Hermione Granger and the Beginning of the End

In her seven years at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger had had to endure many stressful situations. At first, she had not handled those situations very well--her paralysis during the troll attack and inability to remember that she was a witch and could conjure fire while trapped in Devil's Snare were testaments to that. However, as she matured, Hermione felt that she was now quite capable of dealing with nerve-wracking conditions.

That is, she'd thought she could.

Hermione quietly shut the door to her private room and leaned her forehead against the wood for a moment. She considered walking straight back out of the room, down to the common room, and talking to him about it right now, but she dismissed the idea. It wasn't necessary. With a sigh, she slowly eased her school bag off of her shoulder, set it on the floor, lit the candles, unlocked the window, and stooped down to pick up Crookshanks, who had just rubbed up against her ankles in commiseration. Crookshanks allowed her to bury her face in his fur for a moment before squirming uncomfortably. Hermione released him and he darted for the door, ready to make his late-night rounds. She opened the door to let him out, feeling slightly disappointed when her cat disappeared down the stairs. Holding Crookshanks always made her feel a bit better.

She crossed to her dresser to look into the vanity mirror perched atop it. Her hair was swept up in a more elegant half-ponytail with a stylish side-part. A handful of Sleakeazy's potion had taken care of the frizz, but had maintained her natural curl so that her hair fell in soft, sleek curls past her shoulders. Hermione had even worn some light make-up for the occasion, and although she had remained in her Hogwarts uniform so as not to appear too dressed-up, she had looked quite nice. She knew that she was going to more extremes than she usually did for her study dates, but this had been Ron. She always wanted to look nice for him.

Hermione wasn't exactly sure how she felt about the events of the evening. She didn't know exactly what she had expected to occur, but it wasn't this. She had imagined the evening to be so utterly wonderful that she couldn't help forgiving Ron on the spot, or on the other end of the spectrum, she had envisioned she and Ron getting into a row and storming out of the library. But this...this was unexpected.

It was just plain awkward.

There were no other words for it. She had been so excited for their first date, but at the same time she had been so nervous that at times she had barely been able to read the book in front of her, and that was saying something. It was obvious that Ron had cleaned himself up a bit, and she had sensed his unease the moment she had stepped down into the common room. It hadn't helped matters that everyone in the library seemed to know precisely what was going on. It had already been circulating the school that Ron and Daphne had ended things yesterday, and her Hufflepuff friends weren't very pleased that on the very next day, Ron was already out on a date with Hermione Granger. It was quite ridiculous for them to be so angry, since Daphne had been quite amenable, and was on a date herself with the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. However, where her friends were concerned, the Hufflepuff motto of "loyal, just, and true," appeared to relate to irrational anger toward boys who broke up with Hufflepuff girls. Needless to say, Hermione and Ron had to sit amid a lot of whispers, giggles, and snickers and that had only increased the awkwardness. She had been quite unable to relax into the easy rhythm she typically had with Ron, and from the vivid shade of Ron's maroon ears, she knew he'd felt the same way. Hermione had barely gotten any homework done, and she and Ron couldn't even seem to hold down a simple conversation. They had walked back to the common room, and Hermione had retreated up to her dormitory immediately afterward.

Honestly, she had survived encounters with a mountain troll, a three-headed dog, a basilisk, dementors, an escaped convict, the Whomping Willow, a werewolf, Death Eaters, a vindictive reporter, the worst DADA professor in Hogwarts history (Umbridge, of course), more Death Eaters, bounty hunters, Tom Riddle, and then even more Death Eaters, yet she couldn't even endure one little date? It was ridiculous--she and Ron knew each other inside and out, and yet they couldn't even summon the courage to talk to one another. It was so stupid.

Hermione slowly removed the barrette from her hair and shook her curls loose. The cursed frizz was returning to her untamable mane of hair, but somehow the gesture made Hermione feel a little better. This was normal--this was her. She never felt quite like herself when she dressed up. Ron and Harry weren't the only ones who hadn't recognized her at the Yule Ball--she had barely recognized herself.

She would never admit it to anyone in a hundred billion years, but a tiny, miniscule part of her had been relieved when Ron had rowed with her that night. Fighting with Ron was as comfortable as reading, and the fight had made her feel a bit more like herself. She wasn't the type of girl to take three hours to get ready for a dance and parade around with an international Quidditch star for the evening, but that night she had. At the time, it had felt good not to be the bookish, bossy know-it-all with the big hair and teeth, but as Hermione looked back on it, it hadn't been real--it hadn't been her. This was the real her, and if people thought that she was a bossy know-it-all, so be it. She wasn't going to deny who she was.

