The Shadow of Innocence

The sun was shining and the cool autumn breeze brushed over the grass, sending ripples up and down the shimmering green fields. This beautiful September day did not go well with Harry's mood.

Storming up the stairs, still fully dressed in his Quidditch robes, he entered Hogwarts with grave expression on his face. Frowning, he shoved Professor McGonagall's office door open with a bang and stared into the room where a pale blonde-haired boy smirked right back at him and Professor McGonagall glared at him from behind her desk.

"Mr. Potter." He forced a small smile as he sat down besides Malfoy, frowning and looking at the floor.

Harry hadn't been very happy that morning, considering the recent news about Hermione, but was relieved to remember that he had a Quidditch match against Slytherin that afternoon. He was eager to take out his fury on Malfoy, but after walking down to the fields, a very stern Madame Hooch directed him back to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall informed me about your detentions, she had told him. Harry scowled at the thought and crossed his arms furiously.

This only made Draco smirk more, but he didn't dare say anything to him while the stern professor was watching. Harry looked up from the floor and stared at McGonagall.

"First day of detentions," she announced to both of them, as if they hadn't known. "Today," she said, with a hint of amusement in her voice, "you will do some cleaning."

"W-what?" Draco sputtered.

Professor McGonagall chose to ignore him. "For the first hour, you will be cleaning the Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts classrooms. For the second hour, you will be cleaning the Quidditch stands, when the game ends," she said, standing up. "I trust the Quidditch match, won't last too long considering neither of the Seekers are attending the game," she said, glancing at the two boys from behind her desk.

Draco, still shocked, stood up to face Professor McGonagall. "Cleaning, Professor?" he asked in a tone that suggested he had never heard the word 'cleaning' before.

She cocked an eyebrow and looked at his shocked expression with amusement. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy," she said placing her hands behind her back. "Cleaning."

Draco stumbled backwards and landed in the chair he'd been sitting in. He raised a pale hand to reach his forehead and rubbed it furiously. "Cleaning," he muttered to himself.

Harry had to smile this time. Watching Malfoy getting this upset was something Harry had dreamed about, from the day he'd met this boy in Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. Harry jumped up from his seat, trying not to worry too much about the two hours ahead of him.

"When do we start?" he asked cheerfully, irritating Malfoy even further.

Professor McGonagall looked up from behind her glasses and glanced at Harry. "Now. I suppose," she said slowly.

Draco looked up and groaned.

****

The Potions' classroom seemed extremely large to Draco when he entered the dungeon. Professor McGonagall had performed the Lottus Toccares spell on each of them, sending them a warm tingling sensation up their spines. She had then handed both him and Harry mops and wet cloths, and then proceeded to take away each of their wands. Draco had hesitated at this point, and gripped his wand tightly, but the memory of his father's voice intruded into his thoughts and he'd let Professor McGonagall walk off with his wand.

Harry seemed to know what he was doing as he picked up a mop right away and began to clean underneath the long oaken tables and underneath the chairs. Draco, who had never even seen a mop before, stared at the object in front of him for a long time until Harry came up beside him and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he replied coolly, glaring at Harry.

"I can see that," Harry replied. "You'd better start working," he said, throwing the mop in Draco's direction. Draco caught it with pure reflex, and then realized what he was holding and threw it to the floor. Harry spun around on his heel, flinging bits of dust into the air as he did so.

"What's your problem?" he asked slowly, moving towards Draco. He raised an eyebrow, and a small grin played upon the tips of his mouth. He pointed at Draco. "You don't know how to use a mop," he said, smiling. "You don't know how to use a mop," he repeated, this time louder, and with amusement. Harry snorted.

"That's right Potter," Draco snapped suddenly. "I don't know how to use this Muggle...stuff, because I can afford to have house elves do it for me and I am a Pureblood," he said loudly and with pride.

At this point, Harry couldn't contain himself. He burst into peals of laughter, leaning against one of the tables. "You don't know how to use a mop," he said gasping for breath. His face was a deep red, and tears were clinging to the edges of his eyes.

