Hermione climbed the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room in a bewildered reverie.

What had just happened?

Pushing her mind back to the night before she tried to clutch at the memory that felt as though it were clouded in a thick mist, but the effort was as futile as trying to catch time. The more she pressed, the more her mind fought back.

Needless to say Hermione Granger was scared. She was proud of her intelligence, her reason, her logic. Her brain was her most valuable asset and as far as she was concerned something had happened to it. Something bad, she was sure. What if she started to lose other memories? What if her brain could no longer process information? Oh God, was it possible to turn Squib after birth?

She stopped in her tracks. "No of course not" she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "And now I'm talking to myself!" she laughed bitterly, throwing her hands up. She would have perhaps laughed more genuinely and freely at her own irrational thoughts, had she not believed them to hold any truth.

Lifting a foot, she proceeded up the great staircase.

Step. The Diricawl originated in Mauritius. It shares traits with the phoenix.

Step. The hypotenuse of a wizarding tritrangulate shifts.

Step. Elphidius Samuel wrote Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration in 1953

Step. Dragon Eggs are defined as a Class A Non-Tradable Good.

She was so wrapped in her own thoughts that she nearly walked straight into the portrait of the Fat Lady. After two apologies and repeating the password, 'Cabicatus' five times to a thoroughly disgruntled painting, the portrait door finally swung open and Hermione stumbled in to be greeted by any empty common room. She was glad. Her head was still spinning and the panic that she felt growing inside her was only just being held in check.

Throwing herself on to the sofa, she snuggled into the large cushions. The fire was freshly lit and its warmth caressed her face with a calming touch. She closed her eyes and buried her head still further into the embrace of the settee.

Stay calm, she told herself. Everything will be fine.

Deep breaths.

In

Out

In

Out.

In ...

... Out...

She was running. No, gliding, across the luscious grass. The morning dew sprang up around her legs but she only laughed, a glorious, musical note. He ran to meet her, easily catching up, throwing an arm around her waist so that she spun around to face him, her smile wide, eyes gleaming. A bird sang somewhere close and they could hear each others panting breath and the race of their beating hearts. Their eyes met, held by an invisible thread of longing. Never blinking they drew closer. He could feel her warm breath, and she his. Time had frozen, stretching and warping.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock, fingers being rapped against glass. They jumped apart startled. The sun burned bright and the sky was blue as he looked around to find the source of the noise. Turning to his left he saw it, a window hovering in mid air. Looking through it there was no sun, no warm breeze, no her, just a face, the face of Ron Weasley. He was tapping on the glass and looking at his best friend with a look of hurt and betrayal on his face. 'How could you?', he asked, the glass muffling his words, 'she's my sister'. And all the whilst he continue to rap at the glass with his knuckle, a slow and rhythmic tattoo.

Harry sat bolt right up in bed, heart pounding. He threw a glance over to Ron who was still sleeping soundly, leg hanging out of the covers and a puddle of drool steadily making a small pool on his pillow. Relief washed over Harry. It was just a dream. But still he could hear the steady knock on glass. Turning to his window he saw the owl on his windowsill, tapping her beak to be let in.

Climbing out of bed, his heart still faintly beating, he pulled up the window, and the owl hopped in, shaking her feathers in indignation at having been kept outside. "Stop being so dramatic you bloody bird", snorted Harry, taking the small roll of parchment from around her leg. Immediately she launched off, clearly still vexed from her wait on the windowsill.

Harry closed the window and pulled open the parchment. The impeccable written hand, the green ink. Oh how lovely it was to be woken by dear old Professor Snape.

As he read over the short note, he had to admit that the Professor was right, Hermione would be mortified if she found out the truth and besides, what purpose would the truth even serve? She was cured and fine and as far as he was concerned, the whole mess of last night could just be forgotten.

He quickly stood and went to the writing bureau and pulled out a quill and fresh piece of parchment. He dipped the tip into his inkwell and began to scratch out a hurried note:

'Dearest Ginny,'

What was he, her mother? Balling the paper he tossed it into the bin.