Maybe that was the problem with tonight, Hermione reflected. Maybe she and Ron were trying too hard. They couldn't just be themselves, because she had vetoed that idea from the start. She hadn't wanted to go straight back to their relationship. So now they were trying to be something else: a normal teenaged couple. The problem was that she and Ron were anything but normal. It was rare, what they had, especially at this age. And Hermione had been trying to deny that. She was trying to deny who she was by pretending that her "date" with Ron Weasley meant nothing more to her than what a casual study date would on a Friday night.

Hermione sighed. Maybe this "casual dating" thing was a bad idea after all.

Tap, tap, tap.

Logically, Hermione should have been quite startled by the abrupt tapping on her window, but she didn't flinch at all. She glanced over, but made no move to open the window. She leaned back against the dresser and indicated with a flick of her finger that it was unlocked. Somehow she'd just known that he would come.

Ron swung both windows open, but he didn't come inside. He appeared to be preferring to remain outside, hovering on his broomstick. Hermione remained leaning against the dresser, and they both just looked at each other.

She could tell that Ron wanted to ask her a thousand things about what the bloody hell had happened with them tonight, and that he had just as many suggestions on how they could fix this--that he was willing to do anything to fix this--but all he said was, "Would you fly with me?"

She wanted to tell him a thousand things herself, like how she was sorry she'd been so nervous tonight and had ended up mucking things up, or that they shouldn't be flying around after curfew. But all she said was, "Yes."

**

They didn't say anything while they flew. Hermione was sitting in front of him again, and his arms were around her, gripping the broomstick She could feel his breath on her shoulder, and it felt lovely. The wind whipped through their hair, stung their cheeks, and blew away the tension that resulted from the not-so-lovely evening they had just suffered through. They were only in the air for about ten minutes as Ron circled the castle a few times. He dipped down abruptly, and he chuckled when she instinctively gasped. The vibration of his laugher dissipated her momentary anger, and she allowed herself to smile. Ron then steered the broom down into a very controlled dive--and landed it right on top of the Astronomy Tower. Hermione hesitated only for a moment before hopping off of the broom. She was vividly recalling how they usually landed after flying together, and now they were back at the place where they would meet to...Hermione blushed and looked away from him. She knew Ron, and she knew that he wouldn't try anything until she said it was okay. But she did want to say it was okay--rather badly, as a matter of fact. However, she knew very well that this was the right thing to do; she had spoken to Ginny earlier, and Ginny had wholeheartedly agreed with her. In fact, Ginny's exact words had been 'let the stupid git suffer'.

But Hermione didn't want him to suffer. As awful as he had been to her, she would never wish that sort of hurt on him. Hermione bit her lip and leaned her back against the wall that separated the roof from the open air. It was all so bloody confusing.

Ron stood next to her, resting his palms against the wall and staring out onto the grounds. "I don't understand," he commented after a long silence.

"You don't understand what?" Hermione asked quietly.

"You said yesterday," Ron reminded her slowly, and Hermione shut her eyes in dreaded anticipation for another difficult, serious conversation, "that you wanted to go one year without having to stay in the hospital wing." Hermione's eyes opened with surprise. She hadn't seen that coming. "But you have, haven't you?" He turned to the side to study her profile. "I mean, you never had to go in first-year."

"Yes, I did," Hermione reminded him. "You probably don't remember though. The night we went after the Philosopher's Stone, I walked you up to the hospital wing after we found Dumbledore. Madame Pomfrey sent you straight to bed and gave you a potion to help you sleep. I was a bit worried about you and didn't want to leave straight away, and before I knew it," Hermione sighed ruefully, "I was trapped."

"Ah," Ron nodded in understanding. "Yeah, Pomfrey'll do that to you." He frowned. "Was there anything wrong with you?"

"Just some scratches and bruises--there was a fair bit of blood from when one of those keys had sliced my arm, so she kept me for observation just in case," Hermione replied. She rolled her eyes, producing a laugh from Ron. "I was released before you woke up the next morning," Hermione continued. "That's probably why you never knew."

Ron pushed himself away from the wall, and turned around to sit down. He leaned against the wall with his long legs stretched out in front of him. "And, we all know about second-year," Ron said in a hollow voice.