Draco hastily bent down, his pride vanishing from his face and picked up the mop lying on the floor. Uncomfortably he wrapped his fingers around the tip, and looked up at Harry who was watching him. "What are you staring at Potter?" Draco spat, gripping the mop tightly.

"I don't think you understand how much I'm loving this moment," Harry said, glancing at his mop. "Go on," he said, waving his hand. "Clean. I want to see you try."

Draco glared at him, and then at the mop in his hand. "Fine," he snapped. He walked over to a table in the left corner of the room, and pulled out one of the chairs from underneath the desk. He shoved the tip of the mop underneath and began swinging it up and down so it banged against the tabletop and the floor. The mop hit the table with a loud clunk, every time he swung it up and down.

"How is this supposed to work?" Draco asked confused, still banging his mop loudly against the table. Tiny water droplets burst out from underneath the table, splashing Draco in the eyes. Irritably, he raised his hands and wiped them away.

Harry snorted and promptly burst out in laughter again. "How about I mop," he said, walking over towards Draco and handing him a black wet cloth, "and you can wash the tables."

Draco snatched the wet cloth out of Harry's extended arm and sulked over to a table, slowly washing it with the cold, damp piece of fabric he held in his hand. He left a trail of silky white suds across the table and slowly wiped the suds away as he watched Harry mop the floors clean.

"I can't believe you don't know how to use a mop," Harry said suddenly, without looking up. Draco looked up from his place and glared at Harry.

"Why is it so funny? I am a Pureblood after all," Draco reminded Harry.

Harry frowned. "Oh yeah," he said thinking out loud. "I've just never met anyone who didn't know how to mop a floor before. It's not that hard," Harry said.

"Yeah well, who cares? It's not like that's some big talent that everyone has except for me," Draco said, throwing his cloth down on the table. "Only you and Mudblood would know how to mop a room properly," he said, smirking.

Harry looked up at him. "What did you say?" he asked quietly, dropping his mop and walking over towards the desk Draco was huddled over.

"That only you and -"

"Don't say it," Harry said suddenly, cutting Draco off.

"Say what?" he asked.

"What you were going to say," Harry said, staring at Draco. "Don't insult Hermione. She doesn't deserve it. You don't know what's she's been through," Harry said, looking at the floor.

"Oh, what happened?" Draco asked sarcastically. "Did she get a bad mark on her test? Or worse," he said, with a fake imitation of a sigh, "Did she lose a library book?" he asked.

Harry glared at him. "Shut up, Malfoy. You don't know the first thing about Hermione. Not that you'd care or have any sympathy for her, but she has just lost both her parents," he said softly, turning away from Draco. "So just drop it for a while," he said, picking up his mop. "Maybe, for once, you could be nice enough to shut your mouth."

Draco's eyes widened as he picked up the cloth from the table. So that's what Weasley was so upset about, he thought to himself, scrubbing furiously at the tabletop. Granger's parents are dead, he thought again. He felt a wave of sadness and guilt rush through him, as he remembered the numerous times he'd called her a Mudblood, discriminating her against the wizarding world, telling her she didn't belong in this world. He suddenly felt...guilty.

He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of such thoughts. Malfoys were not supposed to feel guilty, especially not towards the Mudbloods. But despite it all he turned to Harry, who was busily sweeping in the corner of the room and said, "Sorry."

Harry turned to face him. "For what?" he asked curiously. "That you've been scrubbing in the same place for the past hour?" he asked.

"No," Draco said, shifting his hand to a new spot on the table. "About Granger," he said softly, staring down at the cold water dripping from the rag he clutched in his hand. The soft suds slowly made their way off the table and down onto the floor.

Harry looked up at him and gave him a funny look. "Thanks," he said, sounding unsure of himself. "I guess."

****

Hermione held a pillow over her face and breathed heavily into the soft material. It smelled faintly of detergents and raspberries, which Hermione knew was from her freshly washed hair. She quickly yanked the pillow off of her face, and shielded her eyes from the bright lights shining down on her face.

