Fractured Triangle

Lying on her back on her broad bed, Hermione stared blindly at the canopy of the four-poster above her, her hands interlaced across her stomach, trying to convinced herself to close her eyes and get some sleep.

Thus far, it hadn´t worked.

She knew she couldn´t face seeking out Madam Pomfrey and asking for even more dreamless sleep potion, because she had done so too often already and the Medi-witch was already suspicious.

Especially after the incident with the first boggart.

She swallowed hard, remembering Madam Pomfrey´s face when she had stumbled into the medical wing, Parvati supporting her and blood matting her dark hair from a cut on the back of her head.

The medi-witch had been horrified and had treated her rapidly, firing questions at Parvati about what she knew: No, she didn´t know what happened. Yes, there was a boggart in the Head Girl´s room, in the wardrobe - which had been open - no doubt. No, it didn´t look like Hermione had realised that it was a boggart. Yes, it appeared she had tripped while backing away. Yes, she had got rid of the boggart before she had reached Hermione.

Hermione had lain quite still, listening to the conversation between the dark-haired girl and the older witch and was unsurprised when the topic changed, moving onto her recent behaviour.

Had Parvati noticed any differences in Hermione´s demeanour? Had she noticed if the Head Girl had been acting at all strangely? Did she know if Hermione had been having any problems with...any particular person?

Listening, Hermione had never been more grateful to Parvati when she replied - after a painfully long hesitation - that Hermione was probably just a little bit stressed out because of the new responsibilities she had.

Of course, having almost concussed herself with a little fall, Hermione´s condition had been brought to the attention of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, who visited her in the medical wing.

They had both asked if everything was all right.

She had claimed that all that was wrong was a rather bad headache.

Despite looking rather sceptical, both of the Professors had accepted this reasoning and left her to rest and recover from the nasty bump on her head. Ron and Harry had also visited briefly, but Madam Pomfrey had shooed them away.

Of course, after word spread about her run in with an unexpected boggart, someone who should not have known about it heard the whispers.

Peeves.

Much to her terror - and the fury of Lavender and Parvati - the wretched poltergeist had found it highly amusing to direct another boggart into her bedroom only a week after the first.

It had been worse than the first though.

Even though she had known what it was, even though she had practised her defence spells, even though she had tried to cry `Riddikulus´ and fight it off, her voice had jammed in her throat and her wand had slipped from nerveless fingers, leaving her unarmed and terrified.

It had glided closer to her and this time, she couldn´t run, couldn´t even manage to cry out for her.

Replicas of gloved fingertips had caressed her face, as she had backed up against the wall, pale lips lifting in the chilling smile that was becoming as familiar to her as if she were seeing Malfoy every day.

Those hands had casually started to play down the front of her white shirt, cool and harsh through the fabric, touching in a way that made her almost certain that she was trapped in a nightmare.

Pressing her eyes tight shut, she had cowered back against the wall. Crookshanks wouldn´t save her this time, hunting mice in the castle, when the largest rat of all was right here, in their room.

Her shirt had parted and she had felt hot tears on her cheeks, clenching her fists by her sides and willing it to be over.

She didn´t know how long it had held her there, trapped between the wall and her worst nightmare, but she recalled the instant she heard a loud curse from the door of her room in a familiar voice.

Lavender!

She had heard the other girl perform the riddikulus spell, as she had sunk down the wall and pressed her forehead against the top of her knees, her arms folded over her head as she had tried to make herself as small as possible.

He had still been there, when Lavender had spoken, in that form, wearing the mask of that horrific, cold face, so Lavender had discovered just who Hermione had been attacked by.

Lavender´s blue eyes had burned with hatred any time Draco had crossed their path after that day.

Lavender and Parvati had also sought help to prevent Peeves from doing such a thing again, although it had taken a great deal of consideration, since Hermione had still refused to tell the teachers.

In the end, her private room had been expanded into the large, three-person bedroom that she now occupied with her two protective female ´secretaries´, which had caused no end of surprise and confusion for Ron and Harry.

The Bloody Baron had also been tracked down by the two girls and when he had tried to ignore and avoid them, Lavender had...rather lost her temper, getting right up in his face and snarling at him about what had happened and what ought to be done.

