A/N: I do not own anything except the storyline. Everything else is owned by J.K. Rowling
A stream of sunlit dust floats through the rafters. A slim girl ducks to avoid a cottony cobweb as she walks towards a cloaked object which sits on its own, in a damp dusky corner, hiding. A childish hand reaches forward and pulls a sheet off of the shape. An open safe. Even though she knew she shouldn't, the girls curiosity gets the better of her, and she retrieves the objects inside. She opens a folder. "No," she breathes, disbelieving as hate, betrayal, and despair grip her body...
Hermione jerked into consciousness, a thin sweat shining on her skin. She held her stomach as a feeling of intense nausea clutched her insides, waiting for it to pass. The sounds of the sleeping girls surrounding her and the dawn light created a feeling of utter peace. If only the nightmares would leave her. She took some random clothes from her trunk, and went into the bathroom.
* * *
"Alright Hermione?" Parvati yawned. "You look tired."
"Yeah, didn't sleep very well last night. You?" Parvati muttered something unintelligible as she makes her way to the bathroom. "Take that as a yes." Hermione picked her bag up off of her bed and briskly walks out of the 6th year girls dormitory. As she left, she whispered one incantation: "Industria."
* * *
The castle corridors were deserted in the early Saturday morning light. Coloured lights from stained glass windows danced on the portraits, disturbing the irritable occupants. An echo of a changing staircase. Dust moats in the air sparkled; an unearthly light enveloped the place of joy. Hermione dawdled through the corridors and down the stairs to the Great Hall, whispering words of greeting to the few early morning risers. She smiled at Dumbledore and sat down, opening the latest issue of The Daily Prophet.
"Hi Hermione," said a dreamy voice.
"Hey Luna, are you okay? You're up unusually early." Hermione's eyes didn't move from the paper. "Yes, I'm fine thank you. Daddy says it's easier to see the Nargles, they like early Saturday mornings, you know."
"Ummm...yes, of course."
Hermione didn't think much of Luna's father, Xenophilias Lovegood, he always seemed to be spouting all sorts of stupid ideas, and that magazine of his is a load of utter rubbish. However, she would never tell the unusual girl of her opinion.
"Alright 'Mione? Luna?" Ron and Harry walked up to the table and sit down. Hermione nods, a frown appearing on her face. "Luna?" Asked Ron again.
"Nargles..." She walked away.
"Nutter, that one," said Ron, helping himself to bacon, scrambled egg, and toast. "Have you heard this!" Exclaimed Hermione, slamming The Daily Prophet down onto the table. "'Harry Potter – Unstable Stalker? Recent investigations show that the infamous Harry Potter, brainwashed apprentice of Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, may suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. "The poor boys farcical accusations that He-who-must-not-be-named is back, could very well be the result of the trauma of the death of his parents at such a young age." Says psychologist Henry Marsh, form St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Inside sources say that young Potter's friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, are becoming ever distant from him as his mental stability decreases. In fact, it has been reported that despite her requests for him to leave her alone, Potter has been stalking Hermione Granger, a girl who is well known for her taste for famous young wizards. So the question is: how long until Harry Potter's debilitating state cracks?'"
The three friends glance at each other wearily. "Well?" Hermione demanded. "What do you think?" Harry and Ron merely shrugged, looking down at their full plates. "Harry?"
"What?" His green eyes flicked up to hers.
"Well what are you going to do? You can't let them get away with this!" Daggers are sent Hermione's way as a group of disgruntled studying Ravenclaw's are disturbed. Ron looks sympathetically at his best friend. "RONALD! Can you stop eating for one minute! Your best friend has been accused of having a severe mental illness, and you're just eating bacon!" Hermione knocks the loaded fork out of Ron's hand.
"What's wrong Mudblood? Can't get Potter to leave you alone? Mind, he probably can't get away from you, what with you being so fat."
Ron abruptly stood up. "Piss off, Malfoy."
"I could say the same to you, blood traitor." The blonde spits the last words out. He steps forward, as if to carry on, but grasps his left arm. He turns, and strides out of the hall. Unsure of what to do, Crabbe and Goyle laugh; they turn and walk to the Slytherin table so they can stuff their faces with food.
"I told you," Harry sat up excitedly. "Come on, you can't deny that. He touched it and left-"
"Harry. For the last time, Malfoy is not a Death Eater. Come on, let's go to Hogsmeade." Hermione stood up and slung her satchel over her shoulder, marking the end of the conversation. Ron looked dejectedly at the food on the table. "But Hermione, I'm not finished." Sighing, Hermione cut two rolls in half, buttered them, and handed them to Ron, motioning for him to stand.
In the light of the morning, the three friends stroll out under the arch of the Great Hall into the courtyard.