She had been lying on her back, in her aunt's guest room, staring up at the ceiling for the past hour. She was fully dressed in a black silk dress that made its way to her knees, her aunt's sheer stockings, and high-heeled shoes, which were uncomfortable to walk in. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, tied neatly with a black ribbon. Her face was still pale, and her eyes were still swollen, but she didn't care. Today was her parents' funeral.

Hermione had never been to an actual funeral before, unless she counted her great uncle Herman's, which she didn't remember because she'd been too young. Her aunt had told her not to worry, and that'd she'd be right there beside her. But Hermione was doing nothing but worrying.

A loud knock came to the door, and Hermione's eyes shifted towards the knob. "Hermione?" came her aunt's nervous voice. "Hermione, may I come in?" she asked.

Hermione sat up and wiped her face hastily. "Yes," she said in a shaky voice. "Come in."

The brass knob slowly turned, and her aunt's face appeared in the doorway. Her face looked empty and expressionless as she made her way inside the room.

"How are you?" she asked quietly. "Are you okay? Are you sure you want to go? You don't have to, you know," she told her quietly.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm fine," she lied, standing up from the bed and brushing her dress off. "And yes, I do want to go," she told her firmly.

Her aunt nodded, and she put an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "We're skipping the wake," she told her quietly. "So you won't have to see them."

Hermione could feel the familiar sensation of hot tears stinging her eyes, but she forced her head to nod in approval. She bit her lip tightly, with enough force to tear through the skin and cause it to bleed, but she didn't care. All she could concentrate on was not crying.

She followed her aunt out of her house and into the car. With trembling fingers, Hermione slowly buckled herself into her seat and leaned back, closing her eyes. Once again, her parent's faces appeared behind her eyelids. They quickly snapped back, and Hermione stared outside the window.

The car was deathly silent, except for the small hum of the car engine. Hermione didn't dare open her mouth, in fear that she would burst out into tears the second she mentioned her parents.

****

Only about twenty minutes later, her aunt pulled the car into the parking lot of a church building. The church was very familiar to Hermione; she'd been there many times before, with her parents for Easter and Christmas. The tall building rose up into a triangle, church bells hanging in the middle. Behind the church, there stood a small graveyard lined with only a few hundred gravestones. Hermione quickly turned away from the scene and focused on the church doors.

"Come on, Hermione," her aunt called from beside her. Hermione quickened her pace and caught up with her aunt. Slowly she climbed the steps and reached the open wooden doors. Pausing for a minute, she took a deep breath, and followed her aunt inside.

The church was a magnificent place. The pews lined the sides in neat little rows. Candles and flowers surrounded the altar and a carved wooden cross stood behind it. Stained glass windows shone brightly in the sunlight, showing off church scenes from the Bible. Hermione was in awe. She'd been away from the Muggle world for such a long time that she'd forgotten what most things looked like.

She almost felt happy for a moment, being in such a magnificent place, until she was reminded why she was here. "Over here, Hermione," her aunt called again. She was standing near the front of the church, where a few people had gathered in a few pews.

Hermione didn't recognize many people. She remembered her neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Sarama, who her mother had played bridge with, talking to Mr. Aldan, the old man who had taken care of Hermione when she was younger. She recognized Abigail Adrienne, one of her mother's friends she had met when she was home for one of the summer holidays. She saw her Uncle Gregory and Aunt Hannah, sitting quietly in a pew near the front of the church. Some of her father's friends from college, Adam Isaac and David Hewitt sat together, talking quietly. Hermione glanced around at some of the other people who all seemed to be from around town, looking very solemn. Hermione turned away and looked around for her aunt who sat quietly with her Aunt Hannah.

Hermione walked over towards the pew, and sat down near her aunt, smoothing out the creases in her dress as she did so. She glanced around as the church became quiet, happy that no one had noticed her yet and watched as a priest appeared at the altar.

He began to talk, but Hermione didn't bother to listen. She turned her head around and looked slowly at the two open doors at the front of the church. As if on cue, five men, carrying a wooden coffin appeared in the doorway. Hermione bit her lip and closed her eyes. She listened as the soft music played in the background.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, she saw five more men, carrying another coffin behind the one she'd just seen. She glanced from the first one, back to the second one, not wanting to believe the truth. Those were her parents, lying in those coffins, and they were dead.

