"I am sorry, Miss Granger, but it seems you just aren't suited to life at Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall stood, waiting for her, holding out a long piece of parchment marked all over with red ink, showing her grades as a mixed collection of Dreadfuls and Trolls.
Hermione stared at the parchment, frozen, her eyes wide. "But Professor... I studied so hard. Surely there must be some mistake."
With a sympathetic smile, the Professor shook her head, "I'm afraid that with grades like these, we can only conclude the mistake must have been in admitting you to Hogwarts in the first place. We're not quite sure how it happened, but you'll be much happier elsewhere, I'm sure."
"But... where am I to go?" Hermione could feel the blood draining from her face, and her hands were going cold.
"That's not up to me, Miss Granger, but I'm sure there's any number of nice Muggle schools your parents could send you to."
Her eyes filling with tears, Hermione turned to go, to pack her belongings, to leave the castle forever...
"Miss Granger?"
She turned, feeling a last small spark of hope. "Yes, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall, not smiling, calmly held out her hand. "I'm afraid I shall have to ask for your wand, Miss Granger. Only witches and wizards are allowed them, after all, not Muggles."
"You will write to me, won't you?" Hermione's eyes were still red after packing her things, packing to leave Hogwarts.
Ron shrugged, looking away from her. "I guess? Dunno if we're really allowed to send owls to Muggles, though."
Harry smiled at Hermione, trying to be comforting, and patted her on the shoulder. Somehow, though, he didn't seem to be able to make eye contact with her either. "When I get home at the end of the year, I'll send you something by the Muggle post."
She nodded slowly, starting to feel almost numb.
Muggle.
Even her best friends were calling her a Muggle. Or, they'd been her best friends.
It wasn't the worst thing starting with 'M' she'd been called, but for some reason it cut her so much more deeply.
Still not quite managing to look squarely at her, Ron shrugged again. "We should go, we'll get in trouble if we're late for Charms. Um... bye." With that, Harry and Ron turned to go back into the castle. Hermione reached out to hug them goodbye, for the last time, but they were gone, out of reach, and she was alone on the castle steps.
She had stayed up late every night for a week, writing a letter to each of them. She talked of home life, of missing Hogwarts, of missing them. Life just wasn't the same without them, and without magic. She was counting the days until they'd come home from school, and maybe come visit her.
Life in the Muggle world was slow, dull. Her parents had reacted as if they'd expected her back into the 'real' world even sooner. Within a day of arriving home, she'd been enrolled in a new school, and by now it was just... normal. But she didn't have any friends there, and she was just ordinary, other than being a bit behind in all her classes. There'd been talk of remedial work to help her keep up.
Her one escape had been writing these letters. A tenuous thread back to the world of magic that she'd been expelled from.
The only problem was that she had no owl, having always used the school's owls when she needed to send the occasional letter. How she wished for one now.
None of the local owls could be tempted to come down to carry a letter, obviously being a rare example of an untrained, wild owl. Just her luck to get stranded somewhere with no good postal owls around.
But she had a plan.
Skipping school – which would once have been unthinkable to her, when school was her joy, her world – she instead took the bus into the centre of London, to Charing Cross Road. She might not be able to get to Hogwarts, but Diagon Alley had an Owl Post Office, and if she could just get these letters sent, everything would be better. Had to be better.
She climbed off the bus, almost skipping, thrilled at the knowledge that soon she'd get a little glimpse back into the wizarding world. Not even the rain starting to fall could dampen her spirits at this one chance, so close now.
Racing along the street, feet splashing in the puddles, dodging past pedestrians, she counted the shops, until she came to the—... no... no, that couldn't be right. It wasn't fair.
She stared at the broken-down old shop front that stood where the Leaky Cauldron should have been, peeling paint on weathered wood and cracked glass so dirty that it was almost opaque. The heavy door rattled as she pulled the rusted handle, but it was locked, keeping her out of the wizarding world, her and the rest of the Muggles. The precious letters slipped from her fingers as she slowly collapsed against the door. She couldn't tell how long she sat there, pressed against the door, unnoticed by the passers-by, as the rain pounded down on her, washing her hopes, and her letters, away.
Hermione stood, frozen, staring up at Professor McGonagall, still towering above her. The Professor still held out a parchment full of failing grades in shining, blood red ink. Hermione realised she was still inside that magically expanded trunk, in the dark, still at Hogwarts.
Gasping for air, with tears streaming down her face, she turned her back on the horrid sight, and struggled for the lid of the trunk, for escape. This Defence Against the Dark Arts exam had been going perfectly until now, but this test, this boggart, was just too much for her to bear.
"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled."
Some things make more sense in hindsight...