Hermione Granger and the Order of the Phoenix

In a way, Hermione was glad that Hogwarts had gone to hell after that night; it kept her mind off of what she had done with Ron. It distracted both of them from what had occurred in the classroom after fleeing from the Room of Requirement. As wonderful as though few precious seconds had been, Hermione couldn't let herself think about them. As much as she wanted to revel in those glorious moments, she wouldn't let herself; it would just cause her to yearn for more. And that wasn't going to happen. She had kissed Ron Weasley, and he never wanted to remember that incident ever again. The mere thought of that hurt Hermione more than she ever cared to admit. So she ignored the stabbing pains in her heart and threw herself into other things. She went to McGonagall about trying to disband the stupid Inquisitorial Squad that Umbridge had instated, but McGongall had no power any more. She worried about Harry as usual especially after he told her about how Umbridge had tried to slip him some Veritaserum. She studied, she knitted, she wrote to Viktor and her parents, she patrolled, she fretted over her friends...but at the end of the day, when she lay in bed at night staring up into the darkness, she couldn't help dreaming. And that's when the tears would always come.

One night, Hermione couldn't bear the thought of crying. She had been in such a lovely mood all day. Fred and George had released those brilliant fireworks, and she had the distinct pleasure of watching Umbridge run around like a distressed hippogriff, her fat face pink with exertion, her atrocious bow askew in her limp hair. In fact, Hermione had been in such a good mood that she actually decided not to do any homework that night. Granted, Hermione typically wanted to do homework; she adored the challenge of writing stimulating essays and answering difficult questions. But for one of the few times in her life, she wanted to just do something completely out of the ordinary, something completely out of character for her. So of course the most obvious thing to do was not to study.

But now that Harry and Ron had wandered up to bed, Hermione considered her options. She could go to bed and cry over Ron again or she could stay here and study. Or she could do something rebellious.

Hermione pushed back her chair and resolutely walked out of the common room.

She had to admit, she had no idea what rebellious act she was going to commit, but she had to give it a try. Sometimes she rather tired of the image of straight-laced, prim and proper Hermione Granger. She could let her hair down and have fun. It just had to be at the proper time and place with the right people. Hermione's heart involuntarily constricted. Ron was one of those right people.

No, she screamed to herself, don't think about Ron. Not tonight. Tonight, it's just about you. She paused to stare out the window at the still brilliant spectacle of fireworks dancing across the night sky. It really did appear to be a beautiful night, pleasantly warm, not too much of a breeze...

That's it, Hermione decided briskly, that's what I'll do.

Before she could think about her decision too much and change her mind, Hermione briskly walked out of the castle and into the clear starry night. She only paused for a moment to marvel at the fireworks that were still exploding brightly against the indigo sky. It wasn't often that Fred and George's antics made her grin like this, but they had certainly out done themselves this time. She honestly never thought that it would please her so much to see Umbridge so frustrated.

But she didn't have time to dwell on Fred and George's prank. Hermione continued to stride towards the Quidditch pitch and headed straight for the shed where she knew Quidditch supplies were stored. A quick Alohomora unlocked the door and Hermione slipped inside the shed. She knew nothing about brooms, so she just grabbed the first one she found before returning out into the night.

She had no idea why she had the sudden urge to fly. She hadn't been on a broom since the time she had flown with Ron and Harry to capture the key while attempting to get to the Philosopher's Stone. Flying had never come easily for her, but she could do it well enough. Granted, she didn't like to fly very high or fast, but sensation of the wind whipping through her hair and the cold stinging her cheeks could make her feel more alive and free than ever. And the way she had been feeling lately, she had the desperate need to just soar away.

Harry had always found his solace in flying, and Hermione never fully realized how therapeutic the sport really was until this night. She kicked off roughly, and somehow, all her problems got left on the grass of the pitch. For once, Hermione did not allow herself to think, and she unconsciously flew around the perimeter of the pitch over and over again. With every lap, she floated a little higher in the air until she could plainly see the entire grounds, castle, and the faint twinkling lights of Hogsmeade. She pulled her broom to a stop at this point, panting lightly for breath. Her hair had been tied back securely in a ponytail, but the wind had tugged free several curls by this point, so Hermione recklessly shook her head from side to side. The ponytail holder tumbled out of her thick mass of hair and plummeted to the ground, but she didn't care. She was finally letting her hair down.

Still gripping the broomstick tightly, Hermione stared out at the darkened grounds. It was so tranquil up among the clouds, and as long as she didn't look down and see how precarious her position was, she felt utterly at peace. Umbridge, Malfoy, Ron, Harry, Viktor, and everyone else in her life who was causing her to stay up nights worrying were irrelevant. All that mattered right now was her and her alone. It was Hermione Granger against the world. And right now, hovering several feet from the ground, Hermione felt like she could take the world on.

