Hermione Granger and the Half-Blood Prince

Try so hard to be someone

That you forgot who you are

You tried to fill some emptiness

Till your hat spilled over

Now everything's so far away

That you don't know where you are

You are

All that you wanted

And all that you have

Don't seem so much

For you to hold onto

For you to hold onto

For you to belong to...

"Hold On" Jet

**

"--and Ron got me perfume for Christmas!"

"Perfume?! Really?"

"I know! That means we're getting serious."

"Definitely; perfume is intimate gift-giving."

"Too bad it smells like wet hippogriff..."

Hermione Granger kept her hand frozen on the doorknob but let go of the trunk she had been dragging up the stairs. Suddenly, she had absolutely no desire whatsoever to go into the dormitory.

She carefully set her trunk off to the side so no one would trip over it, double-checked that it was locked, and retreated down the stairs. She was still wearing her winter gear so Hermione tossed the end of her scarf over her shoulder, headed out of the common room, and went straight for the Front Doors. It wasn't until she walked out into the crisp January wind that she let out a long sigh, stopped, and stared up at the heavens.

So Ron had bought Lavender perfume. After he had bought her perfume last Christmas. He had recycled gift ideas. She might have expected that: it is the sort of thing that an insensitive prat would do. Another long forced breath quelled any tears that might want to spring up. No more. She was not going to cry over him any longer. She had accepted that he had to do this for some reason. Perhaps that reason was that he was a complete git who didn't deserve someone like her, but she still had to respect it. If he wanted to act like he was twelve years old, that was just fine with her. She'd get over it. Eventually.

It was a good thing that her gloves were so thick; her fists were balled so tightly that normally her fingernails would have left some stinging crescent marks on her skin. Hermione let the sharp winter wind clear her lungs and mind for another moment before resuming her fast and furious stride. It was difficult to wade through the deep snow, but Hermione still managed to make it down to Hagrid's hut in record time. She suddenly felt the desperate need for a kind companion.

"Hermione!" Hagrid beamed as he opened the door a crack to see who it was. He pulled the door wide to allow her to pass through. "Cum on in!" Hermione complied and noticed that he looked about in the snow to see if anyone else would be joining them. He must have been hoping that Harry and Ron were with her although she did visit Hagrid every so often on her own. Hagrid shut the door behind them. After an affectionate pat on her back that almost sent Hermione sprawling, Hagrid headed over to the table to retrieve the kettle. "Would you like sum tea?"

"Please," Hermione replied while unwinding her scarf from around her neck and pulling off her gloves. She shrugged out of her cloak and carefully laid all of her belongings near the fire so they would be nice and toasty warm when she returned to the castle.

Meanwhile, Hagrid busied himself with setting up for the tea and didn't say another word until he had poured Hermione her mug of steaming tea and handed it to her. "So how was yehr Christmas?"

"Just fine," Hermione said dismissively. "And yours?"

"Good, good," Hagrid replied in the same voice, making Hermione wonder if his holidays weren't so pleasant either. "So yeh went home, did yeh?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, cueing Hagrid to get up and amble over to the small cupboard where he stored food. "Of course, I did--where else would I go?"

"I thought yeh might go with the Weasleys and Harry," Hagrid commented. He gave her a furtive look before holding out a tray of rock cakes for Hermione's consideration.

After a quick 'no thank you', Hermione fixed Hagrid with a knowing look. Subtlety was never Hagrid's strong suit. "You know Ron and I aren't speaking."

"I was hopin' yeh would make up for the holidays," Hagrid said unapologetically. He didn't seem to care that she had caught him. Falling into his chair so abruptly that it splintered and dangerously came close to breaking, he fixed Hermione with a pleading look. He hated to see her, Harry, and Ron fight just as much as they did. "Is what he did really so bad?"

"He's dating someone else," Hermione said sharply, the bitterness fresher than ever after overhearing Lavender's squeals in the dormitory. Bile spurted through her blood, but Hermione choked it down. She would not give in. When she opened her mouth to speak again, her voice was miraculously calm and dispassionate. "After I asked him to go to the Christmas party with me, he goes off and snogs someone else."

Hagrid's eyes bugged. "Yeh asked him out?!"

"I did," Hermione confirmed. "And he had said yes. But obviously that changed after he snogged Lavender Brown in the middle of the common room."

"Righ' in front of yeh?"

"Right in front of me," Hermione repeated grimly. The bile was becoming harder to ignore so she gulped down the rest of her tea in one steaming gulp to push it away. She hated that she obsessed over this all of the time.

Hagrid could only gape for a few seconds. "Well," he finally said in a voice of utter disbelief and horror. "I always knew Ron was a bit thick."