Much to Hermione´s subdued amusement, the Slytherin ghost had forbidden Peeves from having any further contact with boggarts or from going near the corridor where the three girls resided.

Turning onto her side, Hermione stared at the wall beyond her bed blankly.

Her eyes ached for sleep, a hand biting into the pillow beneath her head as she tried to let her exhaustion overcome her, but - as always - the fear of the nightmares was lurking on her consciousness.

They hadn´t come close to stopping, not by any means of the word.

Had she still slept in her own room, she knew there was every chance that she would have continued to sleep through them, tortured by her psyche, but now, Lavender and Parvati would wake her and comfort her as soon as she cried out.

It had meant less sleep for both of them, although a little more for her, comforted by their presences. What little sleep she had, she was grateful for.

In the darkness of the room, only broken by slashes of moonlight through the filmy drapes over the windows, she could hear the soft squeaks of Parvati´s gentle snores and Lavender´s even breathing.

She knew that if she asked, one or the other of them would sit up with her, but - she repeatedly told herself - they didn´t need to lose what rest they were getting to mind her, especially not when she was awake.

Turning back onto her back, she pulled the blankets up to her neck and stared at the dark canopy again. Her eyes felt dry and itchy, but they refused to close for longer than a heartbeat.

Sighing, she lay there, wondering if she would ever be able to sleep normally again.

***

"Happy birthday, Hermione!"

A hand deposited an awkwardly-wrapped...lump of colourful paper on the table in front of Hermione and she looked up in surprise at the owner of the arm, to find Harry smiling down at her.

"Harry!" she couldn´t help smiling up at him, but her eyes flicked passed him in consternation. "Where´s Ron?"

"It´s a weekend," Harry said by way of explanation and Hermione nodded with an understanding smile. Ron wasn´t exactly known for being up early and weekends meant he had no reason to be, which he took full advantage of. "Going to open it?"

Hermione picked up the lump of paper, squeezing it experimentally. Whatever was contained in it was in a box and she ripped away the paper like a child would on Christmas day, curious.

A plain plastic box greeted her and she carefully opened the lid, a gasp escaping her as it revealed a round gold locket, nestled in the velvet lining, on a chain with her initials engraved on the front.

"Open it," Harry suggested softly, still standing alongside her.

Looking from him to it, she opened the locket with shaking fingers to reveal a tiny photograph of her, Harry and Ron, taken at the end of the previous term, in one side and in the other, something was engraved.

"Best friends, forever," she read.

Harry went a little red. "I know it´s kind of cheesy," he started to say.

"No," she interrupted. "No, it´s perfect, Harry. Honestly." Holding it out to him, she asked, "Can you put it on for me?"

Taking the slim chain, he waited until she lifted her hair up and looped the necklace around her throat, the light brush of his fingertips against the back of her neck making her start instinctively.

Strangely, though, she didn´t feel the horrible, hot rush of fear that went through her when Ron touched her on any spot aside from her hand or her back.

Perhaps, she mused, it was because she saw Harry more as...well, he almost felt like a brother sometimes. She had never had a sibling, but she loved him in a way that was so much more than simple friendship, yet didn´t slip past platonic.

Reaching over her shoulder, he straightened to locket over her chest, where it settled nicely against the knot of her tie.

"Looks nice," he volunteered his opinion.

Smiling, she fingered the cool gold. "Thank you," she murmured, looking down at it, a sign of the friendship she had gained since joining the wizarding world and of the love and care she had found.

And, a nasty little voice hissed at the back of her mind, the friends that you betrayed by lying to them time and time again. You´ve been at school a fortnight and have you told your so-called friends the `truth´ once? No. Call that a true friendship?

Hermione pressed her eyes shut, a nauseous feeling sweeping through her.

They didn´t need to know.

It would only cause more hurt and anger.

"You all right, Hermione?" Harry asked, sliding into the seat next to her. He looked down at the barely touched piece of toast lying on her plate and the half-cup of cold tea that she had forgotten about minutes earlier. "You´re looking a bit peaky."

"Mmm," she acknowledged noncommittally, swallowing hard to squash down the bitter bile that was burning in her throat and making her feel sick.