Hermione choked on her tears, and her aunt spun around to face her. "Hermione?" she said softly. "Are you alright?" she asked. Hermione shook her head as small salty tears appeared in the corners of her eyes.

She stood up from the pew, and ran out of the church, tripping in her high-heeled shoes. She could hear people whispering, but she blocked them out with the stomps of her feet. She needed to get out of there, and she needed to do that fast.

****

"Ow!" Harry exclaimed as Draco threw a Chocolate Frog wrapper at his forehead. He glanced up at the grinning pale-faced boy and frowned. "You're really immature," he informed him, shoving the wrapper into the garbage bag he held.

"And you're a stupid git who gets his head shoved down toilets and hit in the head with Chocolate Frog wrappers," Draco said, still grinning.

Harry rolled his eyes. "At least I know how to use a mop," Harry reminded, reaching down to pick a half-eaten Cauldron Cake up from the floor.

Now it was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. "At least I'm not wearing my Quidditch robes while I'm cleaning." Harry glanced down at himself, and saw that indeed, he was still wearing his Quidditch robes. He frowned.

"Well at least I didn't get transfigured into a ferret," Harry said, grinning at the memory

Draco groaned. "Oh, we're not still going on about that, now are we?" he asked. Harry snorted from the ground, scraping up bits of melted chocolate. Draco thought back to his fourth year, when Professor Moody had transfigured him into a ferret. He was quite upset about this, but as he looked back, he realized, that if it were Harry bouncing up and down the corridor, he would have remembered it forever.

"Oh, yuck!" Harry exclaimed jumping up from his spot on the floor, breaking Draco's train of thought. Draco looked over at him. Harry had his fingers buried in his hair, furiously tugging, what seemed to be a rather large piece of a gum. "Now who in the right mind would have stuck Droobies Best Blowing Gum underneath the bleacher?" he asked loudly.

Draco looked around, and suddenly the scene around him felt oddly familiar. Then he remembered. "Er, Harry," he said, slowly raising his hand.

Harry looked over at Draco, who was grinning, ear-to-ear. "Oh, now that's even worse," he said loudly, tugging at his hair even harder.

"I don't know Potter, but from where I'm standing, that gum isn't coming out anytime soon," drawled Draco, crossing his arms. "But hey, don't worry," he said reassuringly. "You look like you need a haircut anyway," he said, eyeing his incredibly messy black hair.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Harry said irritably. "Now I know I can always count on you to stick gum in my hair, every time I need a bloody haircut."

Draco threw his hands up. "That's what I'm here for!" he said cheerfully.

Harry gave him a look. "Well, are you going to help me or not?" he asked suddenly, letting go of his hair. It fell over to one side, the pink gum striped with his black hair.

Draco thought about this for a moment, and then looked back at Harry. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "I could perform a spell which would give you a nice clean haircut," he said smoothly. Harry looked up at him with a grin. "Or," he continued," It could make you go completely bald." Harry covered his head.

"Forget it," Harry told Draco. "I'll just run up to McGonagall and ask her to get it out for me, I'm sure she can do a better job than you," Harry said, making a face.

Draco frowned. "Are you sure? Because I think you'd look absolutely stunning if you were bald," Draco said sarcastically.

Harry frowned. "Oh shut up Malfoy."

"Okay," he said shrugging. "It was only a suggestion."

****

The room was cold and dreary. Not an inch of sunlight came into it; the only light was from the fireplace. Shadows danced across the walls and onto the floor. Two chairs and a table stood in the center of the room. In one, sat a woman with long black hair, dressed in fine silk robes with a silver stripe running down the sides. In the other, sat a man, if you could even call him a man anymore. His face was grey, and looked like it had been carved out of stone. Two red eyes stared across the room, and a thin line, which was barley noticeable, was his mouth. His nose was two long slits, heavily breathing the air from the room. He was Lord Voldemort.

