Hermione Granger and the Half-Blood Prince

There've been times

I'm so confused

All my roads

They lead to you

Can't turn and walk away...

Hard to say what it is I see in you

Wonder if I'll always be with you

Words can't say and I can't do

Enough to prove it's all for you...

"All For You" Sister Hazel

**

Dear Mum and Dad,

Dipping the nib needlessly back into the ink, Hermione stared at the vast expanse of blank space uncertainly before slowly returning the point of the quill to the parchment.

Hullo, how are you?

Hermione tapped the tip of her quill against the parchment.

School is still going very well--my classes are much more challenging this year.

She bit her lip, pondering what to say next.

But you know me: I always enjoy a challenge.

The quill returned more confidently to the ink pot.

Our homework load has increased considerably, of course, but now we have free periods during the school day to catch up on assignments. Ron thought that we could use the time to play chess or Exploding Snap, but now he knows how wrong he was. He and Harry are working harder than ever. They're finally applying themselves. I think both of them really want to be Aurors--the wizarding equivalent to police officers--which requires the highest of marks. I haven't seen them this driven before. I'm really quite proud of them. I haven't come any closer to deciding what I might like to do after Hogwarts, but hopefully that will change soon.

She tossed the quill down with an irritated sigh. This had to be the most boring letter in the history of mankind. It was the sort of letter you wrote to your great-aunt that you only met once or twice on holidays. It was a letter you really didn't want to write, but you felt obligated to write so you filled the page with trivial, meaningless drivel about your life that you would barely remember twenty years from now. In twenty years from now, Hermione wouldn't remember how intense her classes were or how challenged she was by them. She would remember the knowledge she had gained of course, but the real experiences she would treasure were the ones she couldn't tell her family.

Staring into the flickering flames of the nearby fire, Hermione blew out a soft exhale. She had been thinking about family a lot lately. It was the biggest problem preying on her mind. Her classes were going well enough although it was taking her a bit longer than usual to grasp concepts. Harry's first lesson with Dumbledore had gone very well; it was absolutely fascinating that Harry was learning about Voldemort's past. She wasn't certain how, but she had a feeling that would come in handy one day. If Harry understood the enemy he was facing, he would have a better chance at discovering the best way to defeat that enemy. Ron had steadily repelled all of Lavender's efforts to lure him into conversation. Lavender's confidence had been shaken and Hermione hoped that soon Lavender would move on to more attainable prey. All and all, the beginning of this term was progressing loads better than the year of Umbridge.

There were only two things bothering Hermione: the war and the Half-Blood Prince. Potions had quickly become Harry's best subject, but Hermione couldn't help feeling uneasy every time she looked at Harry's Potions boo. So far all of the Prince's advice had been harmless, but who knew how long would that last? Ron still insisted that she was jealous that Harry surpassed her in a subject, but that wasn't true at all. If Harry had concocted those potions on his own, she would be immensely proud of him. But he wasn't: he was using someone else's notes. It was as bad as cheating. Besides, Harry had surpassed her in Defense ages ago, and she certainly hadn't been jealous then. Everyone who met Harry knew he was capable of magic well above all others: he was the best of the best. If he really applied himself, Harry could surpass her in all subjects. He didn't need to mindlessly follow someone else's guidance.

And then there was the war. More accidents, disappearances, and deaths appeared on a regular basis in the Prophet, but today the war had finally hit home at Hogwarts. In Herbology, Professor McGonagall had entered the greenhouse to soberly request that Hannah Abbot come with her. The loud, heart-breaking wail that had pierced the air a few seconds later told the students all they needed to know. Hermione learned later that Hannah's mother had been the one to be killed by Death Eaters. Hermione's chest grew heavy and hot at the thought. It could just as easily have been her mother to be the one killed last night. The thought sickened Hermione so much that she considered telling her parents everything in one, long, extremely-telling letter, but Eloise's abrupt withdrawal from Hogwarts had quickly changed her mind. She would be seventeen in a week; there was still time to pull her from school. She couldn't make her confession yet.

Hermione crumpled the parchment into a tiny ball and tossed it into the fireplace where the merrily crackling flames soon gobbled up the roll of paper. Just because she couldn't tell them everything, didn't mean that she couldn't tell them something. She pulled out a fresh sheet and smoothed it carefully.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I know I wrote to you yesterday, but I had to talk to you. A student's mother was killed today; I was in the classroom when they came to tell her the news. It was awful. I couldn't even imagine what I would do if anything happened to you. It made me miss you two more than ever so I suppose I'm writing this to make myself feel a bit better. I always feel closer to home whenever I write. I wish there was a way I could speak to you, but I suppose the letter will have to do.