Through half-closed lids, she could see Harry scrutinising her and forced a smile, picking up a piece of cold toast. Chewing on it, her stomach roiled in protest and she started to her feet with a mumble of, "Excuse me..."

Scrambling over the seat, she turned to exit the Great Hall and immediately crashed into Ron, his arms going around her to stabilise her.

Hermione went rigid, her blood throbbing painfully in her ears as she stared wildly up at Ron, his arms securely around her waist and spread low on her back, over that particular spot...

"All right, Hermione?" he said, smiling his familiar smile, but even that couldn´t stop the feeling building in her stomach.

"Let go of me," she whispered, her voice trembling as his hand moved a little and brushed over the sensitive spot on her spine, making a heated chill of terror lance down her back. He stared at her, puzzled. "Ron..." Squirming, she pushed against his chest. "Ron, please!"

Stepping back, he raised his hands. "All right!" he said, hurt on his face, but she couldn´t apologise, couldn´t stay in the hall a moment longer.

One hand to her mouth, the other clutching her twisting stomach, she fled out of the hall and to the nearest toilets. Staggering up the stairs, through the door and stumbling into one of the cubicles, she vomited what little breakfast she had eaten.

Kneeling on the floor of the toilet, she leaned heavily against the wooden partition, shallow gasps escaping her. Her mouth tasted bitter and her stomach felt like it had been squeezed dry by an immense fist.

How?

How could one little touch like that make her feel so...so...violated all over again?

Her face crumpled, she pressed her eyes tightly closed, as she clutched her burning stomach. Hot tears spilled down her chalk-white cheeks, all colour washed from them, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Hermione?"

Jerking upright at the voice, Hermione felt another wave of dizzy sickness wash over her. The fist contracted around her stomach again and she leaned quickly over the toilet, retching painfully, even though there was nothing left in her stomach.

"Hermione!" The door of the cubicle was open behind her anyway. She hadn´t had the energy or thought to close it, so when she heard Ron´s voice from right behind her, she didn´t look round. "Oh Christ...Hermione!"

"I´m okay..." she croaked, bowing her head over the toilet bowl. She couldn´t look at him, couldn´t face him, not like this.

"You´re not, Hermione," he said carefully. She could hear the rustle of his robes, assumed - correctly - that he was kneeling and shivered when his hands came to rest on her shoulders. "C´mon. We better get you to Madam Pomfrey."

"No...no..." She shook her head, raising a hand to wave him off. "It...it must have been something I ate..."

Ron, though, didn´t appear convinced. "Hermione, this is just daft," he said, a hand coming up to her face. She flinched as his fingertips touched her chin, turning her face towards him. "You´re not well. Madam Pomfrey´ll be able to help."

"But I´m all right..." she lied weakly.

Sighing, Ron slid an arm behind her back. "C´mon," he said gently, helping her to her feet. She stumbled and before she could argue, she had been lifted up completely in those surprisingly strong arms, her own arms locked around his neck tightly.

Burying her face in his shoulder, she bit on her lower lip, trying unsuccessfully to stop herself from crying.

They were in the medical wing in a matter of minutes and Hermione vaguely registered Madam Pomfrey´s tongue clicking in dismay at the sight of her, as she was laid on one of the beds by her boyfriend.

"What happened this time, Miss Granger? Another fainting episode? Or another fall perhaps?" she asked, waving Ron back from the bed. One hand took Hermione´s wrist, while she studied the girl.

Ron cut in. "She was being sick in the toilets, Madam Pomfrey."

"It...I think it was something I ate," Hermione whispered, her throat raw and burning painfully. The bitter taste was still lingering in her mouth and she struggled to sit up, reaching for the water jug on the table.

Immediately, Ron grabbed the jug and poured her a glass, handing it to her with one of his warm, hopeful smiles.

Her own smile wan by comparison, she sipped the water, the cool liquid easing the burning in her raw throat, while Madam Pomfrey laid a hand against her forehead, her lips still pursed.

"Now, what have you eaten that might have made you ill, Miss Granger?" the medi-witch asked, her eyes on Hermione´s face. "You don´t have a temperature, but you are considerably paler than usual."

"I-I-I don´t remember," Hermione mumbled, looking down at the glass in her hands.

