Hermione Granger and the Half-Blood Prince

I find peace when I'm confused

I find hope when I'm let down

Not in me

In you

It's in you

I hope to lose myself for good

I hope to find it in the end

Not in me

In you

In you

"You" Switchfoot

**

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday, happy birthday

Happy birthday to me...

Hermione remained inert on her back her silent song to herself. It was one of the silly things she missed about Muggle birthdays. As childish as it was, she rather liked having people sing to her. No one had since she had turned ten so she always sang to herself instead. It was one of her silly traditions. She stretched her arms over her head, her back arching and her legs extending so all of the little kinks and aches were pulled from her body. Her foot bumped into the hard corner of something that was resting on top of her comforter. Her presents had already arrived.

Eagerly, she sat up and pulled her curtains aside so she could light the candle next to her bed. As she suspected, the sun had only just peeked tentatively over the horizon. She always woke up early on her birthday. Keeping her comforter wrapped around her, Hermione scooted forward towards the end of the bed to inspect the small mound of packages awaiting her. After shaking her hair out of her face and rolling her pajama sleeves back, she was ready to begin.

The first parcel was from home. A letter was enclosed with the card and that, more than whatever gift lay within the box, was the best present of all. Bolstered by the promise of a complete explanation of what was going on, her parents gushed their immense relief, confessing that they had been worried for some time, but they were so happy that she was finally ready to tell them what was going on. Hermione traced her finger in a loving circle around her parents' signatures. They had been worried for far too long about her; they deserved some peace of mind before she dropped a pile of pressing problems on them at Christmas. A worm of black anxiety tried to wiggle through, but Hermione forced it aside. Her parents were happy for now. They deserved all the happiness they could get. That was enough for now.

After ripping off the wrapping paper, Hermione beamed as she found a pair of silver teardrop earrings with a sapphire twinkling on each end. She had never cared to pierce her ears, but did enjoy wearing clip-ons on special occasions for a touch of glamour. There weren't many pairs that passed for pierced earrings--she despised those earrings that clearly looked like gaudy clip-ons--that weren't too painful on her earlobes, but as Hermione experimentally clipped them on, she knew that these were one of those special few. Hermione then reached underneath the collar of her pajamas to pull out the silver chain she always wore around her neck to compare the two pieces of jewelry. Her parents had managed to find earrings that matched the locket they had given Hermione last year. It must have taken them ages to find the perfect pair. With a smile, Hermione unclipped the earrings and placed them gently back in the box. She would definitely have to save them for a very special occasion.

Viktor also included a letter with his card and a gorgeous display of yellow, blue, and white lilies in a crystal vase that magically replenished with water by itself. Hermione carefully lifted the heavy vase out of the large florist box it had arrived in and set it on the nightstand. She timidly touched a smooth petal of one of the azure lilies. Viktor had remembered that lilies were one of her favorite flowers and knew that blue was her favorite color, explaining why he had thought to magically tint some of the lilies in her favorite shade. She left the letter unopened on her bed. She would read it later when she had a chance to give it her full attention. Viktor and her correspondence had notably diminished after the public recognized Voldemort's return; it was recommended that owl post be restricted, especially if they traveled overseas. Hermione looked over at her name written in Viktor's spiky handwriting and promised herself to write Viktor a long reply as soon as she had the chance.

She picked up a small, square box with a short note attached to it. Hermione scanned it quickly and with a laugh, ripped up the wrapping paper. It was a small box with a bland description of the cough medicine that lay within. Pulling out her wand, Hermione double-checked the incantation on the note and tapped the box while nonverbally saying the spell. With a pop, the dull wrapper vanished, revealing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship. Fred and George. It was a good thing that Filch didn't read the note when he examined her package for Dark spells; otherwise it would have given away that she was not receiving cough medicine for her birthday. Hermione rescanned the note again. They had explained that it was the least they could do for her on her special day: they owed her a free box for her warm compliment of their products in August. She had forgotten to take it with the whole mad race to follow Malfoy to Knockturn Alley, but the Weasleys kindly hadn't. Hermione bent forward to slip the box into her trunk--she had a feeling that Lavender and Parvati would be so intrigued by the product that they would risk stealing it for their own personal gain.

Ginny's was next. As usual, hers was an eclectic mixture of small items: SleekEazy Potion, sugar quills, Self-Inking and Spell-Checking quills from Fred and George's--obviously, Hermione didn't need the Smart-Answer variety--and a small book of potent hexes and curses. Flipping through it, Hermione noticed that Ginny had dog-earred the pages outlining how to perform the Bat-Bogey Hex and the Confundus Hex. Ginny, like Harry, had guessed right away that Hermione had been involved in McLaggen's failed attempt to save the final penalty shot. Hermione smiled. Ginny was just as cheeky as her brother.

Her eyes fell on the large box with her name scrawled on it in Ron's handwriting. Her stomach squirmed as she vividly remembered Ginny talking to her about how sometimes boys didn't know how to express themselves in words, so they let their actions speak for them. One of the ideal times to do so was on Christmas or birthdays. They let the gift speak for them. And the last time Ron had given her a gift--joyful remembrance coursed in her stomach like hot butterbeer straight from the tap--he had gotten her perfume. Perfume that smelled awful, but perfume nevertheless. It meant something was changing. Would his next gift express the same sentiment?

"Happy birthday, Hermione!" Hermione jumped as Lavender bounded over to her bed and held out a small square package. "This is for you."

"Thanks," Hermione said. Lavender smiled and returned to her trunk to pull out fresh clothes for the day. Hermione didn't open the package right away, suppressing the urge to shake her head. Lavender had never given her a gift before, and Hermione knew precisely why that had changed on this birthday. Ever since the Quidditch trials, Lavender was more convinced than ever that Hermione fancied Ron. She had tried to force Hermione to confess, but after two days, Lavender had opted for another approach: she was going kill Hermione's love with kindness. Knowing Hermione was naturally a good-hearted person, she knew it would make Hermione feel guilty for pining for a boy that one of her roommates fancied too, especially if she was a really nice roommate. Hermione had to admit it was a clever idea, but she had yet to feel a squirm of guilt yet. Even if Lavender was the nicest girl in the world, Hermione would never give up on Ron.

