Summary: They dismissed her fears when the boggart told her she'd failed all her exams. But what does Hermione really fear?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.

Authors Notes: I've always wanted to write this, but never got around to it. It always struck me as slightly harsh the way Hermione's boggart was portrayed in the Prisoner of Azkaban, and the way it seemed like it was dismissed as 'Hermione being Hermione'. It was the only major section of an exam she was ever recorded failing at. Added to that, she was a Gryffindor despite all her intelligence – she supposedly had at least some courage then, as proven by canon events, and yet couldn't face her deepest fear. And so here, for your eyes only, is an interlude showing what I think could have happened to stop Hermione completing her DADA exam in third year.

Oh, and in case anyone wonders, the reference to Molly's boggart near the end is in the Order of the Phoenix, but the one to Ron's boggart is made up.

Childish Fears

"The clouds dispell'd, the sky resum'd her light,
And Nature stood recover'd of her right.
But fear, the last of ills, remain'd behind,
And horror heavy sat on ev'ry mind."

John Dryden, 'Theodore and Honoria'

Hermione, slightly breathless and with her hair askew, almost stumbled into the last section of the Defence exam. She frowned slightly into the dark room, thinking on the creative style of the exam. While she could appreciate the benefits and practical knowledge the obstacle style course provided, there was a part of her that complained that it just wasn't right. Exams were where she had a chance to work, to just sit down in the almost other worldly quiet and calm, and think. Achieve. Exams had always been her forte, so she was giving this one the best she could; but still, there was a nagging worry that she wouldn't do as well as she could do, should do.

"Miss Granger?" a voice asked behind her. Hermione spun, wand raised and eyes wide, caught off guard. She blinked, confused – she was standing behind a desk in what appeared to be a small, boxy room, the only source of light from overhead and seeming too bright to be merely candles.

"Miss Granger, are you listening to me?" the voice asked again, sterner and slightly disapproving. Hermione snapped to attention, fixing her gaze on her head of house and leaving aside her confusion as to what Professor McGonagall was doing here.

"Yes, I –" she began apologetically, but was cut off as McGonagall continued, not seeming to have heard her.

"With your current position, you can't really afford any more failures," the old witch continued, lips pursed and voice coloured with disappointment.

Dread crept up on Hermione, and she barely managed to squeak out, "F-failures?" McGonagall sighed irritably, and for the first time Hermione noticed she was carrying a stack of parchment, although any writing on it was hidden by the slightly tilted angle.

"Yes, Miss Granger. I can hardly see what other result you were expecting when you handing in these…" she sneered, an action made worse by the fact that McGonagall had never done so before, and seemed to search for a word that contained the sheer level of disgust she felt. "Atrocities," she finally settled on.

Hermione almost visibly flinched at the word and the tone in which it was spoken. "I, I didn't realise, I mean…" her voice trailed off under McGonagall's disbelieving stare.

"Miss Granger, how you can possibly imagine these to be acceptable is beyond my ken. Perhaps in the past, allowances have been made for you, but really, we must mark all the students fairly." Hermione shrank with each word, feeling like a small child and wilting under the uncompromising glare of one of the people she tried hardest to impress.

Was it possible? All those times in the past, all the pride she'd taken in being able to achieve academically, was it a lie? Had her teachers merely been giving her false marks out of… Out of pity? Hermione's mind reeled numbly as the foundations of her world fell apart, so much so that she barely heard McGonagall's next words. And when she did, she wished she hadn't.

"It's a wonder that your friends have managed to score as well as they did, despite your destructive influence on their studying."

Something seemed to break in Hermione as the meaning sank into the turmoil of her thoughts. No, she wanted to shout, to force the deputy head to take it back, I didn't, I was helping them, it's not true…

Through her blurry vision, Hermione saw McGonagall put the stack of parchment on the desk and push them towards her. The words were blurred together and she could barely see them, but the large red 'F' on the front stood out clearly. It didn't even occur to her that an F was a muggle grade, that the Wizarding world graded differently.