BANG

Hermione unconsciously flinched at the unusually loud bang one of the firecrackers produced, and the broomstick lurched sharply to the side. She let out a small cry as she tumbled to the side, and if she hadn't had such a firm hold on the handle, she most likely would have fallen right off. Her fingers were slippery with sweat, but she still managed to cling on. Her eyes unfortunately flew downwards at the sudden lurch, and she for the first time realized how high up she was. Her stomach churned in anxiety, and she realized for the first time in her life that she actually had vertigo as waves of dizziness crashed over her. For a few fleeting, disorienting moments when she really thought she was going to slide straight off the broom and hurtle head over heels down, down, down...

Get a grip, Hermione ordered herself as she straightened up. The fear subsided, and with a few, deep, calming breaths, Hermione's heart rate returned to normal, and the only emotion that was causing her stomach to churn was annoyance. It was just her luck, she thought somewhat angrily, the minute she had begun to really enjoy herself, something had to happen to ruin it. She tried her best to salvage the moment, but it was no use. She wished that she could stay up in the stars forever, away from the troubles of the world, but when pink and silver piglets began to streak by her, blinding her temporarily, she decided it was time to come back to earth.

Hermione managed to land safely, and as soon as her feet hit the grass, all her worries came crashing back on her shoulders. She sighed while dismounting. At least she had forgotten about her troubles for all of two minutes.

So much for my grand rebellious act, Hermione thought somewhat sadly as she returned the broomstick and trudged back into the castle. She had to duck into an empty classroom to avoid Peeves upon arriving on the seventh-floor corridor, and of course, her bad luck continued since the classroom she hid in was the one she and Ron had ran into that fateful night.

She emerged from the room at the same moment that another student stuck his head out of another vacant classroom, and simultaneously, their jaws dropped.

"Ron, what on earth are you doing here?"

"Me?" Ron demanded. "What about you? What have you been doing?" He frowned as he took in Hermione's windswept hair and cheeks which were flushed from the still brisk April wind.

"I--I asked you first," Hermione countered hastily. She had always found it best when attacked to go on the offensive; it threw people off-balance. It certainly worked for Ron. For some reason, his ears turned red in embarrassment and he wearily raked a hand through his hair. His hair was rather tousled, as if he had been sleeping. As his arm rose, Hermione noticed that he had his pajama top on under his robe. Her eyes traveled lower to see his jeans poking out from underneath the hem of the cloak, but only a pair of slippers covered his long feet. A second careful glance caused her to spot the waist band of his pajama bottoms sticking out from the waist of his jeans. He had dressed in a hurry in order to get to wherever he had been planning on going. Hermione was very tempted to focus on how cute Ron looked when he was half-awake like this, but she forced herself to dwell on the fact that Ron was breaking school rules by sneaking out after hours. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's going on, Ron?"

Ron hesitated for a few long moments before finally opening his mouth. "I was coming to find you."

"You were? Why?"

"I saw you," Ron explained, gesturing towards one of the windows. "We all went to watch the fireworks in the dormitory, and I saw you out on the pitch, and I--I--well, I just wanted to see if you were alright."

"Why wouldn't I have been all right?" Hermione knew that jabbing at Ron's concern was not the right approach to take, but she didn't care. She was actually very touched that Ron had been willing to rush out to check on her, but she couldn't let him know that. This was the first time they had really been alone ever since the infamous snog and she couldn't very well give anything away again. "I am perfectly capable of flying by myself, thank you very much."

"It didn't look like it!" Ron shot back. "You were scared!"

"I was not scared!" Hermione lied.

"You were too!"

"How would you know?" Hermione demanded, hands on her hips. "I was hundreds of feet away, how on earth could you know I was frightened?" Her frown deepened as she suddenly realized something. "As a matter of fact, how did you know it was me anyway? You wouldn't be able to see my face from that distance."

Ron's ears flushed even brighter as he stuttered incoherently for a few moments before finally being able to voice an intelligible thought. "Oh please," he scoffed, flicking Hermione's mane of hair lightly. "All I had to see was this."

"Hey!" Hermione swatted his hand away.

"Excuse me," One of the ladies in a portrait adorning the hallway cleared her throat loudly to attract the two quarreling students' attention.

"What?" Ron snapped.

"I suggest, young man, you keep your voice down," The elegantly dressed witch pointed discretely down the corridor. "From what I understand, the new headmistress does not like her rules to be broken, especially at this hour of the night."

