Harry?"

"–and I wanted to take her to the ball, and she said yes, and she knows I’m not just taking advantage of her affections, because I’m not, and I wouldn’t ever, and I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m–"

"Harry!"

Harry looked up at Ron. "Yes?"

Ron laughed loudly at him. "Man, you’ve got to relax. I don’t think you’re taking advantage of her, or anything like that. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t…like…You know. I’m an older brother. Can’t help it."

Harry sighed and laughed as well. "I know, I know…I just got really nervous. I dunno…I’m a best friend. Can’t help that, either."

Ron shrugged. "’S okay. You didn’t fuss when Hermione and I started going out. And she’s like your little sister. So I guess we’re even." Ron grinned and looked up at the staff table. "They’re right–Trelawney looks ridiculous."

Harry sighed, relieved. Ron had approved for now. "Yeah, I know."

Their heads both snapped to the far end of the staff table as there was a huge crash of silverware and Professor McLellan’s rather tall tower of forks and spoons fell to the table as she laughed. A little blue pixy winked into view where the mess had occurred, and Hagrid, who was sitting nearby, looked delighted (if a tad disappointed at the lack of poisonous appendages).

Sounds issued from the stage, and Harry and Ron turned their attention to the band, a group of witches with long, multi-colored hair, as they trooped onto the stage and picked up their instruments. They began playing, and Ron nodded in recognition. "Oh, yeah, they play this on the radio at home… What’re they called–Oh, they’re Cliodna. Something with Celtic Mythology– ask Hermione. She knows all about it, but if you don't want an hour long lecture, just be satisfied with that."

Harry smiled and glanced up at the staff table again as a fast-paced song came on. All of the teachers were rising from their seats and heading down to the dance floor, and Harry had a dreadful feeling of what was coming next. He felt a small hand on his shoulder and turned to see Ginny, staring at him questioningly. "D’you feel up to dancing?"

Harry shrugged. "Never been too good at it, but if you like…" He took her hand and they headed for the dance floor. Ron and Hermione were already at it, talking quietly as they did so and looking as though they were having quite a good time. Professor McGonagall had, to Harry’s complete amazement, agreed to dance with tiny Professor Flitwick, and Professor

Trelawney appeared to be attempting to convince Lupin to dance. Harry grinned apologetically when Lupin shot him a helpless glance. Hagrid was dancing with Professor McLellan, and they were talking about something which McLellan obviously did not want to, and she looked distinctly disgruntled.

Harry turned his attention back to what he was doing. Ginny turned out to be quite a good dancer (she’d not stepped on his feet once), and he’d not even had to think about what he was doing. For some reason, it was just easier without Parvati. Ginny was also looking at the staff table as they twirled. "Poor Professor Lupin…"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said grimly, watching as Trelawney took hold of Lupin’s wrist and gave a feeble attempt at pulling him onto the floor. "Maybe we should go over and distract her."

Ginny nodded. "Okay, but not for long. Professor Trelawney creeps me out."

Harry laughed and agreed that it would only be for a minute, and they quickly danced over to them. "Hello, Professor Lupin."

Lupin gave them a tiredly appreciative glance and excused himself from an extremely annoyed-looking Sybil. "Thank you," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "You’ve no idea how much I needed a break from that. I can only smile and nod for so long, you know…"

Ginny nodded sympathetically in her motherly, Ginny-like manner. "Maybe you should ask someone else to dance, so she’ll leave you alone."

Lupin massaged his temples and sighed. "There isn’t anyone, really. Everyone’s dancing."

Ginny stood on tiptoe and glanced around the crowd. "Uhm…Oh, look! Professor McLellan sat down! Go ask her!"

Lupin opened his mouth to argue, closed it, and frowned deeply. "I…don’t think that’s a good idea, Ginny, I–"

"Why not?"