The room was completely silent, except for the occasional crackle of the fire in the fireplace. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Desdemona," he addressed the tall woman. She looked up to face him. "Desdemona," he repeated. "Are you taking good care of it?" he asked slowly.

The woman slowly opened her robes and withdrew a small chain, which hung around her neck. On its end, a tiny ball, no larger than a marble, hung from a single hook. It shone a deep navy blue, and as she touched it, it turned red.

"Ah," he spoke again. "Let me see," he hissed, extending his long bony arm. The woman hesitated for a moment, but slowly removed the ball from the hook and placed it in his hands. He ran his fingers down the edges, as the smoke inside turned green. He muttered something softly, so the woman could not hear, and again two people rose from inside the ball, surrounded by a cloud of red smoke.

"You again," the man said angrily. His face was thinner, and he dark circles surrounded his eyes. His wife, standing still next to him, had her eyes closed, and her arm around her husband's shoulder. Her eyes were a deep red, swollen from her tears. Her stringy brown hair hung loosely in front of her face, hiding it from view.

"What do you want with us?" the man asked again, this time softer. Voldemort looked up at the man, and gave him a curious look.

"What do I want with you?" he asked slowly. "Perhaps I should explain," he suggested, turning towards the woman in the chair. She quickly agreed, nodding her head. He spun around to face the Grangers, floating above his head.

"I am Lord Voldemort, one of the most powerful wizards in the world," he said proudly. "And I have just kidnapped two ordinary Muggles, not a superior accomplishment for me," he said, looking up at the Grangers. "And you ask yourself, what would I want with two ordinary Muggles?"

The woman had a confused expression on her face, but the man seemed to understand. He straightened up and cleared his throat. "What do you want with us?" he asked.

"You have a gift," Voldemort said, slowly pointing at them. "You have the gift of being able to discover incredible amounts of knowledge. It's hereditary in many witches in your small pathetic family. Of course, I could have chosen any family with this gift, any Muggle with a witch or wizard in their family, of course. It would have been easy. But do you know why I chose you?" he asked, glaring at the two people in the smoke, as if they should have felt privileged to be trapped in a cloud of red smoke.

They simultaneously shook their heads. "I chose you," he began again, "because of Ms. Maura Pyrilas the Third, a young witch, very much like your young daughter--"

"Hermione," the woman in the smoke whispered, silent tears streaming down her face.

"Yes," Voldemort replied, smiling with a horrid grin. "She too attended Hogwarts, and was sorted into Gryffindor. She was also a Mudblood. For the first few years she worked extremely hard at her schoolwork, finding that everything she was ever taught came easy to her, and she hardly had to work at all to get the grades she wanted."

At this point in his speech, Voldemort was actually grinning with delight and looked almost as if he was about to jump out of his robes onto a bicycle and ride down the street.

"But young Maura wasn't happy, no, she was not happy at all. Brains aren't everything to a young sixteen-year-old witch," he said slyly. "With her knowledge, she set out to find the Dark Wizard Grindelwald, who could give her many great things," he said, looking very proud.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked horrified.

"Grindelwald gave Maura a deal. In exchange of her power of knowledge, she could have whatever she wanted. And she agreed. Grindelwald stole her gift away from her, piece by piece, every time she gained what she wanted from him. Finally, the process was almost complete. Then, on a late night of August 1945, Maura was to meet Grindelwald in a small alley in London, alone. Grindelwald thought nothing of this young girl, and wad sure that she would do nothing to harm him. But he was wrong. Late that night, Grindelwald was defeated, by young Maura with the help of a family friend, Albus Dumbledore. His powers were drained from him and poured into Maura's soul," he said sadly.

"But not only Grindelwald died that night. Young Maura was killed too. The powers drained into her soul were too much for her to handle, and she was killed by the sudden impact of magic pouring into her," he said, his red eyes traveling towards the floor.

"She made a promise to Dumbledore," he said now raising his eyes to the Grangers. "She gave her remarkable powers to the next witch in her family, so that this witch could do many things with them, so she could help the wizarding world," he said thoughtfully. "But do you know who the next witch in your family was?" he asked, a grin playing across his face

Mrs. Granger shook her head slowly. "Not Hermione," she said softly. "Please don't take Hermione."