Hermione thought it would be awkward if she kept standing while he sat, so she followed, curling her legs to the side and leaning her weight against one hand as she faced him. "Yeah," she said softly. "I think I was the hospital wing more than I was in class."

"You really scared me," Ron admitted almost inaudibly. Hermione considered walking her fingers over to his to squeeze his hand, but she settled for looking down at the ground. Ron sat up a bit straighter and cleared his throat. "Third-year we were all there after we saved Sirius."

Hermione considered telling him about the other time she had spent the night in the hospital that year, but she ended up pressing her lips together and nodding absently. She wasn't sure she'd fooled him, but he continued on anyway. "Fourth-year you were in there because of your teeth." Hermione smiled slightly as she moved her hand a bit closer to Ron's. He'd been the only one to visit her in the hospital wing after her teeth had been magically enlarged thanks to Malfoy's curse. She didn't even think Harry knew she'd had to stay overnight. "Then fifth-year..." Ron didn't even need to mention that occasion. He frowned. "What about last year?"

"Remember when we touched empathically right after i--it happened?" Hermione asked somewhat hesitantly.

"You were hurt," Ron recalled abruptly.

"Yes, well, that was when I stayed in the infirmary," Hermione stated simply, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy his curiosity.

"For what?" Ron demanded.

Hermione sighed. "Ron, does it really matter?"

"Yeah, it does." Ron's voice had now adopted that sharp, stubborn tone she knew all too well.

Hermione kept her voice low and even, because she had a sneaking suspicion that Ron would not react very well to this news. "Harry and I had a bit of a run-in with Malfoy," Hermione told him.

Ron sat straight up, eyes narrowed. "What did he do to you?" His voice was deadly controlled.

"Well," Hermione hedged, "Harry went after him in the library, and Malfoy retaliated, so I stepped in to help and ended up cracking my head on the bars of the Restricted Section."

"And just how did you manage that?" Ron demanded.

"Well, I jumped on Malfoy's back to stop him from hitting Harry, so he just backed up and..." Hermione didn't need to say any more; Ron was already on his feet.

"Right, then." he muttered furiously. "Excuse me, I have to go kill him now."

Hermione seized his wrist as she, too, clamored up off the floor. "Ron, it's fine."

"Oh really? Malfoy giving you a concussion is fine?!" Ron's voice was laden with bitter sarcasm, but Hermione knew just how to calm him.

"If he hadn't done it, Ron, I wouldn't have figured out that you were an empath," she reminded him reassuringly.

Ron let out a long irritated breath, but he knew she was right. "It's not fair--you've gotten to hit Malfoy, Harry's gotten to hit Malfoy..."

"You have, too," Hermione cut in. "Fifth-year, remember?" She wasn't sure if that would help matters, considering that Malfoy had punched Ron back.

"Yeah, but he doesn't remember, so it doesn't count," Ron argued.

"What about first-year?" Hermione said. "You gave him a bloody nose during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, remember?"

Ron's eyes lit up momentarily. "I did, didn't I?" His chest swelled with pride. "I was the first one." He enjoyed the moment for only a few seconds before the scowl returned. "Bloody git deserves to be throttled again," he muttered furiously. Ron clenched his fists. "One day," he promised himself under his breath.

Hermione pulled Ron back to the floor to distract him from imagining just how he would like to pummel Malfoy. She hated it when Ron was hurt by Malfoy's words and actions, and she would really love to allow him to restore his damaged pride, but not like this. Ron was growing up, but he still hadn't learned that physical violence wasn't going to solve his problems. She had, after all, slapped the daylights out of Malfoy four years ago, and he still wouldn't leave her alone. "Just take it out on him in Quidditch, please," she advised somewhat pleadingly.

Ron glanced over at her and let out another bitter laugh. "Yeah," he promised. A smirk crossed his face. "I can't help it if the Quaffle accidentally happens to slip out of my hands and smack him in that fat head of his."

"Ron," Hermione chided, but she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from snickering at the imagery.

Ron noticed, of course, and shifted so he was facing her. "Oh yeah," he continued with that winning charm of his that she sometimes adored and sometimes cursed. "It'll be brilliant. I'll have just made an incredible save--probably with a perfectly executed Starfish and Stick..."