Hermione couldn't help laughing despite a tiny voice urging her to defend the prat who had left her this way. He scooted his chair forward so Hagrid could look at Hermione intently. Hermione leaned forward to listen. Hagrid always gave really good advice; she didn't think she would have survived third-year if it wasn't for her dear friend.

"Well, if Ron is gonna be thick, Hermione, you gotta just let him be." Hermione nodded with a sigh; she had reached that same decision over the holidays, but that didn't mean it would be easy to do. Every time she saw Ron she either wanted to shake or kiss some sense into him. "So don' be thinkin' about him," Hagrid advised. "Focus on yehrself. If he don' wan' to be with yeh, tha's 'is loss. You jus' keep livin' your life and I guarantee that he'll figure out wha' he's missin'."

"You think?" Hermione asked wryly as she swirled her mug to stare down at the dregs of her tea.

"It worked with Olympe, didn' it?" Hagrid reminded her with a grin so wide that not even his thick beard could hide it. "When we fough', I jus' went on my way and she came around in time."

Hermione thought back to fourth-year and frowned slightly. "But you were snippy with her sometimes, weren't you? You never even spoke to her if you could help it."

Preferring to silently offer her one of his cakes again, Hagrid only answered after Hermione refused and unblinkingly looked back at him, waiting for an answer. "Yeah," he confirmed reluctantly. He took a savage bite of one of the rock cakes. "Cause it hur' too much. I missed 'er, but I couldn' overlook what she did."

"What did she do again?" Hermione asked.

Hagrid's brow furrowed and he laughed. "Yeh know, I don' really remember no more--doesn' really matter now, don' it?"

"I guess not," Hermione said dismissively, hoping Hagrid would elaborate further.

He didn't disappoint her. "Anyway, whenever I saw 'er, all I wanted to do was to say sumthin' or do sumthin' to have her cum back, but I couldn' do it without her apology. It was jus' easier to stay away and not talk to 'er at all. It was still ruddy awful but it was better than tryin' to make her jealous or yellin' at her all the time." Hagrid gave her a pointed look. Apparently, he had somehow heard about Cormac McLaggen too.

Hermione ignored it. "So you really think it would help? Just ignore him and act like I'm fine?"

"Yeh can' jus' stay unhappy forever, Hermione," Hagrid told her sagely. "Yeh gotta move on. If yeh could be friends with 'im again, that would be better, but I don' reckon you can do that, can yeh?" Hermione shook her head vigorously. Although she had accepted that Ron was moving on without her, that didn't mean that she had to forgive him. "Right. So yeh just gotta keep away from 'im so he can know how much 'e misses yeh. I mean, think about it, Hermione: nobody wants to be with a sourpuss, righ'?" Hagrid pointed out astutely. "If yeh'r mopin' around and attackin' 'im with birds, he'll jus' wan' to keep away. But if 'e sees yeh 'appy and everything--" He gestured towards Hermione. "--with that smile of yeh'rs, he won' be able to stay away."

Hermione's lips twitched upwards and Hagrid pointed at her again. "See? Thas wha' I'm talkin' about. I reckon yeh could stop traffic with tha' smile."

"I don't know if I can just ignore him and not say anything," Hermione confessed. In the six years she had spent at Hogwarts, she had grown more and more independent and accustomed to speak her mind whenever she felt like it.

"I don' expect yeh to," Hagrid agreed. "It's righ' 'ard not to say anythin'. I reckon you will snap at 'im from time to time, especially with the way you and Ron row all the time. But for the most part, I bet if yeh distract yehrself with other things, it'll git easier to ignore 'im."

"I hope so," Hermione said softly. She gulped down the last remains of her tea and grimaced. It was rather cold by now.

Hagrid poured Hermione another serving of tea while giving her a long, sympathetic look. When he set down the kettle, he moved his giant hand back to reassuringly pat Hermione's. "He'll cum back--yeh'll see," he said with the utmost sincerity, his black eyes twinkling kindly at her.

It was hard not to gain a fresh burst of hope from Hagrid's earnest words. She smiled again and finally took the rock cake that he had been offering for her for the past half-hour.