She opened the box to see a rather nice hair clip. "Thanks, Lavender," Hermione called to her roommate again although she couldn't help suspecting that the gift was a silent jab at her untamable hair. Lavender replied with a cheery 'you're welcome' before sashaying into the bathroom to change.

Parvati was still asleep, so once again, Hermione was alone and free to open the rest of her gifts. Only her best friends' remained. Chickening out, Hermione grabbed Harry's first and laughed once to find a small volume about the history of magical creature rights. She was pleased to find in the table of contents a lengthy section on house-elves. S.P.E.W. would have to take a backseat so she could focus on N.E.W.T. classes and the war, but Hermione knew she would come back to it someday. She wouldn't rest until every house-elf was freed. Harry had written a note in the card, jokingly telling her that she would have to write an addendum to the publisher to make sure that S.P.E.W. received proper recognition. He probably didn't think she actually would, but then again, Hermione didn't think he realized how dedicated she was to this cause. She would be writing the additional passage as soon as she got the chance.

Now there was only Ron's. She tore off the paper, sliding her fingers under the lid of the box. She paused before opening it as she tried to guess what he would get her this year. She didn't know how Ron could surpass his gift from last Christmas. With a deep breath, Hermione popped the tape sealing the box and pulled it open.

"Uagh!" Parvati yelped as she was jerked out of a dead sleep by Hermione's abrupt laughter. She groggily flailed her hand back and forth to knock the curtains back a few feet so she could squint in Hermione's direction. "What?" she asked crankily. She really wasn't a morning person.

Hermione pulled the gift out of the large box and kicked it to the floor so she could set the toy on her lap and look at it properly. The teddy bear certainly had been through years of over-use, showing that it had indeed been loved very much before being tossed into a storage bin and levitated up to the attic. Its honey fur was faded and worn, its cacao-colored nose unraveling, its left arm had obviously been resewn several times, and a patch on its stomach singed as though it had been scorched by a well-aimed spell. Hermione had a fairly good idea who the culprits were for the toy's excessive injuries. Lifting up the bear's right leg, Hermione smiled as she read the words that had been painstakingly printed onto the bottom of the foot, confirming her theory:

Bilius the Belligerent.

**

Bilius was promptly given a new home on Hermione's bed. He was propped up neatly on the pillows so he could observe the room during the day and at night, he was entwined in Hermione's arms until she fell asleep. Hermione often tossed and turned in her light slumber, so Bilius usually was flung or rolled deep under the sheets or even had fallen off the bed from time to time. But every morning, he was lovingly collected and returned to his prime location. The only thing threatening his comfortable life was Crookshanks but that problem was taken care of almost immediately: Hermione actually scolded him the one time he had tried to munch on Bilius' snout and placed a charm that pet-owners used on important items to avoid this problem--if Crookshanks tried to gnaw on Bilius, he would taste a bitter, foul flavor that would repel him immediately. Her clever cat had learned his lesson quickly: he soon left Bilius alone although Hermione caught him watching the toy with suspicious eyes. She never had been so attached to a stuffed animal, so she supposed that her cat was feeling a little jealous.

Lavender had also taken to examining the teddy bear with narrowed, suspicious eyes as if she expected it to do a jig while proclaiming 'Ron loves Hermione, not Lavender!' She hadn't asked who the gift was from, but she knew nevertheless. Lavender wanted nothing more than to rip the extremities off the bear after a vicious decapitation, but she held her tongue and continued to be sickeningly sweet to Hermione. This time, however, there was a hardness lurking underneath every kind thing she did for or said to Hermione. There was no doubt about it. She knew.

Hermione therefore spent as little time as possible in her dormitory. Luckily, Lavender wasn't in many of Hermione's classes so it was easy to avoid her. Her course load had also considerably picked up so Hermione spent many long hours in the library, working tirelessly away at her lessons. The only class she was having any real difficulty in was Potions and that was more due to her frustration that Harry was using that stupid Prince's book and getting away with concocting flawless potions every class rather than the potions themselves. Her potions always came out rather well, but not perfect like Harry's. She had to prove to him that he couldn't rely on someone else's notes. The only way she could do that was to brew a better potion than him. So she spent a great deal of time doing extra work outside of potions, trying to find better ways to brew better potions. But no matter what she did, the Prince beat her every time.

There was also an assortment of curses that had captivated Harry's attention written in the text, hexes and jinxes that had actually been invented by the Prince himself--or herself, she corrected. Hermione was still convinced that the handwriting resembled a girl's. They were very clever spells, Hermione had to admit, but Harry was just lucky that he had never used one of the curses in front of her. As a prefect, she'd be obligated to give him detention or take points off. Ron of course laughed himself silly every time he told Hermione about such incidents. It was clear that he had witnessed them and had done nothing. He obviously wasn't taking his prefect responsibilities seriously this term: she already had to remind him twice about patrolling on Thursdays and three times about prefect meetings. He was too absorbed with Quidditch to pay much attention to anything else.

She turned her quill around pensively in her hand--she was once again in the library trying to study--as she for the millionth time thought about Ron. The change was happening. The change Hermione had always worried about. She had always feared that if Ron finally got over his insecurities and saw how great he really was, he might go too far and get a little full of himself. It wasn't as though he had suddenly turned into Malfoy, but Hermione did notice some subtle changes. He fussed with his hair too much. He smirked every time Lavender batted her eyelashes at him. He strutted a little, he laughed more, he told more jokes to more people: overall, he was just much more confident. And while confidence was sometimes a good thing, too much of it could be absolutely horrible.