****

The air outside smelled faintly of a storm in the distance, and of death. The overgrown grass swayed wildly in the wind, and Hermione's feet crushed the flowers underneath.

She ran until she was out of breath, leaning against the cool stone brick of the church, facing the graveyard. There were hundreds of gravestones lined in neat little rows, the silver stone winking back at her in the sunlight.

A single pile of dirt was visible in the middle of the graveyard, showing two deep black holes in the ground. Hermione knew what they were for. They were for her parents' graves.

She took a step back, closer towards the wall, closing her eyes and sucking in deep breaths of air. The grass underneath her feet was smooth and slippery and she as she slid down, her fingers found the silky substance of the ground.

Her hands flew to her face as large salty tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, begging to come out. They shone in the sunlight, as they slowly fell leaving long trails of water down her pale freckled face. She looked up and yelled.

A large shadow was floated above her; it was a full-grown man with a large top hat placed on his head. He seemed to be wearing a long cloak, and holding a very large object in his thin arms, which Hermione recognized as a book.

She managed to open her mouth. "Who are you?" she asked quietly, although she'd wanted it to sound louder and more demanding. Slowly, she stood up to face the man, who floated a good five inches above Hermione who was fairly tall herself. She stood up and squinted to see his face. It was thin and looked as though its owner hadn't slept in years. Large dark circles were under his eyes and stubble covered most of his face. He had crooked teeth, and his mouth was slightly open, sending out a foul smell.

The man said nothing to answer Hermione's question, only stood there looking at her.

"Hermione," he said in a deep voice.

Hermione was horrified, and took a step backwards, slightly twisting her ankle in her aunt's high-heeled shoes. Damn women's fashion to hell, she thought angrily, as she stood up straight again to face the man.

"H-how do you know my name?" she asked demandingly, startled by the harshness of her own voice. He looked surprised, and almost smiled. She squinted at him again, unsure of what to do, but just stared back at him, feeling very awkward.

"I have my reasons for showing up here to you," he said slowly, ignoring her question. "It's about your parents," he said, looking down at his feet. A slight breeze came up behind him and ruffled his cloak slightly, revealing the large boots and purple trousers he was wearing underneath.

Hermione felt the familiar tears form behind her eyes. She took a deep breath. "My parents?" she asked again, looking the strange man in the eyes. "What about my parents?" she asked curiously, biting her lip.

The man held out his hand and Hermione noticed that he was presenting her with the book he had with him all the time. "I can't tell you," he said, shoving the heavy volume into her arms. She almost fell from the weight of it, but struggled to stand up again. "This will help you," he said, glancing at the book in her arms. He looked almost happy to be rid of it.

Hermione was puzzled, but cleared her throat. "What is this?" she questioned, still struggling to stand on both of her legs. The man didn't reply, only shrugged and turned around, his long black cloak almost hitting her in the face. Hermione felt angry and betrayed. What good would a book do her? "What do you know?" she yelled at the man who was walking away from her through the gravestones. He didn't turn around, but made his way up to her parents' graves, and then with a small 'pop' he disappeared.

Before realizing what she was doing, she tore away from her spot against the church, and back to the open doors, carrying the book in her arms. She realized she'd been outside longer than she'd expected. The church had been emptied, and the parking lot stood vacant, except for the single car her aunt sat in, shifting her shoulders to the beat of her music.

Hermione walked over towards the car leisurely, finally reaching it and yanking the door open. Her aunt looked up at her, and smiled. "What's that you've got there?" she asked, curiously. Hermione looked down at the giant book in her hands.

"I found it," she mumbled hurriedly, and climbed into the car.

Her aunt raised her eyebrows and gave her an unbelieving look, but turned towards the steering wheel and turned on the car. Hermione watched her, as she slowly put the car in gear and stepped gently on the gas...and suddenly stopped. Hermione went flying against the front of the car, stopping herself with her shoulder.

"Ow," Hermione moaned, rubbing her shoulder. "What was that about?" she asked, turning towards her aunt.