**

Hermione managed to pass the rest of the day without any major complications in the Ron department. She had a very pleasant tea with Hagrid, followed by an entertaining visit outdoors to see Buckbeak romping about in the snow. Dumbledore himself had even come out, claiming that he had been watching the joyful beast's antics from his office and wished to see a closer look. However, when Hagrid was distracted, Dumbledore had slipped Hermione one of the scrolls that Harry had received whenever his next lesson was scheduled. Hermione had agreed to bring the message to Harry. Dumbledore had then given her a long, lingering look, much like he had when he had seen immediately after her accident at the Ministry. She expected him to ask her if she was all right, but Dumbledore had only smiled kindly and said good-bye. She had left a short while later to be confronted with Ron outside of the portrait hole, scratching his head over the change in password. Of course, she had to suppress the urge to smack him on the side of the head. It was just like him to forget that at the last prefect meeting before the holidays, Kira had specifically mentioned that they should check with their head of house after they returned to school to get the new password; standard safety procedures necessitated the password to be changed every fortnight. She had wanted to remind him of that, but instead, Hermione had just ignored Ron completely even when he had eagerly tried to talk to her when she approached them. It had felt marvelous until Lavender had squealed and tackled Ron as soon as he had entered the common room. Thank goodness Harry was there to distract her and the surge of bitterness that threatened to drown her was somewhat alleviated by snidely asking Harry how 'Won-Won's' was. She had a feeling that no matter how much she ignored Ron, she was still going to mock him about that ridiculous nickname.

But overall, Hermione thought she had done rather well for herself. She could have reacted much more vehemently to his efforts to engage her in conversation or smacked him across the face, but she hadn't. She had calmly and coolly ignored him. She had even managed to laugh at the sight of Lavender throwing herself at Ron. The idea of anyone throwing themselves at Ron was ludicrous. This idea was going to work better than expected. Harry's accounts of what had happened over the holidays gave her loads to think about. It was going be quite easy to distract herself.

Well, yes, maybe, she had unconsciously inhaled Ron's scent when he came up behind her the next day to take the quill from her to sign up for Apparition lessons. And perhaps she had almost smiled at him, but thankfully Lavender squealing "Guess who, Won-Won," had brought Hermione back to her senses. She had stalked away and when Ron had surprisingly caught up to her and Harry, she had stormed ahead to Neville. Neville realized immediately what was going on and tactfully decided not to say anything on the matter. He instead made her feel infinitely better by regaling her with stories about his Uncle Algie's escapades on Christmas with a very full bottle of mead and Trevor the toad. They then discussed the difficulties of Apparition--Neville was very worried about his attempts and Hermione did her best to teach him about the literature she had read on the matter--and by the time, breakfast was over, Ron's smell was far from her mind.

Apparition offered Hermione another diversion so when Harry went off to his lesson with Dumbledore, Hermione hurried to the library to collect several books on the subject. From what she had read, Apparition could be extremely difficult and Hermione really didn't fancy splinching herself. Hopefully, if she read enough on the subject, she would never have to know how painful splinching really was. The evening passed uninterestingly with her reading extensively on the subject. But as she left the library, Hermione abruptly remembered that today was Thursday--oddly enough, they had been due back at school on a Wednesday this year--so she needed to patrol. She stopped by the tower to drop off her scores of books and returned to the corridors to spend a lonely hour on her own. She really did miss Ron whenever she had to patrol by herself.

That dreadfully long lonesome hour had almost ended when a curiously closed door caught her attention. She hesitated; this was the infamous stretch of empty classrooms that serious couples used for snogging. Forever ago, she and Ron had interrupted Fred and Angelina up here. Hermione didn't particularly fancy seeing any other couples after seeing much too much of Ron and Lavender's groping sessions. She wrinkled her nose. What if it was Ron and Lavender in there?

But it was her obligation to check this out. She wasn't going to let the fear of interrupting Lavender and Ron keep her from carrying out her prefect obligations. Holding her breath, Hermione bravely twisted the knob, found it locked, performed Alohomora, and pushed the door loudly open.

"Granger, get out!"

Hermione obediently slammed the door shut, reconsidered, and wrenched it back open so she could take a second look at the scene. They were no longer kissing, but they still remained in the same position, poised to pick up where they left off the moment the unwanted company left. Malfoy was sitting on the teacher's desk--in eerily the same way she had when she had ran from Ron and Lavender-- with his hands curved around Pansy's waist. Pansy stood in front of him, one hand on his shoulder and the other soothingly stroking his hair. Hermione wouldn't have thought twice about their positions except for the one, long, dried tearstain that streaked from the corner of Malfoy's eyes down to the tip of his pointed chin. This wasn't a typical teenaged snogging: Hermione had actually interrupted a very tender, real moment between two students who actually may care very much for each other.

But that moment had ended. Hermione hastily ducked to the floor as a chair spun from the ground and hurtled straight at her. One of its legs was cracked clean off as it nicked the doorframe while the rest of the chair whizzed above her head, flew across the hall, and smashed into a hundred pieces as it collided with the stone wall. "Get OUT!" Malfoy repeated fiercely as he kept his wand aimed at the nearest chair, daring Hermione to give him a second chance to decapitate her.