But he was still undoubtedly her Ron. He still cringed at spiders, played chess, complained about homework, and above all still made her laugh and feel more alive than ever before. They still had their special moments that Hermione found herself unconsciously chronicling in a special corner of her mind. She had told him how much she loved his birthday present and Ron actually looked bashful. His ears turned bright red--she hadn't seen that endearing trait of his in a while--and he had scuffed one foot as though he didn't know what to do with himself. He had looked at her in a way that clearly said: if-I-look-at-you-any-longer-I-might-do-something-really-stupid. Hermione had held her breath and bitten the inside of her lip hopefully, begging for Ron to please, please, do something stupid...

He unfortunately had decided not to be stupid for once. Ears still crimson, he had asked her if she was ready to go to the library, completely forgetting that right before Hermione had thanked him, he had been telling her that homework be damned; he was sick of studying and would be playing chess all night and there was nothing Hermione could do to change his mind.

Last week, she had been standing behind his chair in the common room, leaning over his shoulder so she could help him with an assignment. She had been pointing out one of his many errors and couldn't help remarking that maybe Ron should have stocked up on Fred and George's Smart-Answer quills. Harry had laughed and Ron had grabbed her hand to toss her pointing finger away from his parchment, good-naturedly insisting that he could handle this without her help. To make sure she knew he really wasn't angry, he had squeezed her hand. A quick but deliberate squeeze to affectionately let her know that he admitted that it was a somewhat funny remark. She had already been reeling from the closeness of their quarters. His scent had started to distract her more than usual ever since the first day of classes and Mrs. Weasley's laundry detergent had been the strongest thing she smelled in the Amortentia. Hermione snorted with the memory of that class. If she had accidentally slipped and told the whole class that she smelled laundry detergent in the strongest love potion in the world, she'd never hear the end of it. Ron especially would mock her for it until the end of time.

But it wasn't just the laundry soap that got her going, she corrected herself. Otherwise, all of the Weasleys would have her reeling. There was just something about Ron. It wasn't just the soap alone; it was the fact that he was in the clothes laundered in the soap and it was the combination of that clean soap mixed with his own uniqueness sent her over the moon. It didn't make any sense, but Hermione could always smell the wind in him. It was as though the fresh scent of the warmest breezes resided in his very skin. He always smelled as though he had just stepped off the Quidditch pitch on a sunny, summer day. That smell always reminded her of happier times and possibly very happy futures, so now, more than ever, whenever she and Ron were in close proximity, she would have to fight the urge to lean into him, inhale, and dream that one day his arms would encircle her and never let her go.

He held doors open for her once or twice. She helped him with homework more often. His foot had started to brush against hers under the table in the Great Hall on a regular basis. She wouldn't duck her head away when he caught her staring; she would just smile unabashedly at him for a moment before returning to whatever task she was working on. They both were a great deal braver around each other, openly showing affection and even borderline flirting with one another. In some ways, Ron's newfound ego was a very good thing: it finally allowed him to start letting Hermione know that he was very aware of the fact that she was a girl.

Twisting in her chair, Hermione craned her head towards the window to see if there was any chance she could see Ron's head of vivid hair on the Quidditch pitch from here. The dim, distant figures of the Gryffindor team reminded her of something and she glanced at her watch with a repressed sigh. She was due at Slughorn's party in less than a half an hour. Harry had thought he was so clever by scheduling practice at the same time as the Slug Club dinners. She had flattered that she had been included on such a short list of privileged students, especially since Slughorn selected students based on their family's status in magical society. For a Muggle-born to be hand-picked to join the club was a great honor: Slughorn must really think she was very bright. But she detested going to these functions alone. The first time she had gone hadn't been so bad since Ginny had been there, but now Ginny was always unable to attend. And passing the time with Cormac McLaggen and Blaise Zabini was not Hermione's idea of an enjoyable evening.

After several more minutes of fruitless studying, Hermione flipped her books shut and returned them to her schoolbag. There was no use postponing it any longer. She had to go the Slug Club. With one final glance out of the window, Hermione slung the bag over her shoulder and left the library to descend down the stairs to Slughorn's office. She paused in front of the door to run her fingers through her hair. It was customary to come smartly dressed to these gatherings. Hermione looked down at her school uniform and smoothed her skirt. She hoped that this would be adequate.

"Professor Slughorn?" she called as she knocked on the slightly ajar door. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, of course, of course, my dear girl!" Slughorn boomed. He was bustling around in preparation, setting a tray of goblets at the center of the round table that was placed in the center of the room. His office was much larger than most teachers' offices--probably one of the requests he had stipulated after accepting his post--so there was plenty of room for the five of them to sit around the table. Hermione lingered hesitantly at the door, unsure where to go as she was the first one to arrive. Slughorn motioned her to come closer. "The house-elves will be bringing our feast in just a moment," he informed her merrily. "But until then, take a seat." He waved his hand towards one of the chairs and clapped his hands together "Now what can I get you to drink?"

"A butterbeer, please," Hermione requested as she peeled her heavy satchel off her shoulder, wincing a little as she was relieved of the hefty weight.

Noticing her burden, Slughorn beamed proudly, as if personally responsible for her success in her classes. "Never without your books, are you?"

Hermione's smile was a tad sheepish. It was true. She never felt fully comfortable if she went somewhere without a book in her possession. Well, unless she was with Ron or Harry. "No," she replied. There was a slight pause and unsure what to say, Hermione moved on to one of Slughorn's favorite subjects: Harry. "I'm sorry Harry couldn't come again," she said. "But you know how they are about Quidditch."

Slughorn just nodded absently as he poured her a drink, looking at her as though properly seeing her for the first time. "You know, it's a shame you didn't know Lily," Slughorn commented with a shake of his head. Hermione froze as she always did when Harry's parents were mentioned. Every time she heard their names, Harry's haunted eyes sprang to mind, making speech impossible. "She was very bright. Like you." Slughorn took a long gulp of the goblet he had been about to offer to Hermione. "Very bright," he added quietly, his eyes faraway and distant as he fondly remembered a happier time. He remained in his dream world for a long moment before returning his attention to Hermione. "A lot like you, as a matter of fact."

