To anyone that might be watching, it would seem like young Hermione Granger was struggling for her life with the sheets and duvet. She tossed and turned in her sleep, sweat pearling on every surface of her skin, rolling down her spine to cool within a heartbeat, making her feel ill and feverish.
One would find it close to impossible how she could continue like that without waking. It didn't take much longer for her to shoot upright in bed, panting heavily… last vestiges of sleep slipping from her veins. Returning to sleep was no option any longer. She felt wide awake, the details of her nightmare escaping the grip of her working memory… though the red F remained unwavering even if the rest got lost never to be retrieved once again unless maybe in another state of unconsciousness called sleep. Closing her eyes and then doing her best to breathe easy, Hermione found slowly inhaling and exhaling again wasn't helping as it otherwise often did for her. The sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears only began to weaken after a handful of minutes.
Reopening her eyes though the fact that her heart still hammered a lot harder than it should, Hermione concluded – basing herself on the level of darkness – that it should be between two and seven at least. She had gone to bed only very late (or early, depending on how you looked at it), and the sun would have risen otherwise – or begun to rise, at least – and would have already enlightened the dormitory. The curtains only shut so much sunlight from the castle.
Swallowing the non-existing bile in her throat, she became conscious of the fact she was unbelievably thirsty. The sheets already having been pushed to the end of the bed due to her terrible tossing and turning, she eased her legs to the side, over the edge of the bed. The coldness of the floor underneath her feet really felt nice actually. She stood, her wand in hand, and moved to the bathroom in order to get herself a glass of cold water there. A little bit of light from her wand would satisfy to see what she was doing – no need to risk waking others by turning on the light on the ceiling that was known to be too lustrous … still spilling from beneath and from the small airspaces between door and frame though the door might be closed. She moved nearly noiselessly, just like the nightly darkness in which she moved.
However, as the door to her dormitory fell shut behind her, the old landing creaking as always on that particular wooden board in the floor, suddenly taking care of her incredible thirst was last on her mind. She thought of the essay down in the common room that was to be handed in the next morning for Transfiguration. The Boggart that had taken shape of their Professor McGonagall, still sat vividly in her memory, and the F that had… She swallowed. No.
Hermione had been busy rereading until two that morning, but suddenly a flare of insecurity took over again and, instead of getting herself a glass of water in the bathroom as intended, she wandered down the stairs slowly to the common room again. If she could just reassure herself again… maybe she would be able to get some more sleep either way – nothing above the feeling of great satisfaction at tasks finished well.
The smoldering pile of wood in the hearth which Hermione had left about an hour prior, had nearly extinguished by then. "Lumos."
Pseudo-automatically moving to the table she had occupied earlier that night, she reached for her essay, unrolling it and sinking down on the armchair close by. Professor McGonagall had, for once, not only given them a minimum number of words but a maximum, too – possibly to minimize her workload a bit, as this time of year was typically a bit busier. Hermione had, of course, abided by the rules for the essay and had counted all a couple of times by hand to ensure that she had exactly 3,000 words – no more, as hard as that might have been. There had been a lot of useful information she could have integrated more, and it had been a rather tough decision to choose what was or wasn't interesting enough for the very limited space allowed.
By the time she reached the end of her supposedly finished Transfiguration essay, she was furiously chewing her bottom lip with nervousness. Should she have left the bit about the most noted case in history more… summarized and extended the part about the dangers of human transfiguration instead? It might… Maybe… She should! Panic overtook once again as the red F began screaming in her head. Professor McGonagall would possibly consider those historical cases as side issues and attach the most of importance to the dangers, the risks… She couldn't fail this. She couldn't get an F on it.
She nervously redirected her gaze and the light of her wand to the mantelpiece, on which she knew a clock stood: it showed four-thirty nearly in the morning. She must have been 'asleep' for two and about a half hour then. Eyes falling shut in despair, she suddenly became aware of cold metal touching her skin – the Time-Turner. She never took it off, for that had been the condition since Professor McGonagall had gone to that much effort just to get it for her to begin with. It had, of course, been charmed with an anti-strangle spell for at night especially, to keep the chain from closing her throat.