I miss you a lot. I know you may sometimes think that I'd prefer the magical world to you, but that's not true. No matter how far away from home I am, I'll always be thinking of you and a part of me will always wish that I'm there with you. This is just something I have to do. I need to be here; I belong here, especially now.

There are things happening that you don't understand, but I promise one day I will explain everything. For now, you'll just have to trust me. I'm being very careful, I'm healthy, my lessons are going better than ever--although I have to admit they are a bit more challenging--and I've never been happier. Ron and Harry certainly know how to entertain me. My only regret is that I can't share this world with you.

That's why I'm writing you this letter. I wanted to reassure you that someday, I will tell you more about it when I come home for Christmas. I wish I could do it now, but this isn't something you can put in a letter. But I promise soon you'll know everything; I don't want to keep things from you anymore.

I hope to hear back from you soon. You can send it with the owl that delivered my letter; I'll tell the owl to wait for a response. I'm glad to hear that the practice is going so well with the new clients and I hope your visit to Aunt Katherine's goes well. Tell her I said hello and that I miss her.

I love you both very much.

Love from,

Hermione

Hermione set down her quill and read over what she written. She had been wanting to say these things to her parents for a long time. It felt good to finally get them down on paper. They probably wouldn't be very reassured just yet, but it was a start. She started to roll the scroll when she looked up and blinked with surprise.

"How long have you been here?"

Ron looked up from his Quidditch book. He was lounging in the chair across from her, his feet propped up on the table for support as he balanced the chair on its back two legs with the book in lap. "A fair bit," he answered. He nodded curiously at the parchment. "You're not doing homework, are you? It's Friday!"

"No," Hermione answered curtly. Maybe if Ron thought she was in a foul mood, he wouldn't pry.

He did. "What are you doing then?" he asked, swinging his long legs off the table so all four legs of the chair could return to the floor and he could lean forward to inspect the paper.

"It's just a letter home," Hermione said quietly, sweeping her hair out of her eyes. She rolled up the scroll and got to her feet. She wanted to send it before she went to bed. Ron was giving her a funny look she couldn't comprehend. His blue eyes seemed clearer than ever, burning straight through her so he could see every inch of her. She fiddled with the scroll. It was thrillingly unnerving to be looked at so intently. "What?"

"You really worry about them," Ron said abruptly and quietly. "Don't you?"

Hermione continued to play with the letter, suppressing the urge to hold it tightly to her chest. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to just give her parents a hug. "Yes," she admitted. "I'd be stupid not to." Out of nerves, the scroll jumped out of her hands and landed on the table, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop. Hermione sighed and remained still. Somehow she knew that Ron had something he wanted or needed to say.

Ron didn't answer straight away. He just looked at her for a long minute as if trying to find the right words to say. He looked quite uncomfortable as he always did when he had to comfort her, but there was a determination there that had been missing before. It was as though he was firmly convinced that she had to understand that nothing bad was ever going to happen as long as he was around. "Nothing's going to happen to them, you know," he finally said. "I made sure Dad had your house protected--he even got Dumbledore to do it. If anyone magical besides you enter the premises--"

"--the Order and Aurors will be alerted, I know," Hermione finished for him. "That's why you or your dad couldn't pick me up this summer. It would have set off the alarm. They're as safe as they can possibly be." She nervously pulled her jumper sleeves over her hands, fingering and kneading at the cuffs of the thick knitting. "I just wish there was a way I could be certain."

The look had returned to his wonderfully expressive face--that funny look Hermione couldn't put her finger on. But whatever it meant, it made her insides melt and glow in a way it never had before. Ron had wreaked havoc on her on a regular basis, but this year was shaping up to be very different. It was bolder, sharper, hotter, and nearly impossible to conceal. She supposed it had to do with the fact that she had been hiding how she felt for so long. For two years, she had been concealing this intimate secret of hers, but all secrets yearn to be revealed. It was boiling eagerly away inside of her, begging for her to say the words so he could tell her that he felt the same way and maybe put on a repeat performance of their incident last April. She couldn't keep this to herself much longer. Sometime this year, Ron was going to find out for certain how she felt about him, especially if he kept looking at her like that.

Ron's voice broke the brief spell that had been cast over the two of them. "You want to use Pig?"

"Could I?" Hermione said with astonishment. Ron had only allowed her to use his pet when they were at the Burrow; there were scads of school owls students she often used. However, it would be loads easier if Pig was the messenger. He was the owl who most frequently made the trek to her house; he knew the way and would get there much faster than the older, slower school owls. Pig also would faithfully remain fluttering about her house until her parents wrote a reply and return it as fast as he could manage.