She continued to remain quiet. Hermione had suspected for some time that part of the reason why she received such a prestigious invitation to the Slug Club was the fact that she had much in common with Lily Potter: both of them were exceptionally bright, Muggle-born witches who had become prefects (and hopefully Head Girls) and both had become very close to a Potter. Hermione even would go as far as to guess that Ginny's invitation to the Slug Club had to do with her resemblance to Harry's mum. She had seen a picture of Harry's mum once and she had had long, beautifully crimson hair just like Ginny. Ginny and Lily also both were quite brave and cheeky, which was probably why Slughorn had invited Ginny immediately after seeing her curse Zacharias Smith. He had walked by, seen a fiery red-headed girl curse a boy for bothering her, and had immediately been transported back twenty years ago when he was younger, fitter, and happier. Of course he had invited the two girls who allowed him to feel that way to join the club even though they weren't well-connected like the other members of the group. They were one of the few who could make him feel young again.

Successfully having pulled himself from his daze, Slughorn retrieved a fresh goblet and poured another butterbeer into it. "So, Miss Granger, what thoughts have you given to your future?"

"My future?" Hermione repeated needlessly.

"Yes, of course." He handed her her butterbeer. "What would you like to do when you leave school? This is a very important time, my girl. The connections you make now can determine your entire career." He settled himself into the straight-backed chair which was a challenge considering his stout frame. "So, tell me, what would you like to do when you leave school?"

"Oh." Hermione looked down at her lap, ashamed to admit it. "I really don't know yet." She glanced over her shoulder. At this point she would even be grateful to see McLaggen.

Slughorn twirled his mustache, looking at Hermione thoughtfully. "Well, of course you're going to have a bit of trouble. You do exceptionally well in every subject, seem to be interested in all fields. How are you expected to restrict yourself to one area?" His voice was full of unctuous, sincere flattery; clearly, he was already buttering her up in case she did one day happen to attain a high-powered post. Although he was doing it for his own personal gain, Hermione couldn't help feeling quite pleased nevertheless. He was the only professor aside from Professor McGonagall who had showed sincere interest in her personal life outside of classes and Hogwarts. It was rather nice. "But, Miss Granger, if you had to pick one thing you would like to do, above all others, if you could make one contribution to our world, what would it be?"

The first thing that came her mind was to help defeat Voldemort, but she knew that wasn't the answer Slughorn was looking for. Hermione thought for a moment, attempting with difficulty to distance herself from Harry and Ron, to whom she had become so closely intertwined. This was a question about herself, not about them.

"House-elves," Hermione said quite abruptly. Slughorn looked quite confused, so she quickly rectified her answer. "Magical creature rights. I don't think it's fair for house-elves to be treated the way they are, nor do I believe that the restrictions the Ministry has placed on half-breeds and werewolves, vampires, centaurs, and so on are justified. They're still human beings who deserve the same rights as the rest of us--"

"Oho!" Slughorn interrupted before Hermione could get a good breath in her and really get started on the subject. Those few sentences had barely scratched the surface of the infinite depths of her passion and ideas on creature rights. "So you're an activist then?"

Activist. Hermione considered the word. She rather fancied it. McGonagall had told her about the Daily Prophet's offer at her career advice session last term, but this sounded more like her cup of tea. Or maybe there was a way she could do both. "I suppose I am," Hermione confirmed.

"Excellent!" Slughorn put down his goblet and leaned forward avidly. "I have a friend in the Department of Magical Creatures--I could arrange a meeting--I'm certain they would be happy to meet a student of your caliber--oh, Cormac, you've arrived!" He bounced out of his chair, wide belly wiggling as he extracted himself from his chair. With his arm outstretched, he strode forward and pumped McLaggen's hand elatedly. "Good to see you, my boy! How are you? Have a seat!"

McLaggen easily lowered his massive frame into the chair next to Hermione. Hermione took a sip of her drink, knowing that there would be no more discussion about her career. Now that McLaggen was here, Slughorn would focus ninety percent of his attention on the extremely well-connected Gryffindor. Blaise Zabini and Melinda Bobbin, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, came in a few minutes later, completing the small circle of students. Hermione, still glowing from the revelation Slughorn had helped her make, actually leaned forward to join in the conversation--normally, she said as little as possible and counted the minutes until she could leave. Somehow, today, being here at the Slug Club alone didn't seem like such an awful thing after all.

**

Attending the Slug Club meetings may not be so hideous any longer, but talking about it was still a risky venture. Slughorn had cornered Harry in Honeydukes a little over a week later with an earnest request to come to the next supper and once again, Harry had cleverly sidestepped the situation since Dumbledore's request for another lesson on Monday had arrived just that morning. Hermione was slightly cheered to note that at least Ginny would be able to come with her, but she was still disappointed that Harry couldn't come too. The session last week had been anything but awful, but Hermione didn't know how often that would last. If both Ginny and Harry were there, she would be assured of having a wonderful time.

"I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one," said Hermione, shaking her head. "They're not that bad, you know...They're even quite fun sometimes..." She trailed off when she saw Ron's face and promptly thought a phrase that was so vulgar that Ron would have been very proud. Ron was never going to get over the fact that Slughorn didn't know he existed. She looked about hastily for a viable change of subject. "Oh, look--they've got deluxe sugar quills--those would last hours!" She crossed over to the display, pretending to inspect the price on the largest box available. Sugar quills were her favorite candy. Harry followed to peer in feigned interest over her shoulder while Ron lingered back, still looking distressed and hurt. Hermione put the box back down--too expensive for her taste--and walked back to Ron. He had to be feeling quite poorly if he didn't even want to look at food anymore. "Where do you want to go next?" she asked brightly with a friendly nudge of her elbow.

Ron just shrugged moodily, oblivious to her good humor. Hermione looked at him searchingly as she put on her gloves and scarf, trying to think of something that would make him crack a smile. Harry interceded with a suggestion to go to the Three Broomsticks and the three forged back out into the biting wind. Ron was finally knocked back into himself after Harry's abrupt attempt to throttle Mundungus Fletcher. He actually looked a bit thrilled by the action, but Hermione was anything but. She hadn't seen Harry's eyes look so wild since the night he had met Sirius and thought Sirius had been the one to betray his parents. There had been murder in Harry's eyes that night and Hermione had never wanted to see that in her best friend again. Although she knew that Harry had to kill Voldemort, she didn't want him to kill anyone else. Murder changed you irrevocably; she didn't want that to happen to Harry unless absolutely necessary. Murdering Voldemort was for the good of all mankind, but strangling Mundungus to death for nicking Sirius' belongings was just plain spiteful. It would lead Harry down a dark, dangerous path from which he would probably never return.