It was funny; the words were intimidating, she supposed, but she wasn't afraid in the slightest. The arrogant swagger, the contemptuous air, the chilling drawl, the cold hatred that had defined Malfoy for so long was completely gone. All there was a frightened little boy who was dreadfully and deeply petrified of someone finding out why he was crying. Hermione had a million questions to ask, but all she could do was tilt her head slightly to the side to get a better look at Malfoy's face. "Are you all right?" she asked in a soft, compassionate voice that she never guessed she would use in front of Draco Malfoy. He really did look a little ill. There were dark circles under his eyes and a gray tinge to his pallor that she hadn't really noticed before. Harry had mentioned that he thought Draco looked sick, but Hermione had thought Harry had just been imagining things since he was so desperate to discover that Malfoy was on some secret mission for the Death Eaters. But now, she wasn't so certain.

Pansy jumped in for Malfoy, her beady eyes blazing with contempt. "He's fine!" she hissed. "And if he wasn't, it's really none of your business, is it?"

Smiling proudly, Malfoy circled one arm around Pansy's waist to pull him even closer to him. Pansy wrapped both arms around Draco's neck as if they were the poster couple for purebloods. "You heard her, Granger," Malfoy sneered at her. "I'm fine. Or at least I was until you came along."

Hermione ignored the sharp words. After what Harry had overheard before the Christmas holidays, it was clear that Malfoy was up to something. Whether it or not it was for the Death Eaters was yet to be determined. She didn't know what possessed her to say it, but Hermione found herself taking a tentative step forward and saying, "Malfoy, if you're in some sort of trouble--"

Malfoy shoved Pansy away from him so forcefully that she careened into a desk and had to catch herself to keep from tumbling to the floor. He didn't even notice. "Pansy, I need to speak to the Mudblood for a minute."

"But, Draco--"

"Pansy, my pet, my darling, my life, I don't want to offend you, but you really are the stupidest girl I ever met," Malfoy snapped impatiently. Pansy's jaw dropped, unwanted tears springing up in her eyes. "So get out. I'll be along in a minute."

With a look of deepest loathing as if this was all Hermione's fault, Pansy stalked past the Gryffindor prefect and banged the door shut behind her, leaving Malfoy and Hermione alone. He didn't waste anytime and came straight to the point. "Don't look at me like I'm one of your stupid house-elves, Granger," he warned as he strode towards her. "I don't want your pity."

"Why would I pity you? Is there something to pity?" Hermione asked perceptively, wondering just how many people in this school thought that they had become Hermione Granger's latest charity case.

Malfoy ignored her. "Granger, I'm going to only say this once because I don't like to be this close to you." Hermione raised her chin. That makes two of us. "Stay out of it. I know you were following me. That day in Diagon Alley? Borgin told me that some bushy-haired Mudblood came into the store straight after I left, asking all sorts of questions."

Hermione kept her gaze steady and chin high. "What of it?" she asked flatly, making a note that Malfoy must have talked to Borgin sometime over the holidays.

Once again, he ignored her question. He took another step towards her and Hermione once again countered it, so now she was backed up against the wall. "Potter and you never know when to stop, do you?" he said softly. "It's going to get you killed one of these days you know." Hermione didn't even blink; she was perfectly aware of that Malfoy's prediction could one day come true. That wouldn't do anything to defer her. "So if you want to keep your filthy little self around for a little longer, I suggest you stay out of my way before I make you stay out of it." Abruptly, he viciously slammed the heel of his hand into the wall right next to her head. A loud bang echoed across the room, causing Hermione to instinctively flinch and wonder how much it would have hurt if that blow had whacked into her face. "Pass along the message to Potter," Malfoy added menacingly, before striding out into the corridor, but not before Hermione noticed he was obviously shaking.

Hermione remained behind, breathing rapidly. That was without a doubt the strangest conversation she had had with Draco Malfoy, which only confirmed Harry's earlier suspicions that she had been so quick to disregard last night. Straightening her jumper, Hermione returned out in the hallway to finish her patrol with a sigh. Okay, Harry, fine, she conceded finally. Malfoy is up to something.