Ron rolled his eyes with frustration and acceptance while Hermione thanked the portrait. As she and Ron walked away, she could hear the other people in the painting laughing.

"...lovers' spat..." one of the witches gasped out.

"Oh, honestly," Ron almost exploded. "Why does everyone think we fancy each other!?"

Hermione paused in front of the Fat Lady, who was eying both her and Ron with a great deal of interest. Normally, Hermione would have let the comment slide and had just gone up to bed. But she hadn't done her rebellious act of the evening. And rebellious meant doing something against the norm, something that you wanted to do but were too afraid to do because it was against the rules.

She and Ron had an unwritten list of rules that they had both been carefully abiding by. Whenever they came remotely close to making a break-through with their relationship, they backed off. They didn't touch or make physical displays of affection unless it was necessary. They ignored the other's occasional flares of jealousy. They didn't talk about members of the opposite sex in front of each other because they knew how painful jealousy was. Avoidance and ignorance was pivotal in the Ron-Hermione dynamic these days, and although those wonderful, romantic, blissful moments did happen, Ron forgot about them the next morning, or so Hermione thought. But she didn't. She never could.

And because of that, Hermione hated the rule book that she and Ron had somehow unconsciously written. She hated hiding how she felt, and lying to herself and Ron. And although she knew that some deemed dating your best friend as unethical, she felt that nothing could be more right and romantic than falling in love with your best friend. And if it weren't for the damned rules they had written, everything would be out in the open.

So she rebelled.

Not entirely, of course. She was still an insecure teenage girl who was very much afraid to tell her best friend that she was madly in love with him out of her immense fear of rejection. She couldn't bring herself to flat out tell him. But she couldn't bear hiding it any longer either.

She whirled around and bravely looked Ron dead in the eye. "Ron," she was amazed that she managed to keep her voice so steady and calm, "why don't you try opening that book I wrote for you for your birthday and actually reading the book and then thinking about it, and then maybe, just maybe, it will finally penetrate your thick skull what I'm trying to tell you and if you do finally get what I'm saying, you can tell me why people around here think we fancy each other, because I already know why, Ron, but I would really like it if you figured it out yourself!"

"Hermione..."

"Just think about it," Hermione hissed furiously. She only caught a glimpse of Ron's dumbstruck face as she whirled around to give the Fat Lady the password. The portrait guardian winked at Hermione as she passed through the portrait hole, heart thudding but her head high. She sailed right through the common room and up to her dormitory for bed; she had done her rebellious act for the evening.

**

Whether or not Ron thought about it, Hermione didn't know. Whenever they were alone together, Ron appeared to have the sudden fascination of talking about everything under the sun besides anything about her.

Of course it wasn't as though there wasn't anything else to talk about. Ron was keeping her regularly updated on Harry's sleeping patterns, and she was more than a little concerned that he was no longer taking Occlumency. With Dumbledore gone, this would be an ideal time for Voldemort to make a move, and if Harry couldn't block his mind...well, she didn't want to think about what could happen if Voldemort purposely invaded Harry's subconscious.

She was also spending a great deal of time helping Ron study for the O.W.L.s. She could no longer neglect the impending doom of those upcoming exams, and she whole-heartedly dived into studying, organizing her notes, and drawing up study schedules for her, Ron, and Harry. She had always found that studying helped take her mind off stupid, ignorant gits like Ron Weasley. Hermione had actually become rather impressed with the effort Ron was putting into his studying. She had at first thought Ron had only wanted to be an Auror because Harry wanted to be an Auror, but seeing Ron's determination, she could tell that he wanted to become an Auror for his own reasons.

But as for herself, Hermione had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. It was quite ironic that the one girl that the fifth-years deemed as the most capable and self-aware had not a clue about what she wanted to do after she left Hogwarts. Becoming an Auror did have a certain appeal, but she did also want to help people. She had explored the option of expanding S.P.E.W. or Muggle relations, but those ideas didn't really pan out for her. As much as she fervently felt about protecting house-elves and other minorities, she didn't fancy the idea of devoting her entire life to it. Besides, she had a feeling if she did, Ron and Harry may never speak to her again.

So Hermione Granger went into her career advice meeting with absolutely no options about what courses she should take or possible professions or any clue about her future. She had a sinking feeling that Professor McGonagall would not be impressed with her inability to select a career.