"Yeah," Ron said. He tossed his book onto the table and rose from the chair. "I'll walk you," he offered.

Hermione blinked. Ron had never accompanied her to the owlery when she went to send a letter, especially after Viktor Krum. He always seemed to suspect that every letter she wrote was to her Bulgarian pen pal. "Okay," she agreed. It would be rather nice to just walk with Ron. As sixth-year prefects, their patrolling duties had noticeably diminished: last year, they had to patrol almost every day. Now they were only required to patrol every Thursday evening. It freed up a great deal of Hermione's time, but she had to admit she missed it a little. She had loved to walk the halls alone with Ron at night. Although nothing ever happened, the conversations they had had and the looks had been exchanged had fortified Hermione's hope that something could happen someday.

"And when we get back, what do you want to do? Exploding Snap? Chess?" Ron continued. He seemed determined to ensure that she was properly cheered up.

With a long breath, Hermione considered the options. Somehow, their typical games just didn't seem good enough tonight. Her gaze wandered over to the window as she looked out onto the vast, open sky. "I want to fly."

"Eh?" Ron asked perplexedly. Those were the last words he expected to ever come out of her mouth.

She didn't want to explain her reasoning now so Hermione just repeated herself. "I just want to fly." She bit her lip momentarily, hoping that Ron would indulge her.

Ron gave her that look for another few seconds before nodding. He wasn't even going to begin to try to understand her. He just wanted to see her smile. "Okay then. Let's find you a broom."

**

Ron was such a quandary at times, Hermione thought as she left the Great Hall the next morning. Usually, Hermione thought that it was one of his most intriguing characteristics: that she didn't understand him yet she knew him better than anyone all at the same time. But today, Hermione was not amused by the mound of contradictions that was Ron Weasley.

Last night, he had been wonderful. He was better than wonderful, actually. He was perfect. He had walked her to the owlery, sent Pig off with her letter, found her a broom in the student cupboards, and flown with her on the pitch for a half an hour or so. He had been so endearing and funny that Hermione had completely forgotten about everything troubling her. She had just had fun for once. It was absolutely fantastic.

And then, while walking back to the tower to find Harry, Ron with hopeful anxiety had asked her if she was going to come watch the trials tomorrow. Hermione of course had agreed instantly with a swell of joy and a tiny vindictive voice inside her head eagerly hoping that Lavender was somehow overhearing this. Ron wanted her there. He needed her there.

Or Hermione had thought he wanted her there. The cocky strut he just had adopted when Lavender had brightly grinned at him as they left breakfast certainly said otherwise. Hermione folded her arms over her chest, not bothering to hide her resentment. She glanced over to see if Harry had noticed Ron's abrupt change in behavior. He obviously had; he looked as though it was only out of his great respect for his and Ron's friendship that he wasn't laughing his socks off. Appropriately, a cool, misty drizzle pattered gloomily down as the three of them walked to the pitch, matching Hermione's mood perfectly. When they reached the perimeter of the field, Ron appeared to be much more like himself: a pale shade of petrified green. Good, Hermione thought. He deserved to be scared after acting like such a prat in front of Lavender. Without a word, she sailed over to the stands so she could find a seat near the front so she could see properly. If he wanted someone to wish him luck, he could ask Lavender.

A steady stream of students filed excitedly into the pitch, most of which were giggling girls. Hermione wasn't very surprised. Harry had always been a bit of a celebrity, but now he had transcended from the Boy-Who-Lived to the dreamy Chosen One. He was taller, handsomer, and more talented confident than ever. Without realizing it, Harry had finally truly fulfilled the hero persona he had been given the moment he had deflected a Killing Curse and gained a lightening bolt scar. Hermione propped her chin up her hand as she watched a slightly flustered Harry try to sort out the best way to go about the trials. Several of the girls down there--Romilda Vane in particular--gave Hermione particularly scathing looks she hadn't seen since the days of the Viktor Krum fan club. They all clearly suspected that she and Harry were more than just friends. But they needn't had worried. Hermione glanced over at Ron's back. She was never one to adhere to convention.

"Hey, Hermione," Neville Longbottom greeted as he fell into the vacant spot next to her. "Have they started yet?"

"No," Hermione replied. "Harry's still working out what to do." Neville nodded as he rather dreamily looked down at the applicants, wishing he had the courage and talent to join them. She gave him a kind smile, knowing he was keenly aware of the fact that he was the only male Gryffindor sixth and seventh year not trying out. She wanted to make sure he wasn't feeling embarrassed about that fact, so she decided he should hear what she thought about the matter. "Have you ever thought about playing Quidditch?"