**

She considered telling Harry about what had happened the next day, but after hearing his intriguing story about Horcruxes, Malfoy flew far, far from her mind. This was infinitely more important. She had a feeling that this could have everything do with the way to defeat Voldemort. Of course, she had snapped a little at Harry when he had mentioned Won-Won's stupid advice, but that was to be expected; Lavender had kept Hermione up quite late by gushing about Ron's kissing ability until two in the morning. Hermione reckoned that every time she had to endure a particular painful sight or experience, she was allowed one bitter retort about Won-Won. It was childish, but she had to admit, it helped her feel better and made it easier to keep ignoring Ron. Ron's attempts to speak to her had increased with every class period, especially if he was confused with today's lesson. Apparently, he kept forgetting that she would no longer help him with assignments. He really was the biggest prat Hermione had ever met.

Hermione put up with his attempts until finally, the following Monday, he pushed too far: he actually spoke directly to her. The other day, after Potions, when Harry had stayed behind to ask Slughorn about Horcruxes--which Hermione knew was a horrible idea, but no one ever listened to her, now did they?--she and Ron had walked down the hall near each other, both too infuriated with Harry's success in class to be angry with each other. They hadn't actually spoke to each other but nevertheless Ron must have been emboldened by that incident, because after their next Potions class, Ron quickened his pace to walk alongside of her. Harry was ahead of them, preoccupied with his musings about how to trick Slughorn into giving him the memory. There was no one else around for Hermione to speak to so she tried her best to catch up to Harry. Ron's legs however were just too damn long.

"He's really riled up about this," Ron commented. He gave Hermione a sideways look. "What do you reckon we should do to get that memory?"

Hermione stopped abruptly, pressing her mouth shut and keeping her eyes on Harry. Ron was trying to lure her into conversation by talking about a very safe topic of discussion: Harry. He knew that she would face thirty Hungarian Horntails for Harry; if he made her believe that Harry needed help in some way, she would have to talk to Ron in order to find the best way to help Harry. It was an old trick with Ron's and Hermione was not about to fall for it. Patiently, she waited for Harry to turn the corner. She didn't want him to overhear what she was about to say. Ron also came to a stop, his eyes shining with boyish hope that made Hermione almost feel guilty for saying what she was about to say.

That of course didn't defer her. The moment Harry's back had disappeared, she lifted her eyes to his and looked at him directly for the first time in weeks. "Ron, when are you going to realize that we are not friends anymore?" she asked bluntly.

He flinched as though he had been whacked in the face with a Beater's club. "I--I thought--after Christmas--"

She shook her head to stop him from even finishing his thought. Harry had expressed to her the same hope. "No."

"Why not?" Ron demanded. "You miss me. Your little date with McLaggen didn't work out. Me and Lave--"

Hermione interrupted him once again without thinking or realizing that she might want Ron to finish his statement. "No." Something shuddered in her ribcage, but she only coldly met Ron's eyes. She held her contemptuous gaze on him for a good long minute; this was the last time she was going to really look at him for a long time. Something flicked in honest fright in the back of his eyes. Thankfully, she didn't have to say anything; he knew what she was telling him. Without further ado, Hermione spun on her heel and stalked away, praying that for once in his life, Ron would actually heed her silent command and leave her the hell alone.

**

He did.

From that moment on, all attempts to resume their friendship ceased completely. He commenced snogging Lavender anytime, anywhere, and any moment he thought Hermione might pass by. Hermione began to once again avoid the common room at all times and spent more time than usual in the library. Fortunately, the quest to discover what a Horcrux was took a great deal of time and effort. She threw herself wholeheartedly into the task, spending every few moment in the dusty corners of the Restricted Section--as a prefect, she had permission to access the volumes without the note of a professor--pouring over as many volumes as she could. She read so many books that she was certain that she had guaranteed that within a few years, she would have to start wearing glasses due to the severe eyestrain and it wouldn't have mattered if she had found what she was looking for. But there was nothing: no mention of a Horcrux in any of the books except for one which dismissively said that they were so awful that they wouldn't even write the definition of the term down. Ever since she had learned the value of the printed word, Hermione Granger had always relied on books to tell her the truth. If she had a question, she would always run to a library and search through the dusty pages for an answer. Sometimes it would take longer to find the perfect book with the tidbit of information she was seeking, but Hermione would always find it. Books had never failed her. It was the one thing she relied in. Somehow, it seemed rather fitting that now, in this point in her life, that books finally did fail her.

But that wouldn't stop her from trying. Hermione still continued to read and search for the answer, no matter how frustrated and disconcerted she became. It was hard enough that she was coping with the whole Ron dilemma; another infinitely maddening situation was quickly making her time here almost unbearable. But no matter how unbearable the situations became, Hermione wouldn't allow herself to cry. She had cried far too much about Ron. He didn't deserve her tears. He didn't deserve to be thought about every minute of the day. He deserved to be ignored and deprived from the pleasure of her company so that was what Hermione going to do. Life had to go on.