"How very convenient," Madam Pomfrey huffed.

The Medi-witch had been growing increasingly suspicious with every time that Hermione had been brought in, but Hermione had refused a check up, saying it was probably a stomach bug or something that she caught in Greece.

So far, the excuse had held.

So far.

***

It had taken more convincing than usual to persuade Madam Pomfrey that she was quite all right and that, yes, she would be more careful about what she at in the future.

Exiting the medical wing, Hermione was unsurprised to find Ron waiting for her, an anxious look crossing his face as he spotted the bottles of helpful potions that Madam Pomfrey had plied her with.

"You all right?" he asked quickly.

"Yes," she replied vaguely. "Yes, I´m fine. Thank you."

He studied her, then held out his hands. "Want me to carry them for you?"

Hermione squinted up at him, feeling even more tired than she had been feeling in the last few days. Sleep was clearly deciding now was a good time to try and catch up with her.

"Could you?" she felt herself swaying on her feet. "I-I think I need to lie down."

Somehow, although her legs felt completely detached from her body, she made her way to her room at Ron´s side and - albeit reluctantly - she invited her boyfriend into the room, the door closing behind them.

Making her way to her broad bed, to the left of the door, she sat down on the edge of the mattress, crossing he arms over her chest and closing her eyes. "Sorry I went a bit mad in the hall, Ron," she mumbled. "I..."

"You weren´t feeling well," he finished.

She heard the clunks of the bottles being put down on the tables, a shiver running down her back. Squeezing her folded hands between her knees, she didn´t open her eyes when she heard him approach, until she felt his hand touch her knee.

"Hermione, I know you´re probably not feeling up to this now," he said, as she opened her eyes and stared at him warily. One hand disappeared into the pocket of his robes and he withdrew a small parcel even more untidily-wrapped than Harry´s. "I-I was going to give it to you downstairs and if you want to open it later..."

Her hand was shaking as he lifted it in his own hand and placed the small package, about the size of an average size potion phial, in her palm.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

One side of his mouth lifted. "That´s why you have to open it, love," he said, lifting a hand to stroke his knuckles down her cheek, drawing back when she flinched away. The hurt on his face made her feel like she had been punched. "Hermione..."

"I-I´m sorry," she whispered, fingering the wrapping of the parcel. "I´m just a bit tired and...well...this tummy upset..." Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she managed a watery smile. "I´ll open this now, though."

Her fingers were trembling as she peeled the light paper off. A silver charm bracelet lay in the nest of torn paper, hung with a dozen small charms including a book, a cat, a pointed hat and a cauldron.

"D´you like it?" he asked hopefully.

"It´s..." Each of the charms, she realised, identified a facet of her personality and nature. He had clearly taken a lot of time finding them. Tears brimmed in her eyes at the thought of the effort he had gone to, as she touched each charm, causing them to jingle softly against one another. "It´s lovely."

Ron sighed with relief. "I hoped you´d like it," he said happily. "Here...let me put it on for you."

She smiled again, clenching her hands into fists as he took the bracelet and fastened it around her right wrist. Finished, he captured her shaking hand between his two and stroked his thumb over her knuckles.

"Ron, please..." she whispered, her voice fading as she tried to speak clearly. The light touch was raising the familiar rash of prickling goosebumps on her skin and she was starting to feel dizzy again. "I-I don´t want to be rude..."

"I know, love," He gave her a heart-breakingly sad smile. "I just wish I could have spent more of your birthday with you."

Swallowing hard, Hermione met his eyes, wetting her lips with her tongue. "I-I´ll try to come down for dinner tonight," she said, withdrawing one of her hands from his, to reach up and stroke his cheek.

A tremor ran down her back when he tilted his head and kissed her wrist.

Clearly, he noticed it, turning to gaze at her, the intensity in his brown eyes taking her breath away. Rising on his knees, she felt one of his hands frame her face and closed her eyes.

Her heart was pounding painfully and she spread her hands on his chest, trying to push him back, trying to stop him, trying to stop herself from shaking as she felt the warmth of his breath on her face.

This is Ron, she mentally chanted. This is Ron. This is Ron. This is Ron.