Neville snorted in disbelief. "Haven't flown since I broke my wrist first-year. I'd kill myself in a heartbeat."

"That's not true," Hermione disagreed. "Loads has changed since first-year. I bet if you gave it a try, you could be really good at Quidditch. You never thought you could face off to Death Eaters, but look what happened." She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "You saved my life."

A hot, pleased but embarrassed magenta blush had spread all over Neville's face. "Idint," he mumbled.

"If you hadn't carried me along, I'd probably be dead," Hermione said frankly. She nudged him as a silent thank you. She never really properly thanked him for his actions at the Ministry, but this wasn't the time to talk about that still touchy subject. "So think about flying, if you want to give Quidditch a try," she advised. "I guarantee that you won't be as horrible as you were last time."

Neville laughed in agreement. "All right," he agreed. He kept his eyes on the sky and didn't look away for a long time. Hermione leaned forward so she could get a closer look at what was happening below. Harry had decided that the applicants should first divide into groups and take turns flying around the pitch. Some groups were asked to leave before they left the ground, namely the frightened first-years who couldn't make it inches off the ground before panicking and the simpering clusters of girls who had only come to watch Harry. Some weren't even in Gryffindor; Harry seemed the most irate at those students and they slunk away to join the others in the stands. Finally, Harry was left with all the Gryffindors would could actually fly. He asked to see the Chasers in the air first and about three-quarters of the applicants kicked off and soared into the sky.

Hermione watched Ginny Weasley as she streaked across the pitch, deftly catching a Quaffle that was tossed at her. Good luck, she thought silently at her friend. Ginny was dying to make the team and after seeing her play this summer, Hermione was certain that Ginny stood an excellent chance. Hermione didn't know a lot about Quidditch but anyone could see that Ginny, like Harry, was born to fly. She kept her eyes on her friend and cheered along with the others as Ginny scored goal after goal. Harry's eyebrows kept rising higher and higher in sincere approbation and it was quite difficult to impress Harry Potter. Hermione smiled proudly; yes, Ginny stood an excellent chance.

After about an hour of trials as Harry put them through test after test, Hermione started to tire of watching the sky and focused on what was occurring on the ground. A tall boy was standing rather close to her seat and Hermione watched idly as a second boy walked over to join him and indicate the sky. When he spoke, because of the weather and fantastic acoustics of the pitch, his voice traveled straight up into Hermione's awaiting ear.

"So who d'you think, McLaggen?" the dark-haired, weedy-looking seventh-year with a few day's old stubble lining his chin asked. He nodded up in the air, clearly asking his friend for his opinion about the new Chasers.

The friend stared analytically up into the air at the many Chaser applicants. It took her a moment, but Hermione eventually recognized him as the boy who had been in Seamus' compartment on the Hogwarts Express, the one who had asked her about Harry being the Chosen One and was so enamored by her apparent display of 'feistiness'. She rolled her eyes. She didn't think this boy was as impressed with her cheekiness as he was with the obvious knowledge that she had breasts and other features specific to the female anatomy. A girl could tell that sort of things about a boy: most girls could tell straightaway if a boy was interested in you as a person or if a boy was interested in sticking as many body parts into you as possible. McLaggen was definitely the latter.

"Well, Bell is a cert," McLaggen finally spoke. He nodded to the well-experienced Chaser who was easily zipping past the competition. "Finnigan is pretty good too, although he doesn't handle the Quaffle very well. Thomas isn't as comfortable in the air, but he works well with others, which is always helpful." His eyes wandered over the rest of the fliers and Hermione shook her head. It was just like him to of course assume that Harry would prefer to have boys rather than girls. McLaggen was noticeably avoiding mentioning the most obvious choice for Chaser.

"That fifth-year is good," he begrudgingly admitted, pointing out Demelza. She had just successfully ducked two Bludgers that had been knocked at her at once. Hermione glanced over at Harry in time to see him raise his eyebrows in admiration and fly closer so he could ask her again what her name was. Demelza shouted an answer, deftly avoiding another Bludger that seemed intent on smashing her skull. Harry grinned again and told her to keep playing. Hermione smiled. Demelza had mentioned at the last prefect meeting how much she wanted to play. She hoped Harry would give her that chance.

McLaggen had finally focused on Ginny Weasley which was no easy feat. She was zigzagging impressively all over the pitch, even outflying the experienced Katie Bell and scoring fourteen goals. Hermione smiled proudly as Ginny deftly intercepted the Quaffle, aimed her broom downwards into a steep dive to avoid the five people between her and the hoops, whizzing upwards so quickly that all anyone on the ground saw was a red blur and the Quaffle sailing through the golden hoop. "So first slot will go to Bell, the second to Finnigan, Thomas, or the fifth-year--" McLaggen paused as Ginny braked sharply to switch directions with a dexterity that Hermione had only seen Harry possess. "--and the third will be the littlest Weasley."