They managed to get Harry inside the Three Broomsticks, but he was still fuming and ranting in a disturbingly loud voice about the Order not controlling Mundungus so Hermione set off to get a butterbeer to placate him. Madame Rosmerta handed over the drinks with a smile before calling out that she was going in the back to check for more firewhisky. Harry's scowl was still evident from across the room, earning him several suspicious looks from nearby patrons, including Blaise Zabini. She scurried back to the table and set down the butterbeers, hoping that in the few minutes she had been gone, Harry had gotten all of his bad feelings out in the open.

But he hadn't. As soon as Hermione sat back down, Harry was off again, his face contorted with rage. "Can't the Order control Mundungus?" Harry demanded in a furious whisper. "Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down when he's at headquarters?"

"Shh!" said Hermione desperately, looking around to make sure nobody was listening. Harry could not be talking about the Order and Headquarters around so many people. They had no idea who could be listening. "Harry, I'd be annoyed too, I know it's your things he's stealing--"

Harry gagged on his butterbeer and Hermione's heart went out to his friend. He had completely forgotten that it was his things that had been stolen. He was simply this furious on Sirius' behalf. For the millionth time, Hermione cured the fates for being so unfair to take away the first real father figure Harry had ever had.

"Yeah, it's my stuff!" Harry said. "No wonder he wasn't pleased to see me! Well, I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus."

"Good idea," whispered Hermione. Much to her relief, Harry appeared to have calmed down considerably. She started to take a sip of her butterbeer when she noticed that Ron wasn't listening to them; he was craning his neck towards the bar, trying desperately to see over the heads of the crowd of customers. She glanced over in time to catch Madam Rosmerta's backside slipping into the back room. Cold disappointment clenched her heart. Oh. "Ron, what are you staring at?"

"Nothing," said Ron, hastily looking away from the bar in guilty admission of what he had been trying to do.

She knew that Ron wouldn't try to flirt with the barmaid again while she was here, but she couldn't help spitting out waspishly, "I expect 'nothing's' in the back getting more firewhisky." Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink in what he evidently considered to be a dignified silence. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering between Ron and the bar for the remainder of their time in the pub. She suddenly wasn't very thirsty. She was contemplating all of the different ways that Ron was an insensitive prat when Harry suggested that they head back to the castle. Silently, she and Ron agreed and with Ron giving the bar one last lingering look, the three friends left the Three Broomsticks to return into the horrible October weather.

Hermione folded her arms over her chest to protect herself from the chill, unintentionally wondering how marvelous it would be if Ron offered her his cloak or even better, put his arm around her to keep her warm. It was amazing how quickly she could go from despising his immaturity to contentedly contemplating about how wonderful he was. She shook her hair and blinked in annoyance as a barrage of zinging sleet attacked them. Sometimes she found it very confusing to be in love with Ron. Well, no, she corrected, that wasn't true. She found it confusing all of the time.

"It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!" Hermione peered through the sleet to spy Katie Bell of the Gryffindor Quidditch team shouting at her friend while they grappled for some package. Katie won the struggle but she couldn't stop the parcel from falling to the ground. An odd sense of foreboding gripped Hermione's stomach. There was something very wrong about this...

Katie rose into the air gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression. It was as though she had fallen into a deep, impenetrable slumber and was floating up to heaven to find her everlasting peace. They all froze in the lane, watching, unconsciously waiting. All of them knew somewhere in the pit of their stomachs that something else was going to happen.

It did. Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed, sending chills up and down Hermione's spine. She had never heard anyone scream like that in her entire life. It was the scream of someone inches away from death and fighting with everything she had to claw her way back into the world of the living. Leanne seized Katie by the ankles in a desperate attempt to tug her back to the ground. With Harry and Ron, Hermione leapt forward and tried to grab Katie around the legs. But as soon as the three pairs of new hands touched her, Katie fell on top of them. Katie's limp arm dropped heavily on top of Hermione's head, causing her to stagger, but before she knew it, Ron had Katie under the arms, Harry had her legs and they were lowering her to the ground, unable to contain her with her fierce thrashing and writhing.

Harry looked around desperately for anyone who could help them. "Stay there!" he shouted at the others over the howling wind. "I'm going for help!" He sprinted towards the castle without another word. Ron wheeled back to Hermione, eyes wide and clearly begging 'what the hell are we supposed to do?'

Hermione was already taking care of it. "Katie? Katie, can you hear me?" she demanded loudly. Katie's bloodcurdling scream was the only answer she received. She knelt down next to Katie, gesturing Leanne to do the same. "Talk to her," she suggested hurriedly. "A familiar voice might help." Leanne immediately obeyed, quickly yelling to Katie in a squeaky, hysterical voice for her to say something or tell her what was wrong. Oblivious, Katie continued to shriek and writhe, her legs kicking and flailing dangerous close to the two girls so Ron quickly stooped over to try to physically restrain them with his hands but with no success. Katie's fit was still as frighteningly frenzied as it was before. Desperate times called for desperate measures so Hermione pulled out her wand and aimed it at Katie. "Stupefy!"

To her immense shock, her spell rebounded off of Katie and hurtled back into her wand, causing her hand to jerk forcefully backwards and her wand to fly out of her hand. Her fingers tingled and burned as though someone had just used the Disarming Spell on her. Thanks to his months of Keeper training, Ron quickly and easily leaned back to catch Hermione's wand in mid-air. His other hand remained on Katie's calf in a vain attempt to restrain her. "Whoa," he breathed. He looked over at Hermione who had vigorously shaking her right hand in hopes of dissipating the stinging. "What the hell was that?"