'Ginny

Hey, what's up, it's Harry. Hope you had a fantastic sleep!'

Fantastic!? What on earth was he thinking - he sounded like a over enthusiastic mad man! Screwing the paper into a ball he pulled out another sheet of parchment and began. Again.

'Gin,

Good Morning. Sire Snape, Order of Sarcasm, First Class, has ordered us not to speak of last nights 'events', with Hermione. He feels it's in 'everyone's interests' (so by that I gather he means his own) to talk no more of it. I hate to admit it, but the git does have a point.

See you at breakfast!

Harry'

There, that should do it, even if it did mean that Snape would probably give him two years worth of detentions if he ever found the note.

Attaching the message to Hedwig's leg he stroked her soft feathers with a crooked index finger and pushed her out of the still open window. 'Take this to Ginny in the girls dorm', he told her, going to close the window. With a second thought he leaned back outside. 'And I don't want to find another mauled field mouse on my floor', he shouted after her. He pulled himself back in and shut the window. 'They make me lose my appetite', he grumbled.

'The Canons have won the world cup over 21 times', an exasperated Ron could be heard.

'Yes, and the last time they actually won something was in 1892', Harry taunted back, 'Chudley Canons, more like Chudley ping pong balls'. There was a dull thud as Ron punched Harry in the arm. They both laughed, although Ron had worked himself up into a slight flush.

Both boys appeared into the empty common room. For once they were up early for a change, rather than them having to fight over the last piece of toast at breakfast every morning. Standing in front of the fire Ron stretched his arms over his head, letting out a pleasant grunt as his back popped. Swinging his arms down he was about to flop backwards onto the cushions when Harry let out a half shout, half scream, which came out sounding funnily like a baboon cry.

Ron immediately changed his course of action and leapt forward, turning hurriedly around to see the cause of Harry's monkey imitation. A student was curled into the back of the sofa, facing away from them, her legs drawn up so that she lay in a fetal position. Even facing away though, the unmistakable curl of brown hair was enough to tell the two boys that the person in front of them was none other than Hermione Granger.

Ron had crept slightly closer to the sleeping girl, and peered over her shoulders to try and get a better look at her face. Frowning, he straightened up to face Harry. "She doesn't look brilliant mate", he said. Now it was Harry's turn to frown. He walked over and softly brushed away the hair that covered her face. Placing a hand on her forehead his expression now turned to one of worry.

"She's burning up", he said in a half whisper to Ron. If indeed she was ill, he didn't really want to be the one to wake her up. Instead they both made their way over to a corner of the room furthest from where Hermione lay to speak without risking waking her.

"Bloody bastard", spat Ron in hushed tones, "he told us to leave her with him, said it was safe. And now look", he wildly gestured to the sofa "she's passed out in the middle of the common room".

Harry nodded in agreement, but his brow was furrowed. "I know that the man is an absolute git Ron, but I mean, he is a teacher, and I'm sure that he wouldn't have let Hermione leave if she wasn't absolutely okay. Perhaps she had an allergic reaction to the potion, or maybe its just flu, of maybe a nasty side effect. I think..." he hesitated, "I think we should go back down to see Snape...just in case".

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes in a much exaggerated manner. "Since when did you get so responsible?".

"Must be all that time with Hermione", Harry laughed quietly.

"Reckon we should cast a cooling spell over her?", asked Ron.

Harry thought for a minute before declining, "the spell may react to the potion and make it worse. Probably best to leave it".

"Responsible and wise!", joked Ron, heading to the portrait hole. Harry laughed.

Ron had one leg over and was just about to climb out when he suddenly stopped and looked back over his shoulder to Harry, a serious expression on his face.

"What the hell is a ping pong ball?".