"Yeah," the friend agreed. "Ginny Weasley." He shook his head in wonder. "You heard how she cursed that prat Smith on the train over here, right? Smith was attacked by bogeys three days later. It's amazing." His eyes remained riveted to the petite girl soaring across the gray sky. "I'd never want to be on her bad side. She's a wildcat, she is."

McLaggen shrugged disinterestedly. "She's all right."

"Have you heard Corner talk about her?" The dark-haired boy let out a low whistle. "She's better than all right. Ever since they split up, everyone's been after her. Thomas was just lucky enough to get to her first."

"Do you know why they split?" McLaggen countered. His friend shook his head. "Because Corner's convinced she's still in love with Potter. That girl was just as stupid as the rest of them when she first came to school." He gestured to the giggling band of girls in the stands who clearly had no idea what was going on in the air. They could however tell anyone all about how the hair on the back of Harry's head lay. "I saw her. All she could do was stutter at him. She's no better than them."

"She is really pretty," McLaggen's friend conceded, admiringly watching Ginny weave her way through three Chasers to hurtle the Quaffle straight into the open goalpost. Ginny's hair had fallen out of the restraining hair-tie so the long red hair was flowing gracefully behind her, making her look like some sort of Quidditch goddess. Several boys were staring openly at Ginny--including, much to Hermione's joy, Harry.

"She is," McLaggen agreed. He tilted his head to get a better view of Ginny's backside. Hermione quickly glanced over to Ron to make sure he hadn't noticed. Luckily, Ron was still too focused on the arduous task of watching his sister and not vomiting at the same time to realize his little sister was being leered at. "And she's friendly." He winked. "Really friendly, if you know what I mean."

The brown-haired boy's eyes widened. "You mean--you and her--?"

"Oh yeah."

"But I thought you said she was stupid--"

"Just because she doesn't have a brain doesn't mean she doesn't know how to have a good time." McLaggen and his friend chuckled appreciatively. Hermione's fists clenched, her knuckles turning bright white. That was a downright lie. She couldn't believe McLaggen was spreading it around that he and Ginny had--Hermione ran her balled fists up and down the top of her thighs in agitation. She really wished she could just vault over the edge of the stands and land smack on McLaggen's head so he was rammed feet-first into the earth like a railroad spike. She unfortunately knew all about what it was like to have vicious slander publicly spread about your love life thanks to Rita rotten Skeeter. McLaggen could not do the same to Ginny. She wouldn't allow it.

"So, anyway, she's in," McLaggen continued. "Even if she wasn't pretty or a good flier, she'd be in. Everyone knows Potter has a soft spot for Weasleys." He narrowed his eyes at Ron who was standing off by himself, looking miserable. Hermione froze. No. He was not turning on Ron. She would have to kill him if he turned on Ron and she couldn't continue her classes if she was in Azkaban. "Weasley only got on the team last year because his brothers were on it too. I mean, Potter and the twins make up half the vote. Of course he got picked." McLaggen smirked. "And he did such a fine job." He waved his hands wildly in a nasty imitation of Ron failing to save a goal, complete with a dumbfounded, horrified facial expression.

McLaggen, his friend, and a few others who were watching laughed maliciously. Hermione's eyes shot over to Ron, stomach clenching. Please don't look, Ron, please don't look, please don't look...To her relief, Ron was too intent on watching his sister's trial to realize he was being mercilessly taunted literally behind his back. Although he was still a delicate shade of green, he still let out a whoop of approval when Ginny scored her seventeenth goal and clapped appreciatively. It was clear that Ron was very proud of his little sister.

"Do you think Potter will pick him again?" his friend asked critically. "That is his best mate. And you have to admit, he did play really well in the final."

McLaggen snorted. "Luck. Dumb luck." He examined Ron from behind. "Weasley is a good enough player when he doesn't have both thumbs stuck up his arse." He craned his neck to get a glimpse of Ron's face. "But look at him: putrid green and he hasn't even done anything yet. It's his nerves. Gets him every time. My guess is he'll be too busy chucking his guts out to even fly ten feet off the ground." He grinned at the image. "There's only one thing that Weasley is good at and that's screwing up. He'll never make it."