Professor Dumbledore had joined their little group, and Professor Trelawney, seeing that Lupin obviously wasn’t going to finish talking anytime soon, seated herself grumpily at the table again. Remus shot the headmaster something remarkably like a glare. It was more of a threateningly intense look than anything, but it was enough that Harry would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of it. Dumbledore, however, merely smiled back in his serene way, eyes twinkling.

"Headmaster, I don’t think Professor McLellan likes to dance–look, she just sat down, and probably doesn’t want to get up and dance again–"

"Oh, nonsense, Remus. I should think you, of all people, know how much our Professor McLellan likes to dance."

There was that look again, as well as–blush? Harry wasn’t sure quite what the two professors were discussing, but Lupin certainly wanted a topic change.

"Headmaster, I–" Remus paused, looking for another excuse, as Harry and Ginny watched interestedly. "Professor Trelawney will be extremely disappointed if I should dance with someone just after turning her down. It would be rude." He looked quite satisfied with himself.

"I shall dance with Sybil, Remus, now go on."

"But–"

"Go on! You both are so hardheaded that nothing will ever get accomplished if one of you doesn’t make the first move. And neither of you would, without the proper encouragement. Now go!"

With one last borderline-glare, Lupin stalked off in the general direction of McLellan’s seat. Dumbledore, still smiling in that all-knowing way of his, headed towards Trelawney’s seat. Harry and Ginny looked at each other, and Ginny grinned broadly. "Hm. I wondered."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well," Ginny began slowly, "I’ve noticed that they’re always sneaking looks at each other, but I think they’re angry or something, because they never talk. They actually ran into each other in the hallway–literally, I mean–and they just sort of stared at each other in shock for a moment before scampering off in opposite directions. I dunno what’s up with them, but I’m really curious now, after hearing that."

Harry nodded. "Sirius never mentioned…But then…I never asked him."

"Next time you write him, do ask," Ginny said, taking his hands and leading him onto the dance floor again, as Ron was shooting them curious glances. "I would like to know what that’s all about…"

Harry nodded, and was distracted as the doors to the hall opened. He, as well as nearly every other student in the hall, turned to look as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley entered, followed by a few more ministry witches and wizards, and, finally, Sirius.

***

Ron, still dancing with Hermione, watched as the ministry wizards were greeted by Dumbledore, and led to seats at the staff table. His parents waved at him, to his immense embarrassment, and Hermione waved back, causing him to roll his eyes. Sirius set his cloak at his seat, and, dressed in rather stylish blue-gray robes, strode across the floor to Harry and Ginny. After saying something that made Harry blush profusely, he laughed and waved at Ron and Hermione before walking over to them, as well.

"Hello, Sirius," Hermione said, smiling. "We didn’t know you were coming, too."

He shrugged. "Well, it was sort of a surprise for Harry, but really, I just got the invitation yesterday anyway." He glanced around the room. "Ah. Pixies. Flitwick’s work?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head, and Ron glanced at her. "Actually, Professor McLellan put them up."

Sirius looked confused. "McLellan? Fiona McLellan?"

"Yes…" Hermione replied slowly. "She teaches potions."

For some reason, Sirius found this simply hilarious. "Is she here?" he managed, after laughing loudly for a moment.

"Yes, she’s up at the staff table," Hermione said, pointing out the professor. For some reason, Lupin was leaning against a nearby wall, looking surly and indecisive. The sight of this made Black laugh even more.

"Ah, Dumbledore’s set this up, he has. I’m going to go say hello." And with that he strode off towards McLellan’s seat.

Hermione shot Ron a bewildered glance. "What was that?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno…Should we sneak over and watch?"

"Wouldn’t that be spying?" Hermione said dryly.

"Yes," Ron said, not even trying to make excuses. They walked over to the staff table and carefully situated themselves near one of the stone pillars near the back doors to the Hall, so that they were hidden from view, but could watch and hear what was happening. Hermione gave Ron a reproving look, but dropped it as Black approached McLellan and, grinning, said hello.