"There must be a foolproof measure on the curse used on her," Hermione hypothesized hastily. Even in the most desperate of circumstances, she could still recite from a textbook with the utmost of ease. "Really powerful curses are impenetrable, of course; only the spellcaster can perform the counter-curse. No other spell can reverse it. I should have known better." She plucked her wand out of Ron's hand and scooted closer to Katie to try to quiet her. "Katie? Katie--"

"Get back! Lemme see her!"

Hermione jumped back to her feet and out of the way with immense relief. Hagrid would know what to do. Ron joined her but Leanne remained next to her friend. "Something's happened to her!" sobbed Leanne. "I don't know what--"

Hagrid stared at Katie for a second, then without a word, bent down, scooped her into his arms, and ran off toward the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie's piercing screams had died away and the only sound was the roar of the wind. The four of them remained still for a moment, breathing heavily while Leanne cried bitterly. Hermione went straight over to the girl, and knowing what she would like someone to do if Ron or Harry were being carted off to hospital, put an arm around her. "It's Leanne, isn't it?" she said quietly. Leanne nodded. Hermione wished she didn't have to do this now, but they had to get to the bottom of this. "Did it just happen all of a sudden, or--?"

"It was when that package tore," sobbed Leanne abruptly. Hermione closed her mouth, knowing she had to just let Leanne talk and take her time. She pointed at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which had split open to reveal an ominous greenish glitter. Hermione instinctively shuddered at the sight of it. She didn't want to get anywhere near whatever was in that package. A wracking sob had consumed Leanne's body making her unable to speak again so Hermione turned her attention back to the distraught girl, patting her reassuringly.

"Don't touch it!"

Hermione's heart almost stopped. It wasn't often that Harry sounded so blatantly panic-stricken. Her head twisted back towards her two best friends to see Harry's hand on Ron's arm; he must have just pulled Ron back from picking up the undoubtedly dangerous object. Leanne blinked in annoyance as Hermione's massive mane of hair whipped straight into her face, but Hermione didn't care. She just stared at Ron with wide, anxious, furious eyes, irrationally wanting to kick him in the shins to make sure that he would never ever scare her like that again. If he had touched whatever lay within the wrapping, he would be up in the air again today, but this time it wouldn't be due to a Prince curse that Harry had accidentally used.

Harry crouched down to inspect the item. Hermione and Leanne stepped forward as one so they could see the ornate opal necklace poking through. Harry and Hermione both stared at the item with dawning, horrifying recognition. "I've seen that before," Harry said. "It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it." He looked up at Leanne, who had started to shake uncontrollably. "How did Katie get hold of this?"

"Well, that's why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it...Oh no, oh no, I bet she'd been Imperiused and I didn't realize!" Her body shook with renewed sobs and Hermione patted her shoulder gently.

"She didn't say who'd given it to her, Leanne?"

"No...she wouldn't tell me...and I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to school, but she just wouldn't listen and...and then I tried to grab it from her...and--and--" Leanne let out a wail of despair. Hermione kept her arm around her, starting to get more than slightly worried about the sobbing girl. She suspected that Leanne was starting to go into shock.

"We'd better get up to school," said Hermione. "We'll be able to find out how she is. Come on..."

Hermione led the girl up the path while Harry and Ron remained behind momentarily. For a moment, Hermione almost panicked again when she saw Harry stooping down to pick up the necklace, but she relaxed when she saw he had covered the cursed jewelry with his scarf. At least he was clever enough not to touch it. She had the fleeting urge to scowl at Ron, but it passed quickly. She really wasn't angry at Ron for stupidly trying to retrieve the item; it was just that the thought of anything happening to Ron scared her so much that she couldn't see or hear anything that could lead her to believe that that horrifying fate could happen. She didn't know what she would do with herself if it did. Tightening her hold on Leanne, she glanced over at the still hysterical girl. Hermione suspected she would be in worst shape than Leanne if anything this horrible happened to one of her dearest friends. With another pat to Leanne's shoulder, Hermione entered the grounds with a grim expression on her face. There wasn't time to dwell on what could happen; she had to find out what on earth had happened to Katie Bell.

**

Harry certainly had a theory on that matter. He was absolutely convinced that Draco Malfoy was involved with the incident. Hermione was extremely doubtful considering that Malfoy hadn't even been in Hogsmeade to give Katie the parcel, but there was no swaying Harry. In Harry's mind, only Malfoy could have done such a horrible thing. Now all that was left to consider was who was supposed to received the cursed necklace and why. Hermione sat on the window seat of her darkened dormitory, letting that question tumble around and around in her already tired mind. Whenever a fresh mystery popped up, Hermione always found herself spending the wee small hours of the morning sitting here on the scarlet cushions, staring out onto the shadows of the grounds, and thinking over things. First-year it had been about the Philosopher's Stone, second-year it was about the Chamber of Secrets, third-year it was Sirius Black and Ron acting like an idiot, fourth-year the Triwizard Tournament, Viktor, and Ron acting like an idiot, and last year it had been about a myriad of things: the war, D.A., the stupid Ministry, Umbridge, Ron acting like an idiot...goodness, it was amazing how problems could multiply so swiftly.

Abruptly, Hermione swung her legs off the windowsill so she could return to her trunk, pull her Hogwarts jumper over her head for added warmth, and slip out into the hallway. Even though Lavender was fast asleep, she still didn't like to spend many of her waking hours in the dormitory. Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before the sugary-sweet façade crumbled and the wrath of Lavender Brown was unleashed. In bare feet, Hermione padded downstairs to the empty common room. She stood in the doorway in contemplation. Whenever she came down here in the dead of night, she never knew where to sit. It was very unusual to see every seat in the large room available.

Deciding on the largest sofa in front of the still flickering fire, Hermione settled down on the end nearest to the fire, drawing her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on top of her knees. She pushed the sleeves of her jumper down so they covered her hands. For a long time, Hermione just stared at the flames, not really thinking about anything in particular until a flicker of movement caught her attention. She rolled her head to the side and smiled at the sight of a diligently working house-elf with his back to her. He must not have seen her.