Hermione seriously wondered if there was steam curling irately out of her ears and nostrils. She certainly felt as though she could breathe fire. She grabbed the edge of her seat so she wouldn't reconsider her decision not to spring over the guardrail and make sure that McLaggen learned that even hell wreaked no fury like an irate Granger. Oblivious to the fact that anyone was listening, McLaggen extended his arms to flex them impressively. He probably hoped that all the girls in the stands behind him could watch in admiration. "Besides, I've been training since the summer after Wood left. I worked all that summer, I knew Weasley wouldn't last so I trained all last year, and I even worked with the Tornadoes' Keeper this summer. Met him through my Uncle Tiberius. They said I showed infinite potential and our captain would be a fool not to pick me. They even want me to come back after this term and go to their trials."

"The Tornadoes wants you to try out?" Bradford shook his head in awed disbelief. "Damn, Cormac!"

McLaggen's smirk was so wide and arrogant that Hermione thought his face was going to break into two. She rather hoped it did. "I know," he gloated. "Weasley hasn't got a prayer."

"Hermione?" Neville's voice shook Hermione's attention from the two boys and she slowly turned towards him. His round face was concernedly staring at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Hermione replied flatly. A cold sensation revolved determinedly in her stomach as McLaggen's words bounced around in her head. She hadn't felt this compelled to enact revenge since Rita Skeeter. Slowly and sneakily, she slipped her wand out of her pocket and up her jacket sleeve. Only the very tip of the wand poked through so she could properly aim at her intended target. Leaning forward in pretense of straining to get a closer look at the pitch, Hermione rested her arms on the barrier in such a way that her wand just happened to point directly at McLaggen's unsuspecting back. She had no idea what on earth she was going to do, but something had to be done to shut his fat mouth. All she had to do was wait for the opportune moment.

It came about half an hour later. The Beater trials had just ended. To her consternation, McLaggen's friend--Ritchie Coote, she learned his name was--was picked along with a short but powerful third-year named Jimmy Peakes. Only the Keeper trials remained. Coote had joined his new teammates, flashing McLaggen a thumbs-up as he walked by. McLaggen squared his shoulders confidently, shooting Ron a challenging glare. Ron visibly turned a shade greener; he knew that McLaggen would be his fiercest competition.

Harry had the candidates soar up to the hoops one at a time and have their hand at deflecting five penalty shots from the three new Chasers. He had the other five hopefuls go first, but their combined saves only totaled to nine. None of them had a chance. Harry gestured to McLaggen next, mercifully letting Ron go last. That way Ron would know how many goals he would have to save to make the team. McLaggen paused to collect his broom, stooping over so his back was vulnerably exposed to Hermione's wand. Perfect. Concentrating as hard as she could and recalling everything she had learned in N.E.W.T. charms, Hermione nonverbally thought the incantation for the Confundus Hex.

A flurry of faint sparks hurtled so quickly towards the unsuspecting Gryffindor that Hermione thought she was the only one who saw them. Everyone was too busy cheering or jeering for the next candidate. The spell hit McLaggen square in the spine and he jerked up in confusion. He looked about him, trying to ascertain what had just struck him. But the charm must have already taken effect for he soon just shrugged bemusedly. Shaking his head, he mounted his broom and kicked off towards the goalposts.

Hermione's fingers curled anxiously around the guardrail, her body rigid, as she bit her lip worriedly. It was a bit of a gamble to use that curse, but it was the only one that she could have used and avoided suspicion--she couldn't very well have used the Full-Body Bind without someone realizing that sabotage was being attempted. The only tricky thing about Confundus was that it could be fought. Like Imperius, if you had enough willpower and self-control, you could shake off the effects without enacting the counter-curse. Sure enough, McLaggen was shaking his head like a wet dog attempt to dispel water from its fur. He was fighting all right. But your spellwork is legendary, she reminded herself. Just ask Marietta Edgecombe. With a grimly satisfied smile across her face, Hermione held her breath and waited.

Katie took the first shot, weaving trickily from side to side and feinting to the left before throwing the Quaffle at the hoop to the far right. McLaggen saved it easily.

The crowd cheered in approval. Hermione bit her lip harder than ever.

He tossed the ball back to Demelza who, from what Hermione saw, was the least talented at scoring. As suspected, McLaggen saved the second shot too.

Ron now was clutching his broom to hide his nervous trembling. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked as though it had been cemented together with a spell. He was barely keeping it together. Hermione's legs started to dance up and down as frenetic energy overwhelmed her. McLaggen must have more willpower than she thought. Come on, Ginny...Hermione begged at her friend.

Ginny took her time catching the Quaffle, probably trying to lure McLaggen into a sense of false security or using the time to consider the best option. She tossed the Quaffle from hand to hand as she flew slowly towards him. She drifted a bit to the right as she came closer but right before she came in close scoring range, Ginny braked, dove into a fast loop and spun the Quaffle towards the left goal. This time, McLaggen only managed to slap the Quaffle away, but it was enough. He had saved three goals. He was in the lead.