She kept her head firmly down even as she heard her teacher sigh, wearily, disappointedly. Internally, she flinched again at the trouble she must be causing her. "I have discussed this with the Headmaster, and we feel there is no choice. It would be better for both you and those around you if you were returned to the muggle world."

At that, Hermione's head shot up in horror. "You…" She swallowed, throat dry, and tried again. "You're expelling me?" she whispered finally. McGonagall nodded tightly, an impatient frown creasing her forehead. "But, but," Hermione's mind whirled, her logical side presenting all the reasons why she couldn't afford to be expelled. She had missed three years of schooling in the muggle world, and wouldn't be able to catch up, and she hadn't learnt all that she wanted – no, needed to learn about the Wizarding world, and she liked her magic, and a million other logical, practical things. All that came out of her mouth however were two words: "My friends…"

"Miss Granger, when will you see sense?" McGonagall cried, throwing her hands up in despair. "All you have ever been able to offer anyone is your ability to do their homework. Now that you cannot even do that, you have no right to expect your friends to sacrifice their time and concern for you anymore!"

"No!" Hermione screamed, bringing her previously forgotten wand up to point, shaking, at McGonagall. Part of her mind frantically remembered that this was a teacher, she was going to hex her Head of House, but it was drowned in a sea of turmoil. Hermione wasn't even aware of what she shouted, or if she even said anything; for once her composure, her reason, her rationality were destroyed. The magic that leapt from her wand was more accidental than controlled, but it was still enough to force McGonagall to step back, eyes wide. Hermione used the time to flee out the door, her shattered logic suggesting that if she couldn't see it anymore, then she could deny that it had ever happened.

"Hermione!" a voice yelled from a distance away as someone else caught her, thin but surprisingly strong arms catching her as she tripped on the uneven grass. "Hermione!" She calmed, more out of shock than anything else, and the person holding her began speaking, at a much quieter level than whoever had shouted her name. "It wasn't real, it's all right, it's gone now, it wasn't real, it didn't happen, you're safe now…"

Slowly Hermione calmed down and released the death grip she had on the person's robes. She looked up into Proffessor Lupin's kind and anxious face and took a step back instinctively, mortification rushing over her.

"All right now, Miss Granger?" he asked softly, and though Hermione flinched slightly at the formal address, she nodded miserably. Of all the people to break down on, why did it have to be her teacher? Her misery only grew when she realised that she wasn't in a small classroom with Professor McGonagall, and she hadn't just been expelled and told she was a failure. Then again, she didn't need to be told. No one else had been so thoroughly defeated by their boggart.

"Hermione, are you all right?" someone asked next to her. She looked up into Harry's concerned gaze and nodded.

You have no right to expect your friends to sacrifice their time and concern for you

"What happened?" Ron asked, puffing slightly. They must have been the ones who had yelled at her from across the field, and sprinted towards her if Ron's condition was anything to go by. She was only surprised Harry wasn't the same, but then again he was both much lighter and on the Quidditch team.

"Oh," she mumbled when she realised they were still waiting for an answer. "M-McGonagall told me I'd failed all my exams," she began, meaning to go on and explain the sheer terror of being expelled from the Wizarding world. Of losing her friends, her future, her worth. One look at the affectionate condescension in Ron's eyes stopped her dead.

Typical Hermione, he seemed to say. All the dangers and the death in the world, and she worries about homework grades.

"It's stupid, I know," she said instead, turning her tear streaked face to the floor, even as she wanted to shout at him to grow up, to stop being such a fool. Spiders? All the dangers and the death in the world, the famines and war, the personal fears and insecurities of worthlessness. Next to those, who could fear spiders?

A child.

Hermione learnt something then, a lesson that she would remember when she saw Molly Weasley defeated and in tears by a boggart in Grimmauld place, a lesson she would remember when, in years to come, a war hardened Ron bit through his lip to hold back the tears as he obliterated his own boggart with a shaky Bludgeoning Hex.

Not all fears can be laughed away. Not all fears hide under the bed and vanish when you turn the light on. Not all fears are unrealistic, childish notions and fantasies.

But while they were, while Ron could defeat his greatest fear with a single spell, he was far luckier than her.

- Fin -