"Hello," Hermione said softly. She put her feet back on the cold floor so she could bend forward to see the house-elf better. The house-elf whirled around with a frightened squeal. He looked a great deal like Dobby except that his ears were squarer and his eyes weren't as large. "No, no, don't worry," Hermione soothed when she sensed that the elf was about to Disapparate. Like most house-elves, he must believe that house-elves were not meant to be seen or heard. "It's fine." She gave him a smile. "What's your name?"

The house-elf opened his mouth and stammered for several seconds before something large, squat, and orange sprang out from under one of the armchairs and pounced towards him with a hiss of fury. Squeaking in terror, the house-elf Disapparated with a loud crack so Crookshanks landed hard on the floor, sliding forward with so much momentum that he banged against the wall with a loud howl.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione scolded sharply as she jumped up to pick up her yowling cat from the ground. "We do not attack house-elves!" Crookshanks had a penchant for chasing creatures of all shapes and sizes, but Hermione never guessed that her cat would attack a house-elf. It somehow seemed very inappropriate for the founder of S.P.E.W. to own a cat who did such an awful thing. Mewing an apology, Crookshanks nestled his throbbing head comfortingly against Hermione's chest. With a sigh, Hermione stroked the cat soothingly as she walked back to the sofa. There was very little she could refuse her beloved cat.

"Oh!" Hermione whirled around, slightly startled by the second voice in the room. Colin Creevey stood in the doorway of the boys' dormitory, a dressing gown haphazardly tossed over his pajamas, wand in hand. He stashed the wand back into the sash of his robe. "I thought I heard something," Colin explained with a yawn. "Thought I would investigate."

"It was just Crookshanks," Hermione answered, lifting the still meowing cat up for Colin to see. It was quite nice to see Colin take such a serious interest in his prefect duties; it was their obligation to investigate if anything out of the ordinary happened in all hours of day and night, even at two-thirty in the morning. Hermione's eyes flickered over Colin's shoulder, hoping against hope that another prefect would come down the stairs at any moment. She could tell him that everything was all right, but would he like to sit with her for a while? They had stayed up late talking many nights at Grimmauld Place and at the Burrow; Hermione rather fancied doing it again. Right now. "Sorry I woke you," she apologized to Colin when it became evident that Ron hadn't heard a thing or was choosing to ignore his duties.

Colin yawned widely again. "Not a problem," he said tiredly.

He turned to go, but Hermione hurriedly called his name again, gently dropping Crookshanks back to the floor. Colin was about to go up the stairs, past the sixth-year's room, where Ron was sleeping..."Colin, could you--?" Hermione trailed off, blushing when her mind caught up with her and she realized what she had been about to ask for him to do. She couldn't. "Never mind."

"No, what?" Colin inquired, stepping back into the common room with curiosity.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "It's nothing--he's probably asleep--just go back to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay," Colin said with a small smile. He waved good-night and returned up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Hermione internally winced. She had a feeling that Colin knew precisely who the 'he' was. Add one more to the list, Hermione thought as she leaned back into the arm of the sofa. The list of people who knew about her and Ron seemed to grow longer and longer everyday. At least it was only Colin: he wouldn't tell anyone. Lavender, on the other hand...Hermione commenced fiddling with a pigtail again. It seemed so silly to be sneaking down here at the dead of night and end up thinking about Lavender and Ron, but that was where her thoughts kept wandering these days. It was like some damned infectious virus that never would go away. She was never going to stop thinking about Ron.

But no more tonight, she told herself sternly as she straightened up so she could think properly. If she slouched down on the cushions, she'd probably fall asleep and dream about Ron. And while that certainly would not be an awful thing, she had to think of a way to help Katie or find out who or why that cursed necklace had been sent to Hogwarts. Crookshanks leapt up onto the sofa to helpfully curl up on Hermione's bare feet for warmth. Hermione leaned forward so she could stroke her cat's gorgeous ginger fur while mulling over what she knew about the attack on Saturday. Katie had gone to the bathroom where someone had Imperiused her from behind and given her the wrapped package, ordering her to give it to someone at Hogwarts. If all went according to plan, Katie would have returned to school, delivered the package, and that person would have opened the parcel and probably died as soon as they touched that cured necklace. Hermione bit her lip as she remembered seeing the necklace in Borgin and Burkes the day they had followed Malfoy to Knockturn Alley. According to the sign, nineteen Muggles had been killed by wearing it so far. She couldn't believe that someone would be sick enough to use that necklace specifically to slaughter Muggles.

"Her--her--Hermione?" Once again, she turned hastily towards the door of the stairwell to the boys' dormitory, unintentionally kicking Crookshanks away from her but not really caring. Ron was there, yawning so widely that it looked like he was trying to swallow his own head. He hadn't even bothered to put on a dressing gown and his hair stuck up straight in the back. Hermione just stared for a moment, stunned beyond belief. She had just been thinking about how much she wanted him down here with her and now here he was. It was like a dream--Hermione quickly pinched herself and flinched ever so slightly as the sharp pain jumped up her arm--but it wasn't. It was better than a dream. It was real. He was here. Ron tried to speak again, but another yawn consumed him. "What--what's going on?" he finally mumbled.

"I couldn't sleep so I came down; what are you doing here?" she asked.

Ron leaned wearily against the doorframe. He still hadn't woken up yet; his eyes were still drooping and for a moment Hermione thought he had dozed off while standing there. "Colin got me," Ron explained. "Said he heard something. Wanted me to take a look." He looked about the deserted common room. "What happened?"

Ah. It appeared that Ginny wasn't the only matchmaker among the Gryffindor fifth-years. Colin was probably hoping that some late-night snogging could occur between the two friends. And he wasn't the only one who would like that to happen. Biting her lip, Hermione took one look at Ron's sleepy posture and reluctantly knew she couldn't ask him to sit with her. He could barely stand. "Nothing; it was just me and Crookshanks," she answered. She nodded at the dormitory. "Why don't you go back to bed?"