Her aunt pointed towards the window. "What in the heavens is that?" she asked, astonished. A brown barn owl, sat perched on the hood of her aunt's car, pecking at the blue paint.

"Oh dear," Hermione said with a chuckle. "An owl."

Her aunt, looking very confused, watched as Hermione pulled down the window and the owl dropped a small letter in her lap, and then promptly flew off. "An owl?" her aunt asked again.

Hermione nodded her head. "Owl post," she explained. "It's how we get our mail," she told her quickly, handing her an envelope.

Her aunt quickly opened the envelope and took out the parchment inside and her blue eyes scanned the page. "They want you back at school," she said quietly, "but only if you're ready."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Yes," she said firmly, "I want to go back."

****

Harry sat on the cool marble staircase, in the front of the school, with his head in his hands. He was waiting for Hermione. He looked up, for a sight of Ron, but he was nowhere to be found.

Where could he be? He thought to himself, scanning the small crowd for his best friend. No flaming red hair, anywhere. He slumped down in his seat again, staring at the two doors that stood in front of him.

As if on cue, the doors suddenly burst open and there stood a very wet Hermione, standing in the rain. Harry stood up, and squinted behind his glasses to see his friend. She had no expression on her face as she dragged her soaking wet suitcase into the middle of the hallway. She didn't seem to notice Harry as she slowly drained the water from her thick brown hair.

"Hermione," Harry breathed, walking up towards her. She looked up, and for the first time in three days, she smiled.

"Harry," she said softly, dropping her suitcase next to her. He enveloped her in a large hug, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, not caring that the water from her clothes was seeping into his. They stood like that together for a moment, and then separated, smiling at each other.

Harry unsure of what to say picked up Hermione's suitcase for her. "How have you been?" he asked, feeling rather silly.

Hermione took a deep breath, and followed Harry as he started walking down the corridor. "I'm fine now," she said, looking around her. "It's good to be back, it's getting my mind off of things," she said, hoping to sound cheerful.

She sounded far from cheerful. Harry knew something was wrong, but didn't say a word. Harry told her what had been going on the past few days, what she'd missed in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology, and finally about his detentions with Malfoy.

"Ugh!" Hermione exclaimed with feeling when Harry told her about the gum in his hair. Finally, they reached the Fat Lady.

"Yffindorgray," Harry said quickly, and the portrait swung open. Harry and Hermione entered the common room, which was crowded with chattering people, sitting in front of the fireplace. Harry looked around for Ron, who was nowhere to be found. Hermione didn't seem to be worried though; she was completely wrapped up in her own thoughts.

"It's crowded," Hermione observed, looking around the common room.

Harry nodded. "Do you want to...come up?" he asked uneasily, looking up towards the boy's dormitories. "I mean, to talk, Ron might be there too," he added quickly, turning towards Hermione.

She nodded and followed Harry up the stairs. Harry slowly walked up to the door, Hermione behind him, opened the door, as a loud yell came from the room.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

Hermione came around him, and peered into the room, not wanting to believe what she was seeing.

It was Ron all right. Ron with another girl.

Ron looked up with a startled expression on his face, as well as lipstick smeared across his chin. He blinked a few times before he stood up, stumbling over his own feet.

"Ron?" Harry asked, disbelievingly.

"Harry?" Ron exclaimed, then looking to the side he yelled, "HERMIONE? What in bloody hell are you all doing here?"

Hermione looked around the room, as he jaw slowly dropped in amazement and confusion, she wasn't sure. She didn't say a word, but slowly backed away from the door, breathing heavily.

"Hermione," Harry said softly. But Hermione didn't want to listen to him. She didn't want to listen to anyone. She started running towards the girl's dormitories, her eyes flooded with tears.

Harry watched as she slowly ran from the room, and then turned to face Ron. "Ron, I, I..." Harry didn't know what to say.

Ron looked at the floor, and then slowly turned to the girl next to him. "You'd better go," Harry heard him say. The girl got up in a heartbeat, and drew up her hair in a neat ponytail. And as she turned to leave, Harry saw who she was.