"What's that?" Hermione interrupted. She had read Quidditch through the Ages in her first-year, and she recalled reading about that particular maneuver. However, even she didn't remember every word she had ever read.

Ron glanced at her again and shook his head in disbelief. She half-expected some sort of crack about how she could read every book in existence, yet still be oblivious to the finer aspects of the greatest sport in the world. But all he did was commence to give her a thorough explanation, complete with visual aids. He grabbed his broomstick and floated up about seven feet in the air. "It's when the Keeper," Ron began, as he carefully swung downward so that he was only hanging on to the broom by one hand and one foot curled around the broomstick, "hangs on by only one hand and foot, and stretches out really wide to block the Quaffle." He swung his dangling hand and leg out to demonstrate how he could swipe the Quaffle away, and Hermione couldn't help letting out a little cry behind the hand that was covering her gaping mouth. Ron easily mounted the broom again, and floated back to the roof, smirking at the look on Hermione's face. "It's a bit tricky," he added modestly.

"A bit tricky?" Hermione repeated in disbelief. "Ron, that looks really dangerous!"

"Hermione," Ron countered, mimicking her tone, "the entire sport is really dangerous."

"Have--have you ever tried it?" Hermione asked, not really sure she wanted to hear an answer. "On the pitch, I mean." During practice when you're fifty feet in the air and can come tumbling head over heels to the ground and crack your skull open, she added worriedly in her head.

"Yeah," Ron answered casually. "Harry reckons it'll come in handy--if I can get it right, it'll work really well since I'm so tall." Hermione suddenly had the insatiable urge to forbid Ron from ever attempting to hang off his broomstick by one hand and foot--honestly, who on earth would do something that stupid and dangerous for a silly game? Ron, however, plunged on, probably very aware of her thoughts, and preferring to avoid them. "But anyway," Ron pressed on, "so I'll have the Quaffle, and the crowd will be cheering madly--girls will be swooning--blokes will be wishing that they were me--you know, a typical day, basically. And I'll swing back up on my broom with the utmost ease, and feign throwing to Ginny, but really throw to Harry, who will be helping me of course, and Harry will just happen to be right behind Malfoy..."

"Wait, you can't throw to Harry--Harry's Seeker," Hermione interrupted.

"Hermione," Ron said with teasing sharpness, "you ruined "Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret" for me--please let me have this!" Hermione obeyed, only because she was having a bit of difficulty containing her laughter. "And--SMACK!" Ron clapped his hands together loudly and gleefully. "Catches him right in the nose!" He raised his hands victoriously in the air. "And the crowd goes wild!" He cupped his hands over his mouth, and mimicked the sound of a wildly cheering crowd. His voice had adopted the fervor Lee Jordan's always had when he commented during matches. "Harry catches the Snitch amid a rousing chorus of 'Weasley is our King,' and Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup." He repeated the sound of a roaring crowd and laid down on his back, eyes closed, basking in the glow of an imaginary victory.

"All because you hit Malfoy in the face?" Hermione asked dryly. "We win the Quidditch Cup because you hit Malfoy with the Quaffle?"

"Yeah," Ron sighed happily. "Isn't it funny how life turns out that way?" He waved his hand dismissively at her. "Now hush up, I'm taking my victory lap." He raised his arms over his head in exultation once again, and waved to his invisible adoring fans.

Hermione couldn't help it any longer; she let out a snort of laughter.

"Finally!" Ron bolted up and smirked when he saw Hermione giggling. He waited until she had ceased laughing before speaking again. "This is how I wanted tonight to go."

Hermione looked up at him and found that his blue eyes were now a bit somber. "Me too," she agreed.

"You know, talking, fighting, laughing, you talking me out of killing Malfoy--that's the way it's supposed to go," Ron continued, frustration leaking into his voice. Hermione nodded in agreement. "So why didn't it?"

"Because I was terrified," Hermione admitted. "I wasn't relaxed--I put too much pressure on this one date to determine our entire future. You probably sensed that, and it affected you."

Ron hesitated before admitting, "I was scared, too."

Hermione looked down in her lap--she found herself unable to look at him. "Ron, I think we're going to be just fine. I think we have a future. It's just going to take some time--we can't get back to where we were in one date. It took five and a half years to get us to where we were. I don't think that it'll take us that long again, but it is going to take a bit of time for me to--to trust you again." She started playing with the hem of her skirt. "But, I know I will eventually."

"Why can't we just go back?" Ron couldn't help asking with frustration.