But what really made Hermione's stomach sink the bottom of her toes when she walked into Professor McGonagall's office the morning of her career counseling meeting was the chunky, blonde, pink-cardigan clad headmistresses waiting patiently for her arrival, clipboard resting against her chubby knee. Dolores Umbridge. Hermione fought the urge to groan. Harry had told her that Umbridge had been present at his meeting, but she had reckoned that that was because he was Harry Potter, the main student who had been rebelling against her all year.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall ordered as she looked up from the pamphlets that cluttered her desk. Her beady eyes were darting towards Umbridge as if daring her to say anything. Umbridge, her smug smile plastered on her face, remained silent for once. Hermione guessed that the new headmistress was still glowering over Fred and George's escape last night. A smile unintentionally crept across Hermione's face. That had been, as Ron put it, bloody brilliant.

Luckily, Hermione had her back to Umbridge, so the DADA professor could not see the wide grin. McGonagall gave her a stern look as if she knew what her student was thinking about, but Hermione could tell the Head of House was fighting back a small smile of her own.

"Well, Miss Granger, this meeting is to discuss any possible careers you wish to pursue, and plan a curriculum for your final two years at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall began. Hermione noticed that the professor was determinedly not looking at Umbridge. "Do you have any plans for your future after Hogwarts?"

Hermione hated admitting this to the professor she respect above all others, but she absolutely loathed the thought of voicing her inability to chose a career in front of the professor that she despised above all others. "Actually, not really," she mumbled so only McGonagall could hear her. "I know I would like to help people somehow, and I researched the literature you distributed in the common room thoroughly, but I..." Hermione trailed off helplessly and looked at McGonagall for aid.

"Not to worry, Miss Granger," McGongall said briskly, shuffling through the pamphlets on her desk and extracting a file. "Most students do not have a firm idea about what they'd like to do after Hogwarts." She flipped open the file and scanned it. "Well, Miss Granger, I think you know as well as I that you are receiving high marks in all of your classes. If you put as much effort into your O.W.L.s as I've seen you put into your studies, I am willing to guess that you would do extremely well and be placed in any N.E.W.T. level class you wish to pursue." She looked up expectantly at Hermione.

"Well," Hermione began, "I would like to continue Transfiguration, and Charms, and Arithmancy..."

"What about Potions?" McGonagall inquired, glancing down at her folder again.

"Yes, of course," Hermione replied quickly. She knew how important potion making skills were in any industry.

"Defense Against the Arts?"

Umbridge let out her trademark cough.

Hermione hesitated. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

Umbridge coughed again.

"Well," Hermione hesitated again. "I..."

"Pardon me, Minerva," Umbridge interrupted. "Do you mind if I could make a suggestion?"

"Oh, please, by all means," McGonagall's voice dripped with sarcasm that Umbridge chose to ignore.

"If you look in Miss Granger's file, I think you will find that her marks in Defense are not satisfactory..."

"What?" Hermione exploded, wheeling around in her chair. "I've read the book twice!"

"Now, Miss Granger," Umbridge laughed that nauseating simpering laugh of hers. "surely you know that there is more to classes than simply reading the required material."

"That's all you ever have us do!" Hermione countered angrily. She knew that it wasn't very prudent to be snapping at her headmistress and professor like this, but no one ever said that her work was unsatisfactory. She worked hard, got good marks, and if Umbridge was going to taint her academic record by claiming that she was a poor student...

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sharply. Hermione with effort turned her back on Umbridge and faced her professor. "You were saying that your continuation of Defense Against the Dark Arts depended on...?"

Now, Hermione had no problem with voicing why she had been considering dropping DADA. "It depends on if we get a new professor," Hermione said strongly. "I find Professor Umbridge's teaching methods to be detrimental rather than beneficial to my education."

"I see," McGonagall's eyes dropped back down on Hermione's file, and Hermione was positive that she was fighting hard not to smile. Umbridge coughed again and scribbled away on her clipboard. "Well, I can understand that, Miss Granger. Most students find it useful if their professor actually teaches." Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. "But I do urge you to consider continuing the subject. Defense is very useful, and it is likely that we will have a more competent teaching staff next term."

Umbridge was now breathing heavier than ever, and the quill was scratching away at top speed.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione managed to get out without laughing.

"Now, as for careers," McGonagall continued. "Professor Vector has always said that you showed a unique flare for Arithmancy, so if you wish to pursue that further, I would advise banking..." McGonagall trailed off when she saw Hermione wrinkle her nose at the thought of spending her life in Gringotts. "And there's also this," McGonagall pulled out an envelope from her file and held it up.

"What is that?" Hermione bent forward to peer at the handwriting. She knew that script from somewhere. Umbridge's chair creaked as she strained her fat neck too.