So that was what she did for the next few weeks. The decision she made over Christmas seemed to be weakening every second she watched Ron until she reached the point that she hardly remembered why she had decided not to engage in open warfare against him. He wasn't as happy as he was before the holidays, but he was still happy--how could he be happy when she hurt so badly? Although, Hermione had to admit that deep within her heart, she was secretly pleased to see him doing so well: his marks were steadily improving and his confidence increased with each passing day. But at the same time, as selfish as it was, she wished she could be a part of that. Ron was finally showing everyone else the potential she had always seen inside of him, but now she was the one being shunted away from it. Now that everyone could see him for who he really was, she didn't belong. It really hurt to think in the arduous task of growing up, Ron had chose to mature without her. Her life had become so defined by him that Hermione had trouble conceiving that Ron could want a life without her. He was everything to her; why wasn't she the same to him?

It made her feel sick inside. Hermione actually felt physically ill most of January and the first week of February. But she refused to let anyone see her ailment. She bottled it up, locked it with a key and Alohomora, and threw it into the most heavily guarded vault in Gringotts. No one would ever know how empty she still felt. There were other things to distract her, but that didn't change the fact that late at night, when she would go to bed, her thoughts always, always went to him. And nothing would ever change that.

So she had to put her energies elsewhere. There was so much suppressed emotion bottled up inside of her that she had to release it somehow. That was why at three o'clock in the morning on a cold February day, Hermione Granger wasn't curled up cozily in her bed, dreaming about the glorious things that were destined to happen to her. She was at the window seat with a parchment and quill, scratching away tirelessly. With a sigh, Hermione paused to scan over what she had just written.

The long-term aims of S.P.E.W.

She of course had made this list long ago, but Hermione felt that some revisions were necessary at this point. It was about time she gave some serious effort to S.P.E.W. Harry, as secretary, was supposed to be the one to record all of the information, but he obviously didn't care too much about S.P.E.W. Besides, Harry had enough on his mind these days. He needed to focus on getting that memory from Slughorn and saving the world. She could handle this alone. Propping her chin up with her hand, Hermione yawned and continued to read. She couldn't help thinking at times that house-elves needed to be liberated and liberated now, not just because it was immoral and indecent and completely wrong to enslave any magical being. Something told Hermione that maybe if they freed the house-elves, the creatures would join their side of the war. Voldemort already had the dementors and the giants; if the Order got the house-elves on their side, they could even the playing field a bit more. No one could say that house-elves didn't possess powerful magical skills; the fact that they could Apparate on Hogwarts grounds spoke volumes. Who knew: maybe Dobby could be the one to save the world. Anything was possible.

The problem was that Hermione was probably the only person on the planet who held that opinion. The only other members of S.P.E.W.--Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Colin Creevy--only joined because they liked her and didn't want to let her down. When Hermione had tried to campaign to other houses in fourth-year, they had all laughed right in her face. No one would even listen to her for more than five seconds. They heard the words "house-elves rights" and just stopped listening. Even the house-elves themselves wouldn't listen to her, except for Dobby. Hermione laughed under her breath. It was her and Dobby against the world. Dobby, no matter how wonderful he was, simply wasn't the type of partner Hermione needed to accomplish her goal of total house-elf liberation.

There had to be a way to reach the people and make them listen to her. Hermione set down her parchment and quill so she could sit cross-legged and think it through once again. Fourth-year she had tried a direct approach, going straight to the people and advocating her beliefs. That hadn't worked so the next year she had tried a different route: humans wouldn't listen to her so she would have to go through the elves by "accidentally" freeing them. That plan had also backfired: it had taken her several months to figure it out, but finally Hermione realized after seeing Dobby with all of the hats and other items she had knitted that he was the only elf collecting her gifts. The other house-elves wouldn't go near the Gryffindor tower. They were so ignorant that they didn't even want freedom simply because they didn't know what it was. Dobby was the only house-elf who reveled in his freedom because he was the only one who knew it. Hermione was certain that once the elves tasted a little nip of sweet liberation, they would all come around. They would want to be free. But how?

She would have to go through the house-elves and wizards. Hermione had tried to approach the two groups separately and that had been her fatal mistake. If she broached both of the groups, then she was certain that she would have better results. Hermione had reached this conclusion long ago, but this was as far as she had come. No matter how many nights she spent on this window seat, the answer wasn't going to come to her like this, not when she was so distracted.