All around Hermione, the crowd started buzzing about this newest possibility. Hermione remained mute, looking sadly down at Harry. Harry's face painfully showed that he was already considering just how he was going to have to tell his best mate that he was off the team.

Looking furious, Ginny muttered something as she soared back to let Katie take the fourth shot. Ginny went straight to Demelza, whispering something to the girl. Demelza nodded and Ginny sat back on her broom, a tight look of self-satisfaction on her face. Katie attempted another clever feint, but McLaggen saved it in the nick of time.

It took him a minute to realize that he had to throw the Quaffle back for another go. Hermione held her breath as she saw him shaking his head again. The longer you were exposed to a curse, the harder it was to resist. Her hex had been tormenting McLaggen this entire time. He wasn't that strong of a person. He had to succumb to it eventually. She just needed him to succumb to the power of the Confundus Hex now. Come on, she urged forcefully as if she could intensify her spell just by the sheer strength of her mind. Give in, give in, give in, give in...

Demelza had the Quaffle as it was her turn to shoot. However, she handed it off to Ginny who flew forward a few feet to give McLaggen a fair chance to realize that another Chaser was taking the penalty. Then, once she felt that obligation had been fulfilled, Ginny braked at lightening speed, yanked her arm back, and flung the Quaffle as hard as she could towards the left goal. She winced as though she had wrenched her arm with the extreme exertion, but her eyes were hard and determined. McLaggen was not blocking her shot again.

Ginny was right. McLaggen soared to the right, his head turned completely the wrong way so he had no idea that the Quaffle whipped and spun triumphantly into the hoop until a surge of boos assailed his ears. Hermione couldn't help jumping to her feet to join in, cupping her hands over her mouth to make sure that McLaggen heard her disdain. He deserved it after all of that horrid stuff he had said about some of her dearest friends.

McLaggen returned to the ground grinding his teeth. Ginny flew over to Demelza to give her new teammate a victorious high-five. It appeared that neither girl wanted McLaggen to be on their team. Katie hid a smile as she tossed the Quaffle to Demelza, telling her that she was next. Demelza nodded, holding the Quaffle under her arm, tucking her hair out of her face with her free hand, and waiting for the last Keeper candidate to get up in the air.

Hermione remained on her feet, hands back in their nervous death-grip on the guardrail. She couldn't sit now. It was Ron's turn. He mounted his Cleansweep Eleven and kicked off to a shrill cry of "Good luck!" Hermione spun around with her hands still glued to the railing to give Lavender Brown the dirtiest look imaginable. She was too anxious to even pretend that she was perfectly fine with her roommate's attempts to seduce her best friend.

Lavender had buried her face in her hands in dire embarrassment, but Parvati caught Hermione's glare with wide eyes before cupping her hands to Lavender's ear and whispering frantically away. Hermione turned back to see Ron take his place in front of the hoops. She really wished there was some sort of spell she could use to help Ron out, but she couldn't. She had helped Ron all she could. Now it was all up to him. He only needed to save four out five of the shots; then he and McLaggen could go into a tie-breaker and from the way that McLaggen was still bemusedly shaking his head, Ron would have a definite advantage. All he had to do was save four shots. Hermione bounced edgily on the balls of her feet. She knew in her heart that Ron could do it, but the problem was he needed to think he could do it if he was going to succeed.

With a nauseous nod, Ron signaled to Demelza that he was ready. She paused momentarily to set him off guard before whipping to the left, right, left, right, left, and halfway through her sharp veering to the right, she took her shot at the left hoop. Still looking green with nerves, Ron stretched out his long arms as he flew with no hands in plenty of time to close his fingers around the Quaffle amid cheers of admiration. Hermione let out a proud whoop as she bounced again on the balls of her feet, this time in excitement. One.

The Quaffle was lobbed over to Katie for her turn. She careened up in the air in a high, graceful arc before zooming down in a tamer rendition of the Wonky Faint or whatever it was called. When she was about level with the center hoop, she fired the Quaffle at the goal as hard as she could. Anticipating her move, Ron stationed himself in front of the middle hoop, staunchly allowing the Quaffle to ram into his stomach as he hastily wrapped both arms around the ball to keep it from rebounding off of him into the goal. The impact nearly knocked him off his broom but with gritted teeth, he held his own and threw the ball at his sister. Two.