McGonagall looked rather reluctant to reveal this, but she pressed on. "Miss Granger, did you happen to submit an article to the Daily Prophet last year?"

Hermione flushed bright pink. She didn't tell anyone about that. She had actually written the long-winded editorial on house-elves rights on Christmas night, right after her row with Ron. She had stormed up to bed, and finding herself unable to sleep, she had vented with some stream of unconsciousness writing. When she had ran out of anger against Ron (which had taken quite a bit of time, mind you), the subject had switched to house-elves rights and why they deserved to be free. She had reread what she had written the next day, and on a whim, submitted it to the newspaper. She figured if they published works by a twit like Rita Skeeter, they could publish something she had written. She had of course been wrong and never heard from the newspaper and the article had never appeared.

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted.

McGonagall nodded as she gestured to the envelope on the table. "This is from the editor of the Daily Prophet, informing us about your writing." Hermione lowered her head. She didn't think there was any rule forbidding students to publish works in newspapers, but she had a feeling this did not bode well for her. "He says that you have a natural talent for writing, and informs us that he is willing to hire you upon your graduation from Hogwarts."

"What?" Hermione and Umbridge burst out at the same time.

McGonagall was once again fighting a smile. "I believe our friend at the Prophet thought that you were a seventh-year due to the sophistication of your article." She raised her eyebrows expectantly as she looked over at Professor Umbridge. "Dolores, does this meet your satisfaction?"

Hermione realized that for once Umbridge was noticeably silent, and turned to await her professor's response expectantly.

"Well, as long as Miss Granger shies away from outlandish, false stories," Umbridge said in her nauseatingly sweet voice, "I suspect that Miss Granger would do quite well as a reporter." A smirk twisted across her bloated face. "She does excel at asking questions."

Hermione winced slightly. Umbridge had never forgiven her for asking all those questions at the beginning of the school year.

"I agree," McGonagall interceded briskly. She smiled warmly at her favorite student. "Your writing skills have always been excellent, and I think that with a bit of work, you would certainly succeed in the field. Now, let me see what courses the Prophet recommends for young journalists..."

Hermione leaned back in her chair with a smile while McGonagall shuffled through her desk in search for the correct pamphlet. Hermione Granger, investigative reporter, she thought happily.

That certainly had a nice ring to it.

**

The cloud Hermione had floated on after her career counseling meeting lasted for only a few days. The Quidditch final was fast approaching, and the brilliance of the "confidence charm" was fading. Ron still thought that he had no chance of ever making a single goal, and Hermione for once was out of ideas. Ron was on his own.

But Hermione would never have guessed that the Quidditch match itself would be pushed back in her mind on that morning. However, the trip to the forest with Hagrid had certainly changed that. She was ashamed to admit that Grawp had been one of the most terrifying things she had seen in her life, and she was almost repulsed by the giant. She knew how dangerous they could be, and although she had always vowed to help all magical creatures, she for once had no desire to help this creature in need. Then the run-in with the centaurs had been the final straw, and she blew up once Hagrid was out of sight. Harry had been somewhat reassuring, but she was just grateful that he didn't snap at her for the comment she had made about Hagrid. She hadn't meant it, really she hadn't; it was just that Hagrid's teaching methods were so unconventional and outlandish that who couldn't blame a straight-laced, uptight teacher like Umbridge from wanting him sacked, not to mention the fact that he was a half-breed. She had tried, and tried to get Hagrid to understand that he needed to tread carefully, but he just didn't get it; he was almost as thick as Ron. And now with a giant loose in the forest, she knew it would be only a matter of time before Hagrid would be chucked out.

The thought of Hagrid leaving left a tight, constricted sensation in her chest that made it difficult to breathe, but Hermione tried not to think about it too much. She was going to worry about it tomorrow. Tonight it was about Ron. A sincere smile finally broke across Hermione's face. Ron had won the Quidditch Cup; she had always known that the idiot could do it. And now he knew that he could too.

Ron was recounting the match play-by-play to a crowd of eagerly awaiting students, despite the fact that they had all just seen the match played themselves. Harry was right in front, listening intently with a wide, stupid smile. Leave it to Quidditch to bring Harry out of his funk. But another, second, careful look revealed Harry's tightened shoulders and slightly vapid eyes, proving that his mind was elsewhere, most likely back in the forest. Hermione suppressed a sigh. It just wasn't fair that the one night that was supposed to be for Ron, and Ron alone was going to be tainted with the memory of what was lurking in the Forbidden Forest. It also wasn't going to be fair how she and Harry would undoubtedly hurt Ron's feelings when they finally revealed that they hadn't even glimpsed Ron save a goal. And it certainly wasn't fair that she had missed seeing the match. She had waited so long for Ron to prove himself to everyone, and although she was so proud of him right now, she fervently wished that she had been there to witness the event herself.