"Because it doesn't work that way," Hermione answered. "We can't just force things back; we just have to let things happen as they will and not rush it." She pushed some hair out of her face. "I mean, look at what happened tonight--we forced it, and it turned out badly. But when we spontaneously just started talking and spending time together, it-it was wonderful."

"So let me get this straight," Ron said slowly. "You want to be spontaneous and not have a plan?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice, and she looked up to give him one of her patented glares. "Ron." She somehow found the courage to look him dead in the eye, although it made her a bit weak in the knees to do so. "You can't plan love. We can plan dates, of course, but we can't force ourselves to be something we aren't. We just have to be ourselves, and what was meant to be...will be." She swallowed hard. "We just have to let things happen as they will."

Maybe looking at him dead in the eye wasn't the best of ideas; she really wanted him to just happen to kiss her. She hadn't been properly kissed in a long time, and although it might appear superficial to some, it wasn't to her. Kissing Ron was--indescribably fantastic--their very hearts and souls touched when their lips met, and she never felt so loved and beautiful and valued as a human being when Ron's lips were on hers. People may joke about them snogging, but it had never been just snogging--it had always been something much deeper than that.

And that's why they couldn't kiss just yet; Hermione knew that once she kissed that boy again, it would be the end. She'd lose herself in Ron again, and although that's what she ultimately wanted to do, she couldn't yet. Not when they were still cleaning up from the catastrophe that was last January, and that niggling voice of old rejection and hurt was still whispering to her, what if he hurts you again?

Ron cleared his throat and looked away from her, much to her relief--and disappointment. "I think I should teach you how to fly," Ron commented abruptly.

"I know how to fly, Ron," Hermione reminded him, although her heart leapt at the idea of flying with Ron.

"Yeah," Ron snorted, "it's just too bad you can't land."

"Ron!" Hermione swatted his arm. "I'm not that bad!"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "but you're not that good." Hermione huffed impatiently. She thought that she was an adequate flier, and that was all that was necessary, especially since she could Apparate. "Come on, Hermione," Ron cajoled. "Do you really just want to be average at something?"

Hermione hoped that he couldn't catch her irritation at his perception. Why did he have to know her so well? "All right," she agreed.

Ron's smile lit up his entire face. "Wicked." Hermione smiled back, and they both suddenly appeared to be at a loss for words. Ron hastily glanced at his watch. "We'd better get back in."

"Er, you fly back to your dormitory, and I'll just walk back," Hermione said quickly. She had a feeling that if she flew with Ron again and he dropped her off at her window and smiled at her in that way that he did...well, let's just say she would end up doing something she might regret.

"Oh, okay." Ron didn't bother to try to hide his disappointment, which almost made Hermione change her mind on the spot. "'Night then."

"Good night," Hermione returned, folding her arms over her chest to maintain a barrier between them. She flashed him a smile and hurried over to the door. Good, you are in control, you are not about to succumb to your feelings, you are in charge...

"Ron," Hermione turned back to him. He hadn't moved yet. Hermione didn't know what made her say the next bit. Maybe it was to see his grin, or maybe it was because she couldn't lie to him, or because he really should honestly know. Whatever the reason, Hermione held his gaze for a moment and said, "Thank you, Ron. This was the best date I've ever had."

**

"Miss Granger, could I have a word with you?"

Hermione obediently stopped in front of Professor McGonagall's desk, patiently waiting for the other students to file out of the classroom after handing in their essays. The normally stern professor had to press her lips together to hide a smile as Ron tried to wait at the door for Hermione, where Harry was lingering as well. "Miss Granger will be right along, Mr. Weasley." Hermione waved him on, and Ron glanced at his watch to remind her that lunch would be served in less than ten minutes. She continued to shoo him, and he continued to roll his eyes, but in the end, her insistence won out. Harry just laughed and slapped Ron on the back as both boys left, but not without Ron and Hermione exchanging another glance of part-annoyance, part-adoration. Minerva McGonagall shook her head. It was about bloody time--she had lost five Galleons on the pool for that couple.

"Now, Miss Granger, I want you to be entirely honest with me," Professor McGonagall said briskly with underlying concern. Hermione nodded, but she was starting to get slightly worried; she had thought her professor had kept her behind for Head Girl purposes, but now it appeared that this was something much more important.

"Is Harry feeling all right?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. "I think so," she replied honestly. "He looks a bit peaky at times, but he always says he's fine." She frowned slightly. "But then again, he always says he's fine."