Four-thirty was, of course, long past their curfew, but if she wanted to still rework this by morn, she could not be bothered trying to borrow Harry's Invisibility Cloak… or even return to her dormitory to get a robe. Driven by a panic, she reached for the Time-Turner and laid her hand across it for a moment, feeling the harsh metal dig slightly more persistently in her skin. She had gone for many nights without even getting half the amount of sleep she should already. Hermione's decision was made in seconds – much shorter than it should if it concerned rule-breaking. She would have a little more than two hours…
Reaching for the chain hastily, she tugged until the mini-hourglass came into view. Closing her eyes at the fact that she was about to do something so against the school rules and against all that their Head of House had told her about time and changing it, she gently turned the little thing between her fingers just enough to return to two that morning. By the time Hermione's eyes opened and shot to the clock on the mantelpiece once more, it only showed a few minutes past two. The soft sound upstairs of a door closing must have been her temporary other self finally going to bed. Alright – no time to lose.
She rolled her essay into a roll again and hurriedly snatched the half-full pot of ink and her quill from the table, the mild light glowing from the tip of her wand enlightening her path to the portrait hole. She could not be bothered to see the look of chagrin on the Fat Lady's fat face – most likely more from being woken into the middle of the night than a pupil of her House being from bed at that time of night.
She had no time to lose… Hurrying on bare feet in the familiar direction of the library the fastest her legs could possibly carry her without running and raising suspicion, Hermione's thoughts were only occupied by panic and intense insecurity.
She had gone down this route so many times already that she could most likely do it with her eyes closed. She knew that she was taking quite the risk now, but even Filch and Mrs. Norris needed to sleep sometime. It would all be worth it in the end, she thought. She would go and correct her mistakes and certainly learn from it. Classes had only been going for a month, and while Hermione had tried to make herself believe that she could do it all, now she was slowly beginning to doubt it. If only she had not made such silly miscalculation, then she wouldn't have needed to run over to the library in the middle of night to fix it anymore either.
One more floor down… After all, if Filch was in fact still wandering the hallways with his old cat, the chances of being caught within the library itself would be slightly lower. Tears ran down her cheeks as she damned herself for her own miscalculation.
A few more steps… Almost… and then she bumped hard into something… soft yet solid suddenly materializing in her path. The items which the girl had been holding in her arms thudded down on the floor, the pot that had contained the ink shattering in pieces – she heard. She could feel long fingers gripping her arm tightly to steady her. By the time she cast her eyes up and looked into teal green, she already knew she was in trouble. The scent now long associated with Minerva McGonagall had given her away a bit. The possibility of her having morphed from cat into woman mid-hallway came to Hermione's mind; and it seemed very logical for what had just happened.
They stood like that for just another moment, until Professor McGonagall slowly released her hold on her pupil's upper arm. Her hot breath cascaded down on the girl's wet cheeks, making the lines of wetness tingle. Hermione hastily reached up to dab at her eyes, trying to hide evidence – even if only for herself, for Minerva had most likely already noticed either way.
Without as much as a word, suddenly the tip of Professor McGonagall's wand lit by her side. She quietly lifted it into the air and illuminated both of their faces with its faint light as they stood face-to-face. "Miss Granger, what are you doing wandering through the hallways at this hour? Sir Cadogan alarmed me that a pupil was from bed on the fourth floor and seemingly going down… but you!" Of course, she must have been unlucky to have come across Minerva now, for her to be right there right then. In fact, she herself hadn't been able to sleep either and had run to the kitchens in cat shape to get herself a cup of hot chocolate, having been addressed by Sir Cadogan while returning to her quarters again.
Without warning, Hermione suddenly burst into tears, barely able to make any word eligible because of it. "– bad essay… getting F…" was all Professor McGonagall understood. It wouldn't be the first time she saw a pupil cry, nor Hermione Granger in particular. While she had intended to sound harsh, the reaction still came as some kind of surprise, though. What surprised her even more was that suddenly, in her state of utter desperation, the girl reached over and wrapped both arms around the teacher, holding her very tight indeed, crying into her shoulder. The embrace felt awkward to say the least at first, but as the moment stretched on and Minerva became used to the feeling of being hugged by her – for lately, only Albus had been doing so and that even on rare occasions – she herself carefully wrapped one arm around her charge and patted unruly curls with her free hand gently. She debated momentarily against asking her if something else was the matter as well, hence her over-reaction. However, she knew that the girl had not made it very easy on herself at all with all those courses, no matter how desperately she had wanted it.