"Hermione?"

Hermione turned away from Ron and smiled distractedly. "Hullo, Neville."

"Have you seen Ginny?" Neville asked worriedly.

Hermione frowned as she glanced around the common room. Her red-haired friend was missing. "No, I haven't. Why?"

Neville hesitated before lowering his voice. "I--I think something might have happened with her and her--boyfriend." Neville paused slightly as Hermione gave him her full attention. "He went up to her after the match, and they started arguing, and then he stomped off to that Ravenclaw that Harry used to fancy..."

"Oh dear," Hermione breathed as she rose from her perch on the arm of the sofa. "Thanks for telling me, Neville. I'll take care of it." She glanced over at Ron, who was too engrossed in his story to notice while she quietly slipped out of the portrait hole. She had a fairly good idea where Ginny might go if she was upset.

She got to the girls' bathroom as quickly as she could manage, and cautiously poked her head through. Sure enough, the sounds of weak sobs were coming from the last stall on the right and for once, it wasn't Moaning Myrtle.

Hermione softly rapped on the door. "Ginny, is that you?"

There was a rapid shuffling of robes, and Ginny opened the stall door a few moments later. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face splotchy. She sniffed hard once before leaning against the side of the door casually.

"Hey, Hermione, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Hermione treaded carefully. She knew Ginny well enough to know that she was putting up a front. She didn't want anyone to see how upset she really was over whatever had happened with Michael. "Neville said he thought you were rather upset about something."

"Did he? That was sweet of him to notice," Ginny sailed past Hermione and headed towards one of the sinks. She turned on the tap so she could splash cold water onto her face.

"So what happened?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Well, I think Michael and I broke up," Ginny turned off the faucet with a rough twist and wiped off her dripping wet face with a shaking hand. The hand remained covering her eyes for a few moments, and her shoulders started to shake.

Hermione's heart went out to her friend. "Ginny," she said sympathetically as she stretched out a reassuring hand.

Ginny jerked away the moment Hermione's fingers grazed her arm. "I'm fine!" she lied rather poorly. "Honestly." Hermione just looked patiently at the younger girl. She knew Weasleys well enough to know that Ginny would tell her everything at her own pace. "I mean, I knew it wouldn't last. It's not like I loved him or anything. I mean, he was nice and a good kisser and everything, but that was it. We had fun, and now it's over, and I should be fine, because it was mutual. I mean, he was upset because the stupid Ravenclaws lost, and I was telling him that he should be happy for me because I am his bloody girlfriend, and then he just said maybe I shouldn't be his girlfriend any longer, and he stomped over to Cho just like that!" Ginny paused slightly to catch her breath, her face getting redder and redder in frustration. "Okay, so maybe it wasn't mutual at all, but I'm not upset or anything. It's not like he's H--the person I'm supposed to be with or anything, he's just Michael, a stupid, immature bastard who's a sore loser and who has no sense of humor, and who I should be perfectly fine with breaking up with, because I'm better off, I deserve better, Ron never really liked him, not that that matters, but it does in a way, and it's over, and I'm glad it's over, and I'm fine!" Fresh tears sparkled in Ginny's brown eyes as she was forced to clap her still trembling hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She lowered her fingers slightly so she could speak. Her voice now was small, confused, and so unlike the confident Ginny Weasley. "So why don't I feel fine?"

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione guided her friend to the floor so she would be more comfortable. Ginny was crying in earnest now, and Hermione sat next to her with a comforting arm round her shoulders. "I'm so sorry," Ginny clapped both hands over her face and sobbed even harder. "Had you two been fighting?" Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded. "B-b-but I thought it--it was okay, b-be-because you and Ron ar-g-gue all the time!"

A huge wave of guilt crashed over Hermione's shoulders. She couldn't believe that she hadn't known that Ginny and Michael had been arguing; in fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn't talked to Ginny in quite some time.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm so sorry," she apologized. "If I had known..."

"It-it's f-fine," Ginny raised her head from her hands to give Hermione a watery smile. "Y-you've been busy."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I should neglect you," Hermione contradicted.

"It's fine," Ginny argued stubbornly, reminding Hermione strongly of Ron at the moment. It appeared that loyalty ran in the family.

"Is there anything I can do?" Hermione asked.

Ginny shook her head and brought her knees up to her chest so she could rest her forehead on them. She had stopped crying for the moment, but her eyes were so despondently gloomy that Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before the tears sprung forth once again. And Hermione knew that she had to do something to make sure that didn't happen, so she did the first thing that popped into her mind.