"Why can't you sleep?" Ron asked instead, shuffling over to take a seat on the other side of the couch. His head flopped tiredly back against the back of the sofa, but when he turned his head to look at her, his eyes were alert and earnestly curious.

"Oh, you know," Hermione said with a shrug. She leaned against the arm of the couch so she could face him, once again drawing her legs up against her chest. "Just thinking about things."

Even half-awake, Ron knew she was lying. But he didn't push her; he just shot her a quick, lopsided smile. "I always said you think too ruddy much."

"I always said you think too little," Hermione returned out of habit. Ron didn't respond. He just waited. Grateful for the short silence, Hermione rested her head on her knees and stared again at the fire. "I hope Katie will be okay."

"She will," Ron reassured drowsily

Hermione wasn't so certain that was true, but this wasn't the time to mention that. She avidly pushed herself up and sat cross-legged on the cushion, facing Ron; Crookshanks jumped up to lay between her and Ron, acting as a chaperone. "What do you think--do you think Malfoy could have done something like that?"

Ron must have also been eager to discuss, for he became a great deal more alert and expounded on that topic for several minutes. Hermione listened intently before contributing her thoughts. Both agreed that it was highly unlikely that Malfoy was involved with the incident and if Harry vehemently spoke on the subject again, they should just ignore it. Hopefully, in time, Harry would see how insane his accusations were. Ron seemed convinced that Dumbledore was the intended target, but Hermione wasn't so certain. Dumbledore would never be stupid enough to open an unmarked package from an unknown person that was delivered by a person who had obviously been Imperiused. Harry or another student on the other hand would have been more likely to open the parcel without suspicion. They heatedly discussed it further until Hermione happened to glance at her watch and gasped.

"It's nearly four in the morning!"

"So what?" Ron shrugged disinterestedly. He made no inclination to get up from his comfortable position on the couch. "Tomorrow's Sunday. Have a bit of a lie-in. You work too hard as it is."

Hermione gave him a glare. "You try having a lie-in with all of my Ancient Runes reading. And I'm certain that you have not even begun any of your homework due on Monday." Ron shrugged, not bothering to deny it. Hermione knew him far too well. "We need to get some sleep," she concluded briskly. Hermione lifted a dozing Crookshanks off the sofa and he nestled drowsily in her arms. "Come on, Crookshanks, let's get some sleep," she cooed. She glanced over at Ron, expecting him to be gagging or retching at her usage of a baby-voice as she often did when speaking to her cat. Instead, she found him looking at her intently, his head cocked to the side as if on the verge of discovering something important. "What?"

Ron hesitated before facing her directly, eyes unusually serious. "Did you--did you ask Colin to come get me?"

Ron really picked the worst moments to become astute and perspective. Stomach squirming, Hermione cradled Crookshanks closer to her, concentrating intently on her cat's ginger fur. "Well--sort of. I started to--but then I realized how silly it would be to wake you so I changed my mind--but Colin must have figured out who I wanted and got you anyway--" She pretended to be fascinated with a small growth on Crookshanks' head. "--I'm sorry I woke you."

Her head was still averted away from him so she couldn't read his face to see how he was taking all of this. This could potentially be a very revealing moment for the two of them. She hadn't asked Colin to wake up Harry; she had asked for Ron. That spoke volumes about how much she needed him. "Why did you want me?" Ron finally asked thickly.

"I-I couldn't sleep and I remembered all the times we stayed up late at Grimmauld Place last summer," Hermione confessed bravely. "It always make me feel better about things so I just wanted to do it again." She reckoned that everyone within a ten-mile radius could feel the embarrassed heat flaming off of her face, making her cheeks flush bright pink. Trying to pass of the whole thing as a bit of a joke, she faked a laugh. "Silly, eh?"

He didn't say anything. All Ron did was stand slowly up and step in front of her so he could scratch Crookshanks' ears. Hermione kept her eyes boring into her cat's skull as he was now standing so close to her that that damnably wonderful scent of his was driving her mad and his foot was so close to hers that she could feel an electric current surging back and forth between their toes. "You know," he remarked. "You have a very smart cat here."

Hermione blinked. Ron had never complimented Crookshanks. He had hated her pet with a passion ever since Crookshanks had scalped him in the pet store. "I do know."

Now it was Ron's turn to look anywhere but at Hermione. "He's so smart that I reckon if you told Crookshanks here to come get me, he would. Like Pig always knows how to find you when I tell him." He gave Crookshanks an affectionate poke in the belly. "So if you ever want to wake me up again, just send this one up to get me instead of some little prefect. Crookshanks would be loads quieter."

"Colin didn't wake anyone else up, did he?" Hermione asked anxiously. She really didn't want others knowing that she had dragged Ron from his bed late at night just so she could see his face and talk to him.

"No," Ron replied. "No one knows but us."

She swelled as something warm and pure glowed in the pit of her stomach. She really liked the idea of sharing something with Ron that was just between them. Just us. "Good."

"Or you could just come up and get me yourself. If you really need to talk to me, that is," Ron continued. Now Hermione couldn't take her eyes off of Ron even if Voldemort came waltzing into the room. Did he really just give her permission to come up to his room in the middle of the night anytime she needed him? "And if I ever need you, I'll get Pig to come get you, all right?" Ron finished in a fast mumble.

Their fingers bumped together as they both tried to scratch Crookshanks' ears at the same time. Hermione didn't move her hand away; she couldn't. She had to touch Ron in some way. He had just admitted that someday, some long night, he may need her as much as she needed him. "Of course," she said in a disbelieving whisper.

"Good," Ron echoed. With one parting pet for Crookshanks--in which his fingers just happened to pass over Hermione's--he murmured good night and retreated up the stairs to his dormitory.

Hermione watched him go with a warm, excited smile, scarcely believing that this wasn't a dream. It was happening. It was really finally happening. She hugged Crookshanks even closer to her. "Good night, Ron," she whispered, heart fluttering at the thought of what tomorrow could bring. "I'll see you in the morning."