While she encouraged pupils to do an effort for their education and to want to learn rather than having to, even she had to admit the schedule this young ambitious lady had taken on was madness. She had shared her concerns with the young Gryffindor, but the look the girl had given her last time, one of utter despair and disappointment that her Head of House didn't believe in her abilities had seized her heart, making her swear never to doubt her decision again regardless of its level of foolishness – unless of course things went absolutely overboard and called for intervention. Minerva McGonagall had learned to read young eyes well in all those years of teaching. Experience didn't help her as she debated if this could be a call for said intervention. She shook her head, pushing past those thoughts and realizing the girl's tears and sobs had abated and had been reduced to sniffles while she had been debating over the state of her charge, its possible reasons and solutions.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked. At Hermione's weak nod, she continued, while waving her wand at the fallen items, restoring the pot of ink to its state prior to falling while at it, and made them momentarily float in mid-air, then gathered them herself. "Good. Since it is quite literally the middle of the night, I won't ask more right now. I'm, however, expecting to hear all tomorrow. You're to go straight back to Gryffindor Tower. I'm hoping that you know pupils from bed past curfew is not condoned and will cost your House fif–" She fell into silence upon seeing the girl's eyes fill with new tears, head shaking no furiously. Minerva's eyebrow quirked; tears had never had an effect on her punishment, but still…
"I can't…" Hermione choked. "I'm there, too!"
"I…" Minerva uttered, not sure if she understood really, then deciding no other interpretation would make sense. "Miss Granger! How–?" A very deep sigh indeed sounded from the elder woman. They would need to have a serious conversation come tomorrow. Maybe by then her star pupil having broken a myriad of rules would show to have been a nightmare. "Alright," she said. "How far?"
"Four-thirty…"
Minerva nodded. A Scotch would have come welcome right about now. "Alright," she repeated. "You'll need to stay in my quarters until then then. I can't leave you walking through the hallways."
"My essay…" Hermione tried again, bordering on the verge of tears again.
Minerva chose to just ignore it. She would be getting all details come morn. Gently taking hold of Hermione's arm, Minerva concentrated, pulling all her magic to her in order to shift the wards momentarily to Apparate them into her personal rooms. Minerva wasn't very worried about any possible sickness over the minimalistic distance and was quite good at Apparating either way. "The Headmaster and Deputy are able to shift any wards needed to Apparate within the domain in case of emergencies," she said, prior to the question that would most certainly have followed otherwise either now or the next time they spoke.
A wave of her wand sent the items Hermione had been caught carrying to the library over to her living room table, followed by a small flick to morph the large couch into a nice bed not unlike Hermione's own in Gryffindor Tower. "We will talk about this," Minerva said. "However, now isn't the time. We both need rest – the most we'll still be able to get by morn."
"I won't be able to sleep anyway," Hermione whispered, slightly shrugging her shoulders. She sat upon the edge of the bed Professor McGonagall had just recently transfigured for her. The girl shook her head. It seemed as if the floodgates hadn't opened alone, for suddenly the essence spilled from pink lips – the essence of why she could not sleep at all anymore lately even when done with all school work and why she cried so much lately as well. "My Mum used to be there to calm me when that was needed. I've been Owling her and Dad, but it isn't the same. I believe I was fine in the first two years because I could… I'm not sure; it just seems that I've got to study harder to follow." She hiccupped, waiting a few minutes… then taking the elder woman's silence as an invitation to do so. "Ron and Harry are great, but… they're boys. Ginny's great, too. She gets quite a lot of attention from the boys our year or higher, though."
Suddenly, a lot more made sense to Minerva McGonagall already. Sitting down on the edge of the bed as well, she reached for the younger girl's hand and held it. "You're very intelligent," she said. "You should not doubt yourself so much – have a bit more faith in yourself."
Hermione's reply came in turning her head so that it leant heavily on the elder witch's shoulder. No one ever would have thought of the Head of Gryffindor House as calming, as embrace-able. "I'll try…" she murmured. Closing her eyes once more, the very soft rise and fall in Minerva's breathing appeared quite soporific – that combined with that warmth she radiated caused Hermione to fall to sleep in no time at all.
A smile passed over Minerva's face as she eyed Hermione. Tugging at the covers, Minerva somehow managed to tuck the girl and herself in with her charge's heavy head in her lap, the cover over her legs. She quietly wondered what thoughts were running through it right now as she floated in the land of dreams and possibly nightmares. She would most likely be sore in the morning if she continued to sit like that until four-thirty at least, but if it helped the poor tired girl to get some sleep, she would do it gladly.
As one could have guessed, Minerva herself had joined the land of unconsciousness by the time the bell towers announced four-thirty. She would be very sore in the morning indeed, but maybe that would have been worth it. Maybe those meant words of true confidence and advice to believe in oneself from the mouth of her mentor had been all that Hermione had needed to get through the rest of the year.
Hermione's original essay got her an A+.
We all do make our mistakes, have times when we are stressed or panicked… and times when we anger or maybe sadden, disappoint or generally hurt one another not on purpose. I've learned that those who stay no matter what or return are mostly worth staying for in return.