"I kissed Ron."

"What?!" Ginny yelped, sitting up bolt-right and gaping at her friend, all thoughts of Michael absent from her mind.

Hermione shrugged slightly. "The night we had to run from Umbridge. We ducked into a classroom, and Malfoy was coming, so we had to think of an excuse to be in there."

"And of course snogging is the first thing that comes to your mind," Ginny smiled wickedly. She switched to a cross-legged position. "So what happened afterwards?"

Hermione sighed. "Nothing. He thinks I just did it to avoid getting caught." Ginny sighed with disappointment. "Although," Hermione added as an afterthought. Ginny stared hopefully at her friend. "I did say something to him a few days later."

"What?"

Hermione recounted finding Ron in the corridor after she had snuck out to fly, and what she had told him.

She had been correct in the assumption that tears were going to spring out of Ginny Weasley's eyes again, but hadn't dreamed they would be tears of mirth.

"Oh--oh--I wish I could have seen his face!" Ginny squealed as a fresh bout of laughter overtook her. Hermione couldn't help joining in, and they both let the cleansing power of laughter soothe their worries and woes. Ginny finally got control of herself and leaned against the wall contentedly. "Thanks, Hermione, that was just what I needed right now."

"To hear how bit of an idiot your brother is?"

"You got it."

"Cho Chang, get in here!"

Ginny frowned deeply. "Oh no, you don't think she'd come in here, do you?"

"Let's not find out," Hermione advised, clamoring to her feet. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Marietta out there with her, and I don't fancy running into her after jinxing her."

"She deserved it," Ginny muttered as she followed Hermione to the nearest stall. They both squeezed in carefully. "Do you think she still has SNEAK on her forehead?" Ginny asked hopefully, a gleeful expression on her face. Hermione fought back a giggle. Ginny may bruise easily, but she always bounced back quickly.

"Marietta, what is your problem?" Cho demanded as she stalked into the bathroom. "I hate this place; that weird ghost lives here!"

"Where is Myrtle anyway?" Hermione whispered.

Ginny shrugged and shushed her.

"Besides, Michael's waiting," Cho added smugly.

Ginny's fist clenched, and Hermione laid a restraining hand on her forearm.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Marietta pressed bossily. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out with him."

"And why not?"

Marietta sighed, and Hermione couldn't resist peeking around the corner of the slightly opened door. Yes, SNEAK was still plastered across her forehead, but not as vividly and Marietta had stylishly swept her bangs to conceal the letters.

"Come on, Cho, you know why. The thing the fifth-year boys have about Potter's girls."

"Potter's girls?" Cho voiced Hermione's shock out loud. "What's that?"

"Michael, Terry, and Anthony have a bet going about who can shag one of Potter's girls first," Marietta explained flatly. "That's why Michael originally went out with Ginny Weasley, and why Terry tried to get Hermione Granger to date him, and why Anthony has been working on Padma Patil all year. Harry Potter went with Parvati Patil to the Yule Ball, Hermione Granger's..." Marietta trailed off uncomfortably as Cho let out an angry snort.

"Yes, we all know about bloody Hermione Granger!" Cho snapped.

"Right," Marietta frowned. "You know, I always thought she had a thing for Harry's friend, you know, the Keeper from the match today, what's his name?"

"You mean the Tornadoes hater?" Cho sneered. "Ron. He's Ginny Weasley's big brother." She blinked suddenly. "Wait a minute, why is Ginny Weasley one of Potter's girls? Just because she's Ron's little sister?"

"Maybe," Marietta conceded, "But I know loads of people reckon he fancies her, and everyone knows that she's always fancied him. That was why Michael broke up with her, really. He could tell that she still wanted Harry."

"But why would he care?" Cho scoffed. "If it was just a bet, it didn't matter who she really fancied. All that mattered was getting her in the sack."

"Because he did end up caring," Marietta explained. "They never got into the sack. She didn't want to, and he was fine with it because he ended up liking her so much."

"How do you know all of this?" Cho demanded.

Marietta shrugged. "Padma hears Anthony bragging all the time; why else do you think Parvati doesn't give Anthony the time of day? Padma tells her everything she hears."

"And you apparently," Cho muttered. "So now you think that I'm the newest Potter's girl?"

"Well, you did go out with him," Marietta pointed out.

"That's true," Hermione rolled her eyes as she heard the tears bubble up in Cho's voice. Here we go again.