As she had with McLaggen, Ginny took her time, tossing the Quaffle easily and casually from hand to hand. Hermione knew Ginny's dilemma. She really didn't want to score off of her brother, but she couldn't give him an easy shot without everyone accusing her of going easy on her brother. Ron had to fend off as difficult of a shot as all the other applicants had face. However, she also had an unfair advantage as she was Ron's sister: she knew his weaknesses better than anyone else. It would be easy to score off Ron. Sucking in a deep breath, Ginny met her brother's eyes with a quick, silent apology before zipping at almost breakneck speed towards the left goal. Ron's main problem was he second-guessed himself on the pitch; therefore, it was easy to score off of him with a feint as he would instinctively know the Chaser was feinting, yet he would tell himself that he didn't know better and continue to guard the hoop the Chaser was aiming for. Ron drifted to the left, face crinkled as he tried to anticipate if she was feinting or not. She certainly was going really fast.

But Ginny, who had played Seeker for half a year, was an excellent flier, probably the second best in the school after Harry. Eyes still boring intently at the left hoop, Ginny blindly chucked the Quaffle towards the open right hoop. Her instincts were so dead on that the red leather ball would have rocketed perfectly into the goal if not for Ron's last minute change in tactic. He stopped drifting to the left, returning to the middle where he could guard all three hoops at once, and flung himself to the side at the Quaffle. Hermione screamed and clapped both hands over her mouth as Ron barely managed to grab the ball one-handed as gravity sucked him downwards so he was dangling upside down precariously, only supported by one slipping hand and knee. But still he clung on to the Quaffle and while still hanging upside down, he passed the Quaffle back to Demelza with a laugh, not caring that his face was already beet red from the blood rushing to his head. After rocking back and forth for momentum, he swung his upper body back upright with a deft quick flip. Harry who had instantly tensed in preparation of soaring off to save his mate if necessary, just laughed and clapped along with the others. It really was a great save, even though it had almost given Hermione a stroke. Three.

After waiting for the blood to return to Ron's lower extremities, Demelza hurtled straight at the center goal, telegraphing her intentions a mile away. However, she flung the ball so it spun in fast, painful circles, causing it to ricochet fiercely off of Ron's blocking hand. It was an impossible throw to catch, so Ron didn't even try; he simply knocked it to the dirt instead with a wide grin. Four. He had tied McLaggen. Now he would definitely at least have another chance if he missed the next shot. But if he made this next save, it would all be over: he'd be on the team.

Katie dove to retrieve the Quaffle and skyrocketed back upwards, impressing everyone with a quick succession of corkscrews and a fast loop-the-loop, at the peak of which she pitched the Quaffle at the right goal. The whole crowd held a collective breath as they waited in anticipation for Ron's hands to close exultantly over the Quaffle and hold it high in the air for all to see. Five!

Hermione let out a squeal that probably only dogs could properly hear as she jumped up and down in victory, clapping as hard as she could and screaming herself hoarse. Everyone around her also seemed to think that Ron was the proper choice rather than McLaggen who was shouting away at an irritated Harry. Neville gave her an excited thump on the back as he too let out a cheer for Ron but Hermione hardly noticed. Ginny had soared over to Ron to give him a congratulatory hug, which Hermione decided looked very nice indeed. Elated, she turned towards the exit and spotted Lavender staring her down, daring her to even try to go down to the pitch to see Ron now. But Hermione no longer cared. She had every right to go down there: Ron was her best friend. It was perfectly natural that she be so thrilled for him. With a little shrug, Hermione pushed her way through the crowd and raced down the steps. The team had gathered around Harry for instructions, but overjoyed, ecstatic jumping beans had infected Hermione's stomach so she couldn't even wait for the meeting to break up.

"You did brilliantly, Ron!" she shouted as she ran toward them. Ron turned to see her and beamed widely at her. Hermione returned it. She really had never been so proud of him. She had missed seeing him play so spectacularly at the Quidditch final last year so this was the first time she had really seen him play. He really was brilliant. She always knew Ron had had it in him to play that fantastically, but seeing it for herself made her just want to jump, squeal, and dance with glee. She knew he had it in him all along.

Harry also had turned to see her approaching and gave her a look that clearly said 'could-you-please-wait-a-moment-while-I-finish-business-then-we-can-celebrate?' Hermione sheepishly slowed down and stood a few feet away so Harry could finish discussing the time for their next practice. She still had that wide, stupid smile on her face. Hooking her thumbs in her belt loops, Hermione watched Ron continue to grin and grin as though he had just defeated Voldemort, won the Quidditch World Cup, and had been given all the gold in China. She had helped make that happen. Although Ron would never know her contribution and technically it was just a tad bit deceitful, she couldn't care less. She had help put that smile on his face and that's all that mattered. McLaggen had been so wrong: Ron hadn't needed a prayer. He had just needed his Hermione.