McGonagall nodded soberly as if Hermione had just confirmed her worst fear. "Miss Granger, do you happen to know why Professor Dumbledore requested that Harry remain in the hospital wing for a few nights?"

"No." Hermione's eyes went wide with concern. "Harry just said that Madame Pomfrey was being pickier than usual."

"I assume you are aware that Harry is practicing wandless sorcery?" Hermione nodded again. "What do you know about the subject?"

"Just that most average wizards can perform it unintentionally in extremely emotional situations," Hermione recited. "Wizards of age can also perform magic without a wand, for simple, basic spells. However, more powerful wizards can perform complicated spells without a wand. These wizards, however, were primarily Dark wizards, such as Grindelwald, Slytherin, and of course Lord Vol--You-Know-Who." It gave Hermione an irrational sense of pride that she could manage to say Voldemort's name, but her favorite professor still flinched at the sound of the first syllable.

"You are correct, Miss Granger." McGonagall stopped to give her an appraising sort of look, and then leaned forward intently. "However, if properly practiced, wizards can perform wandless magic without the use of Dark magic. You see, Miss Granger, to perform wandless magic, a great deal of emotion is required, to compensate for the absence of the wand that would otherwise be channeling the magical energy. This is why it becomes dangerous at times--negative emotions such as hatred, vengeance, and anger can be viewed as more powerful than forces such as love, friendship, and loyalty. This is why the majority of wizards who can consistently use wandless magic are Dark wizards--they tapped into their negative emotions and opened the floodgates, so to speak; they became drunk with the power of hatred and did not wish to lose this power."

Hermione nodded, fascinated, and thought back to how Lupin had rested his hand on Harry's chest and quietly reminded him of that risk. "However," McGonagall continued, "there are a few who have mastered the craft of fueling their positive emotions. This is exceedingly more difficult, but infinitely more rewarding. Professor Dumbledore is one of these wizards, and he is in the process of training Harry.

"I know you are aware that Harry had a close call, and almost used Dark magic to defeat Tom Riddle." McGonagall paused for a moment. "There are, however, other risks to using wandless magic." Hermione glanced up sharply at her professor. "It is extremely draining on the wizard to consistently use wandless magic, especially when he has just begun his training. And after the night Harry had..." McGonagall said, shaking her head in disbelief, "...we were very surprised that he apparently suffered no injuries."

"You think Harry is hiding his injuries." It wasn't a question; it was a statement--it was fact, and that fact made Hermione's stomach twist in the unique way that only her immeasurable concern for the Boy-Who-Lived could instigate.

"Poppy thoroughly examined him and found no indication of external or internal injuries," McGonagall reassured her. "All I am asking is that you keep a close eye on him, and report to me or to Professor Dumbledore if you ever suspect that he might not be feeling well."

"Of course, Professor," Hermione agreed. She was already running over the past week in her mind for any clue that Harry's health might be faltering. He always seemed a bit tired, but who could blame him, what with N.E.W.T. classes, Quidditch practice, Occulmency and wandless magic training, filling out applications for jobs, and spending time with his friends? There had been nothing unusual about his exhaustion, but it worried Hermione, nevertheless.

"Thank you." The professor began to neatly pile up the numerous parchments that had been thrown onto her desk. "That will be all, Miss Granger." However, Hermione didn't leave straight away, instead she'd become struck with the insatiable urge to ask some questions herself--she assumed it had something to do with her internship at the Prophet this summer. McGonagall looked up to find her Head Girl still standing in front of her desk, and she raised her eyebrows. "Unless there is something I can do for you, Miss Granger?"

"I was wondering, Professor," Hermione said plaintively, "if you could tell me if you found out anything about those Muggle girls." She didn't know what on earth possessed her to do this, but something was telling her that her favorite professor might be the only one that could give her the information she was so desperately seeking. Professor Lupin typically kept Harry very well informed, and he in turn kept his two best friends very well informed. However, now that Lupin was gone...Hermione bit her lip and continued to hold her professor's gaze unabashedly. Honestly, there was nothing wrong with asking a simple question. She had, after all, been the one to make the statement to the Aurors and the Order about what the housekeeper had told her and what she'd seen. She had every right to know how the search was going, especially since there was a very good possibility that she was an intended victim. Besides, she was no longer a child, and she could very well ask for information if she wanted to. After all, ignorance wouldn't win them any wars.