Lips brushed hesitantly against hers and she was sure that her heart had stopped, her hands shaking wildly against Ron´s chest. A tight pain filled her chest, as if something was contracting the muscles of her heart inwards, agonisingly.

Jerking back from Ron with a gasp, she shook her head, one hand clutching at her chest. "I can´t," she gasped, panting for breath. "Please Ron..."

"Can´t what?" he asked, the bewilderment on his face matched with the hurt. "You don´t want me to touch you...kiss you anymore? Is that it?" Hermione pressed the heel of one hand against her forehead, her eyes burning. "Are...do you want to stop seeing me or something?"

"No!" she exclaimed, so shrilly her voice was more of a scream. Her hands came up to frame his face, then fell away and she shook her head. "No, Ron, never...it´s...it´s just that I...something happened...and I need to think about it..."

"What is it?" he asked, concern alighting on his features. He took her smaller hands in hers so very gently, as if she were made of the most fragile of glass. "Do...do you want to tell me what´s wrong?"

Tell him.

NO!

Tell him and everything´ll be fine.

No! He´ll hate you! He´ll think you did it on purpose and remember, you almost enjoyed it. What does that make you?

Don´t listen to that, Hermione, tell him. Just tell him.

And what if he hates you, eh? What if he hates you as much as you hate yourself? I doubt you´d be able to cope.

Looking down at their joined hands, Hermione shook her head, blinking hard to force back tears that were threatening to fall. "I-I can´t," she said softly. "I can´t tell anyone...not yet..."

"Well, when you want to...if you want to, you know I´m here."

She nodded, not raising her head, as he got to his feet. He dropped a light kiss on the top of her head and she heard him walking away across the room, the door creaking as it opened.

"Maybe see you later, eh?"

Nodding again, she swallowed down as sob as the door squealed closed. Two hot tears splashed on her hands, where they still lay limply in her lap.

***

"Miss Granger?"

Staring blindly down at her open Transfiguration book, Hermione was oblivious to Professor McGonagall looming over her, until a bony hand was placed on the page in front of her, making her look up in surprise.

"May I ask what you are so engrossed in, Miss Granger," the Professor said in a cool voice. "When I have asked you a question four times and you have yet to even acknowledge my existence?"

Blinking, Hermione stared at her teacher in confusion. "I-I was reading."

"Apparently so," McGonagall said, though there was a gleam of concern in her eyes, which made Hermione shift uncomfortably in her seat. "So, Miss Granger, perhaps you can tell us what you have learned from the text about the physical difficulties of transfiguring a human into another form."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply and immediately had to snap it shut again.

She had been trying to read the text of the hefty book to answer the questions on the parchment they had been handed at the beginning of the lesson and yet, now that she tried to think of it, she couldn´t recall a single thing she had read on the page.

"I-I-I don´t know, Professor," she whispered in a voice shaking with surprise, worry and confusion, hardly able to believe that she - Head Girl and top-grade student for six years - had been unable to answer a question at all.

And apparently everyone else in the Advanced Transfiguration class was just as surprised as she was, judging from the ripple of gasps that went around the room.

Professor McGonagall´s brow creased, her lips thinning slightly. "Are you sure, Miss Granger?" she asked, as if she was having trouble comprehending the reply that Hermione had given her.

Shaken, Hermione looked rapidly down at the book, hoping something would jump out at her. Surely the answer was common sense too, if it were regarding the changing of a human into an inanimate or even animate object.

She felt the colour flood from her face, staring wildly at the letters, which just seemed like a mess of puzzling marks on the page. Forcing her shaky breathing under control, she wet her lips, trying to focus on the words.

"Miss Granger?"

Pressing the heel of her left hand against her forehead, Hermione stared frantically down the page, shaking her head. This was impossible. She never panicked. She had to calm down. This was easy. This was class-work. This was what she excelled in.

A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up to find Professor McGonagall gazing down at her in consternation.

"Are you all right, Miss Granger?"

Nodding, her throat feeling like it was constricting, she tried to smile. "I-I´m fine," she replied. Her voice was oddly squeaky. "I-I-I suppose I must just be a little tired."

McGonagall nodded, moving on to someone else for the answer. It seemed that she believed Hermione´s lie for the most part.