Hermione looked out the window and up at the thick blackness of the night sky. It was rather overcast tonight, so not one single star shone through. There was only a deep, dark void. Somehow it seemed rather appropriate and once again, Hermione had the incredible urge to do something reckless, something rebellious. She really wanted to run outside, find a broom, and fly. She wanted to feel the wind whip through her hair and sting her cheeks as she soared higher and higher away from the war and the world and everything else that seemed determined to bring her down. It wasn't often that Hermione yearned to escape--she preferred to tackle problems unflinchingly--but this particular urge was so powerful that Hermione almost jumped off the window seat and followed that particular instinct. Luckily, good sense held her back: running blindly outside at three o'clock in the morning wasn't safe in peacetime. In a time of war, she would only get herself killed.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she would go flying somehow. She would feel the wind blowing through her hair again. Maybe it would help her feel a little more like herself. Although she was loads better than she had been in November, Hermione still didn't feel quite like herself. She went about life normally enough, but there was just a Ron-sized hole in her life that no amount of homework, elf-rights campaigns, and Horcrux research could fill. Harry, Ginny, and her other friends helped loads by just being there and helping her feel normal, but it just wasn't the same. She shouldn't even bother trying so hard. Nothing she did would ever fix the state of things.

Closing her eyes, Hermione shook her head. She couldn't think these thoughts. She could fix this. She could do anything. Well, she couldn't fix things with Ron, obviously, but she could fix this war. If Harry had to save the world, she did too. She had to help him. Leaning against the windowpane, Hermione shifted her attention to the tricky dilemma of what Harry had to do to stop this insanity. That was fairly obvious. It all hinged on these Horcruxes. She had to find out about the Horcruxes. That had to take precedence over all other things.

Her eyes dropped down to the S.P.E.W. document and with a sigh, she slid off of the window seat to carefully stow S.P.E.W.'s manifesto into a safe corner in her trunk. S.P.E.W. couldn't be a top priority, not until they discovered what a Horcrux was. She was just infinitely frustrated at the moment and had needed something to release all of this anxiety. After the Yule Ball, she had written that editorial for the Prophet about house-elves so it was natural that S.P.E.W. had been the first thing to come to mind. But in all honesty, if she was going to be sitting up this late, she really should be combing another Dark Arts book. Those Horcruxes were the key to their survival. They had to find out what they were. She was far and away the best at research so it was up to her. Harry had to get the memory from Slughorn, Ron had to continue to be a prat and do nothing, so she had to find that one book that held the answers they were seeking.

The decision made, Hermione gave the document one last loving look. She would come back to it one day, she was certain of that, but not for a few months at least. Irrationally, she silently sent the piece of parchment a nostalgic good-bye before quietly shutting the lid of the trunk. Horribly, once again, it felt as though she had just left a very dear part of her life behind in her infinite pursuit to grow up, save the world, and live happily ever after all at the same time.

**

"There you are," Harry said as he looked up from his Charms essay upon hearing Hermione's arrival at his table in the common room. "I wondered where you got to." He frowned as he noticed her windswept hair and pink cheeks. "What have you been doing?"

"Just went out to visit Hagrid," Hermione lied as she fell into the chair across from him. She unloaded all of her books from her schoolbag and set them on the table, stacked in the order that she would be using them. For some reason, she rather fancied the idea of no one knowing her secret penchant for flying in times of duress. Besides, if Harry thought she actually knew how to fly halfway decently, he would keep trying to get her to play Quidditch with him and Ron--Hermione cut herself off and opened her first book. Then again, that wouldn't be a problem anymore. There would be no more summers at the Burrow for her.

If Harry knew she was lying, he didn't push it. And from the neutral expression on his face, Hermione was pretty certain that he had no idea what she had been up to. "Well, anyway, I wanted to give you this before practice." Harry bent down to pull a volume out of his bag. "I finished looking through this one."

"Anything?" Hermione asked although she was positive what the answer would be. If Harry had found something about a Horcrux, he would have raced to find her and Ron immediately with a feverish gleam to his eyes. He wouldn't be able to calmly sit here in the common room doing homework if he knew what a Horcrux was. He would be out there somewhere, undoubtedly doing something stupidly brave that would end up saving them all.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing." He ran his palm distractedly over his hair as he nodded at her load of books. "Can I take any of those?"

"No, these aren't for that," Hermione said meaningfully as they were in a crowded common room where anyone could overhear. She disappointedly flipped through the rice-thin pages of the book Harry had returned to her. This particular Dark Arts book had seemed the most likely based on the disturbing fact that out of all of the hundreds of books in the library, it alone had the most grotesque images on the cover. If the Horcruxes were so horrible that no one wanted to write about them, they really should have been in that book. "I was rather hoping this one could be it," she added absently. Hermione shuddered ever so slightly as she glanced at the cover. She really hadn't been sorry to hand this particular book off to Harry. Enduring the atrocities of that book once was one time too many.