McGonagall studied her for a moment before allowing herself a tiny smile. She marveled at the girl's nerve. "A team was deployed to the Malfoy Manor with a search warrant authorized by the Ministry of Magic." The smile faded. "No prisoners were found on the premises."

"And you didn't see any sign of Professor Lupin, either?" Hermione asked. She knew she was changing the subject rather abruptly, but she was also very curious about the search for Professor Lupin.

"Miss Granger, I believe you already know this, as Mr. Potter was informed of the professor's status."

"Harry told me that there were werewolf sightings in Grantham throughout the entire February full moon cycle," Hermione relayed, "which means that Professor Lupin either escaped, or they were letting him out." Hermione's stomach jumped at the thought. As awful as it was, she was leaning toward the latter. It would be just like Lucius Malfoy to torture Professor Lupin by letting him out to terrorize an innocent Muggle settlement. Lupin would be so exhausted and ill by the time the moon set, that he would be quite easy to recapture. He would then have to stay in his cell for the rest of the day, wallowing in guilt for what he had done. Ron had told her all about what happened during his transformations when he had first arrived at Grimmauld Place the summer before fifth-year. Lupin had barely been able to look at him--he still felt responsible for the injury Ron had sustained at the end of third-year due to Lupin's transformation. Lupin cared so deeply for people that it was things like this that pushed him over the edge. It was a fate worse than death for their caring, mild-mannered former professor, and the Death Eaters knew it.

McGonagall nodded. "This leads us to believe that there are two possibilities for where he could be right now. If he escaped, since he has not made contact with us, we must assume that he is injured, or..." McGonagall couldn't bring herself to finish the statement. "And if he is still in the hands of the Death Eaters, then we have no lead on where to find him, if he's still alive."

"He is, Professor, I know he is," Hermione said hastily. "If they still have Professor Lupin, they're going to keep him alive, because they know what it's doing to Harry..."

"I realize that, Miss Granger, but at this time, there is nothing we can do," McGonagall interrupted firmly.

Hermione knew from the stern finality in McGonagall's voice that there was no use in pursing the matter. "But what about the Muggle girls? You do believe us, don't you?" Hermione pressed, fingering the strap of her schoolbag. "We all saw them--there were at least fifteen of them--"

"We have all of the necessary information, Miss Granger; so that is not the issue," McGonagall interrupted. "There is simply no evidence."

"So are you going to do anything to help?" Hermione asked, straining to keep her voice steady.

McGonagall sighed and got to her feet, sweeping up the rolls of parchment. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but the Order has several other pressing issues to contend with at the moment. We are aware of the situation, and if we have any further information, we will pursue it wholeheartedly." She gave her student a sympathetic look. "But, until then, I'm afraid there is nothing we can do."

"Professor," Hermione continued, "in your opinion, why would Lucius Malfoy want to keep Muggle girls in his home? Are there any sort of spells or rituals, or anything involving Muggle or Muggle-born girls that they would want to perform?"

"There are none that I can call to mind, Miss Granger, and I certainly hope that you will not be spending time pursuing this matter. I believe that you have a great deal of other tasks to devote your energies to." She gave Hermione a searching look before setting down her papers and pulling out a quill.

Hermione couldn't suppress a frustrated sigh any longer. "So there isn't anything we can do to help those girls?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but that's our final ruling." McGonagall finished scratching away on a blank piece of parchment and carefully folded it. Without another word, the Transfiguration professor handed the parchment to Hermione and strode out of the classroom. Frowning slightly, Hermione opened the note.

Dear Madame Pince,

I give Hermione Granger permission to retrieve the following textbooks from the Restricted Section of the library:

Professor M. McGonagall

Hermione smiled. She had left the spot for the list of books blank--she could fill in any book she pleased. One of the privileges of Head Girl was that she was allowed to read the books in the Restricted Section of the library. So now she was free to peruse the books and check them out if necessary. The Order may be too busy going after Death Eaters, protecting the Ministry and the Muggles, and watching their own backs, to track down one person--or go on the word of four students who claimed to see a room full of Muggles held prisoner, but she wasn't. Well, that wasn't exactly true, especially since N.E.W.T.s were coming up, but Hermione was not about to let these matters die. She stuck the paper into her pocket and walked determinedly out of the classroom.

And she wasn't going to the Great Hall for lunch.