"Why can't a boy just like me for me!?" Cho wailed as she threw her hands dramatically into the air. Cho sobbed loudly for a minute or two in which Hermione glanced over at Ginny. Ginny had remained disturbingly silent throughout the whole interchange, and since she had just found out that her boyfriend of nine months had ulterior motives, Hermione knew an explosion was imminent. Cho better get out now if she knew what was best for her; no one wanted to deal with the wrath of Ginny Weasley.

"Well," Cho gasped, tossing her silky hair over her shoulder, "Michael is going to like me for me! If he can fall for a twit like Ginny Weasley, I can make him fancy me, if I'm a Potter's girl or not!" She swept noisily out of the room with Marietta scurrying after her. Cho always had to make a dramatic exit.

Hermione silently counted to twenty in her head to be on the safe side before pushing open the stall door and stepping back into the bathroom. Ginny followed, and Hermione knew it was going to be bad. Ginny had gone rather white in the face, her jaw clenched, shoulders tense, fists balled tightly. Hermione had to admit she was more than a little angry too. She couldn't believe that Terry had been using her like that; if anyone had been using her, she would have guessed it was Zacharias. And she was also furious about the things Cho and Marietta had said about Harry and Ron. A part of her wanted to run after the two girls and confront them or even resort to some hair-pulling, but good common sense held her back. And someone had to hold Ginny back.

"Ginny," Hermione warned. "Don't."

"Oh, I'm not going to do anything," Ginny's voice was steady and calm, but Hermione knew that it was taking an extreme effort on Ginny's part to keep her temper. The smile Hermione had often seen on Fred and George's face was spreading widely across Ginny's, but her eyes remained hardened. "Not yet."

**

Despite her obligations as a prefect, Hermione said nothing when Anthony Goldstein presented an appeal at the next prefect meeting to find the guilty party who had mailed him and two of his friends a package full of extremely potent Dungbombs that had not only released a horrendous stench that permeated the Ravenclaw common room for weeks, but also emitted a sticky, slimy substance that ruined their homework for the evening. Anthony also brought up that someone had actually sent his friend Michael Corner a hex, the Bag-Bogey Curse to be precise. Ron had looked a little suspicious at the mention of his sister's specialty, but seeing that he had fallen asleep only two minutes afterwards, Hermione knew that Ron would probably have no recollection of what he had heard. She felt slightly guilty about concealing information, but at the same time she didn't care. For starters, she was furious at Terry, and Ginny's pranks had satisfied her lust for revenge. But most importantly, she was a prefect, but she was also a friend first and foremost.

Once the Gwarp and Ginny situation was under control, Hermione delved into the agonizing ordeal that had been plaguing her the entire school year: O.W.L.s. There was no turning back now, so Hermione was much too preoccupied to think about Terry, Malfoy, house-elves, Umbridge, or her love life. All she focused on was studying.

She of course had to deal with the stupidity of her fellow classmates as they tried to buy contraband substances that wouldn't help them in the least. She had to make sure the common room remained a proper place for students to study. She talked to whoever she could about O.W.L.s and the examiners and anything else that could help her. Now that she had a good idea about what she wanted to do with her life, she was more determined that ever to do well.

Hermione had never studied so hard in her life. It was all she thought about, and at the same time it was all she could do from pulling her hair out. She had thought third-year had been bad, but that was a stroll in Hogsmeade compared to the pressure she was currently experiencing. These exams decided her whole future, and if she didn't pass...

Don't be ridiculous, Hermione urged herself as she on trembling legs sat down at one of the empty desks for one. Of course you'll do well. That still didn't stop her from wishing that there really was such a thing as a confidence charm. She couldn't imagine the disappointment on her mother's face if she found her daughter had received below satisfactory or average marks on these exams, especially since she had skived off Christmas vacation in order to study for these tests. If she didn't pass, her parents would know that she had lied about her reasons for staying behind at Christmas, and so would Viktor, and they would demand to know everything, and well, Viktor already knew everything about Voldemort, but still...

Hermione bit her lip anxiously as she twisted around in her chair to give her friends one final look before undergoing examination hell. Harry, who was three rows back and four seats to her left, was staring resolutely ahead at Professor McGonagall. Ron was even further back, but he was looking directly at her. He quickly winked and mouthed good luck, and for the first time in the past two weeks, the knot in Hermione's stomach loosened a bit.

"You may begin," Professor McGonagall said as she turned over an enormous hourglass.

Hermione flipped over the paper and read the first question faster than she thought was humanly possible. Fighting an urge to laugh at the mention of Wingardium Leviosa, she began to scribble away with a confident smile on her face.

The O.W.L.s had begun.