Hermione wondered how that was possible, since she could feel the sweat beading on her brow, her face felt cold and clammy and she knew, without a doubt, that she was as white as a sheet.

Tired?

In reality, she was terrified.

What was wrong with her? When she was reading the book, why had she blanked out in the class? Was she really so tired and distracted by what had happened that she couldn´t even pay attention in the class anymore?

The booming chime of the bell that signified the end of class made her jump.

Hadn´t they just arrived? Where had the last hour gone?

Shaking her head, she quickly started piling her books and parchments - unmarked - back into her bag, capping her ink bottle and carefully sliding her quills into one of the side pockets.

Standing, she had just hefted her bag onto her shoulder, when Professor McGonagall looked up from the desk and straight at her. "A word, Miss Granger," the Professor said in a way that brooked no refusal.

Making her way towards the desk, her hands clutching the strap of her bag tightly, Hermione felt an uneasy twist in her stomach, guessing what the Professor would no doubt want to ask her about.

The last loitering pupil disappeared out the door and Professor McGonagall lifted her rectangular spectacles off the bridge of her nose, folding them and placing them on the surface of her desk.

"Miss Granger, is there anything troubling you?" Hermione shook her head at once, shifting from one foot to the other, her eyes on the floor. "Miss Granger, I assure you, just because I am a teacher does not mean you can not talk to me. In fact, I would be greatly relieved if you did at present..."

Brown eyes jerked up. "What do you mean?" Hermione winced at how sharply the words left her mouth.

McGonagall´s dark eyes gazed at her, the Deputy Head Mistress´ lips flattening into a thin line which was not one of anger, but more one of suppressed concern. "Miss Granger, not to put to blunt a point on it, but I am not your only teacher to notice your distinct slump in work standard."

The world swam briefly before Hermione´s eyes and she clutched at the edge of the desk for support. "I-I-I haven´t been doing that badly," she mumbled, wondering briefly if maybe she had without even realising it.

Professor McGonagall folded her hands gravely. "Professor Flitwick informed me that you have been unusually distracted in class. You may attending the classes, but he has been wondering about your lack of active participation in the last few weeks."

Active participation?

"I did the spells," Hermione protested weakly. "I did them right away."

"And then," her teacher said. "You apparently sat and did nothing for the rest of the class, while everyone continued to practise. From what Professor Flitwick and I know of you, we know that this is unusual behaviour."

"That doesn´t mean my grade will drop! After all I managed the spells!"

McGonagall´s expression became a little more severe. "You managed the spells, but they had the wrong results, Miss Granger. Your confundus charms had the effect of a weak memory-development charm."

"Oh," Hermione said weakly. "I-I didn´t realise."

"And your potions work..." A grimace crossed Professor McGonagall´s face. "Well, I think that it is safe to say that Professor Snape feels that you have not been giving his subject your all. We have been growing concerned, Miss Granger. All of us."

Hermione´s sweaty hand came to her forehead and she squeezed her temples with her finger and thumb.

"I-I don´t know why I´m being like this," she replied, although her mental voice was chanting something about lying and underwear burning. "I-I haven´t been sleeping well recently. It could be that."

Professor McGonagall´s eyes bored into hers. "Are you sure, Miss Granger?"

The truth was dancing on the tip of her tongue as she stared at her teacher, knowing that this was an adult, a powerful one at that, who might be able to help, who might be able to take the problems away.

Or, her cruel little mental voice reminded her, she might blame you for it happening at all.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, although her voice was even more high-pitched than it had been before. A sceptical expression briefly crossed McGonagall´s face, but she picked up her glasses and put them back on.

"Very well, Miss Granger," she said gently. "But perhaps you ought to ask Madam Pomfrey for some sleeping draught, if you are having such difficulty sleeping. After all, you have a promising future ahead of you. It would be a tragic waste for it all to fall away now, due to lack of sleep."

"Thank you, Professor," Hemione murmured, turning towards the door. Pausing, she looked back to the Transfiguration teacher. "Professor..."

McGonagall looked up from the book she was writing in at once. "Yes, Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply.

Then shook her head, her voice shrivelling in her throat at the worried look on the Deputy Head Mistress´ face.

"Nothing," she replied, turning away and walking out of the classroom.