"Yeah," Harry agreed tiredly. They both wished that this Horcrux thing could finally be solved so they could resume their normal lives. Harry had kindly offered to take a few of Hermione's massive load of books she had checked out to peruse for himself. He always gave Hermione a book back every other day, eager for more. But they had already been through every book in the general collection as well as the Restricted section. Hermione insisted that the answer had to be somewhere and they had just missed it so now they were rereading the same books again. For once, Harry hadn't complained about her overzealous attention to detail. He was even more desperate than she was about this. So they were now trying once more, but with dismally useless results again.

For a moment, the two friends sat in disappointed, mutual silence. They both wanted to find the answer so badly that it seemed impossible that the copious research could amount to absolutely nothing. Finally, Hermione opened her Charms book and retrieved a long roll of parchment with her neat script all over it so she could double-check her essay she of course had finished the night before. "Don't you have Quidditch practice?" she asked offhandedly although she was perfectly aware that they did have Quidditch practice tonight at seven o'clock; that was why she had made sure to finish her rebellious flight by six-thirty.

Harry nodded and pushed back his chair. With that movement, Ginny across the room immediately extricated herself from Dean's lap while Ron closed the book he had been reading and leaned over to kiss Lavender good-bye. Everyone knew that once Harry got up to leave for the pitch, they all should too. Harry paused to rub the sides of his nose where his glasses were somewhat pinching him. "Are you going to get any more books tonight?"

"If I get time," Hermione replied. "I'll definitely go tomorrow if I don't get there tonight."

"Good," Harry said. "Why don't you grab two for me this time?"

His voice was deceptively casual, but Hermione knew what was really going on. Harry wasn't asking for two books for himself. He was going to give one to Ron to look through. This had been going on for the past couple of weeks: every other time Hermione would go to the library, Harry would request another book and hand it off to Ron. Ron would look through it, report his findings to Harry, and give the book back to Harry. Harry would then return the book to Hermione and no one would be the wiser, or so they thought. Those two should know that Hermione wasn't that stupid. She knew that no matter how much action Ron was getting, he would still do everything he could to help Harry. Since Ron couldn't go through Hermione to offer aid, he had been forced to do it deceptively. If this wasn't for Harry, Hermione would probably have told Ron to keep out of it, but as Harry needed all of the help he could get, she had let it go and feigned ignorance.

"Fine," she said in the same easy voice. "Have a good practice."

"Thanks." He hurriedly patted her shoulder as he went past to let her know that he wasn't just thanking her for her well-wishes. He was so infinitely grateful that she was here to help him with this overwhelming task of finding out what a Horcrux was. Hermione smiled at him as he went back before bending back down over her essay. Harry really was a very good best friend.

She had only been read the first sentence of her essay when two hands came down on the table so someone could lean close to her. The knuckles made a long bang on the wood, causing Hermione to jump and flinch. "Good God, Harry!" she protested automatically, her hand going to her chest as she assumed that Harry had hurried back to retrieve something he had forgotten.

But it wasn't Harry; damn it, there was only Ron's angry eyes. Hermione froze, keeping her hand over her now frantically fluttering heart. They hadn't been this close in a good long time.

Ron didn't waste anytime with formalities. "You flew?" Ron accused shortly, his face twisted in a disapproving scowl.

"You care?" Hermione returned in the same tone as her senses returned and she jerkily got to her feet. She started to collect her books and make a quick exit, but Ron slapped his hand on top of her stack of textbooks to prevent her from leaving.

"Don't bother," he muttered before stalking out of the portrait hole. Hermione remained on her feet, feeling out of breath for some reason. Those were the first words he had said to her in almost three weeks. It was amazing how potent they could be. It was also amazing how quickly he knew what she had been up to. Tousled hair and flushed cheeks were signals of a multitude of activities; for all he knew, she could have been out snogging Viktor Krum. But he didn't. He knew. He knew what she would do to make herself feel better in times like these. Hermione sighed as she swore under her breath. He knew. And he just didn't know that she had been out flying; he also knew why she had flown: because she was upset and hurt and needed something wild and rebellious and out of character to make herself feel better. He still knew her better than anybody; he knew.

He knew. Hermione slowly sat back down at her table, biting her lip. He knew her through and through even though right now, she barely knew herself. No matter what happened, he was always going to be the one person who saw straight into her soul. No matter what she did, he was always going to be the one.

Hermione suddenly really needed to go flying again.