They had grabbed a piece of toast from the dining hall on their way to the dungeons, Ron now wiping his greasy buttered fingers into his school robes. Rounding the last corner they readied themselves for whatever insult, jibe, derision, taunt or otherwise unpleasant comment Snape would throw at them for coming to see him before classes actually started.

Reaching the door at the back of the classroom Harry pushed Ron forwards. "It's your turn this time". Ron simply glared at him before Harry gave him another shove forwards towards the door. Hesitantly, Ron lifted his hand, knocking on the door and then jumping away as if it were burning.

The door was thrown back and Severus Snape glared down at them, an incredulous look upon his face. "Sir..", Ron began, before the door was slammed shut only inches away from his face. Harry fought an urge to laugh at the expression on his friend's face, one of furious indignation, his cheeks and ears a blazing red. This time when he brought his hand to the door, he banged with his fist. Hard.

"What on earth do you want", Snape growled menacingly at them when once again the door was thrown open. Ron seemed to lose some of his new found courage under the furious gaze of the potions master.

"It's Hermione", he squeaked, before righting himself, and saying in a much lower tone "It's Hermione sir".

Harry stepped in. "She's passed out in the Gryffindor common room Sir. And she has a fever. We were just wondering whether that's a normal reaction to the anti-potion that you gave her".

"Are you questioning me boy?", spat Snape, taking a step out of the doorway to tower over Harry.

"No Sir, of course not. It's just, well, we're worried...".

"So why come here instead of Madame Pompfey?", Snape sneered.

"Well Sir, in your note you advised absolute discretion."

Damn, the boy was right.

"Let her sleep. It could just be that she was tired from her escapades last night and needs some rest. Perhaps she should stop trying to be the pet know-it-all and actually sleep once in a while", he sneered. "Stay there", he ordered before turning on his heel and walking back into his office.

"Do we looks like dogs?" muttered Ron angrily.

Moments later Snape was back, handing them a roll of parchment. "Give this to Miss Granger's Professors; it excuses her from her classes this morning", he told them. "Now, leave". The door was once again slammed into their faces.

Both Harry and Ron stood staring at the wooden door in front of them for a few moments.

"Woof", said Harry, before looking at Ron. Both cracked up, and were still laughing when they arrived at Transfiguration.

"'Mione... Hermione".

Someone was calling her name.

"You think she's alright mate?", the voice asked, growing distant. A different voice grew closer this time.

"Hermione?". There was a touch on her shoulder and a warm breath across her face. Her eyes fluttered open to find herself looking in to the eyes of Harry Potter. Behind his shoulder stood a worried looking Ron, who shifted from foot to foot, unable to contain his impatience.

Hermione sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes with bawled up fists.

"What time is it?" she groggily asked Harry.

"It's lunch time 'Mione", said Harry, Ron piping in to let her know that they'd brought her some "bloody amazing fried chicken" up from lunch for her.

It took only a few seconds for the words to sink in before she launched herself out of the chair. 'Oh God, oh God I must have fallen asleep. I was just so tired this morning. What did Professor Bins say? Professor McGonagall? I missed both History of Magic and Transfiguration? Were they mad? What did I miss?", she spluttered, beginning to pace with agitation before Harry grabbed a firm hold of her shoulders to calm her.

"Don't worry Hermione, we told the teachers that you weren't feeling very well and were having a lie down", he said, leading her back to the sofa and pushing her down onto it.

"But after five years we know you ever so well", smirked Ron, reaching into his bag and pulling out a textbook and roll of parchment. "Here", he said, handing it over. "This is the reading for Binns and here is the essay for McGonagall. But once you've done it, mind if I have a look over it, just for a summary y'know?". He looked at her with the best puppy god eyes he could muster which finally elicited a laugh from the panicked girl. Her heart rate slowed and she managed to hide the tremble in her hands as she took the parchment from Ron.

"I'll let you read the introduction and conclusion Ronald; you know you will never pass your O.W.L.s if you continue to copy all of my essays?".

"Copy!" Ron exclaimed, with a false look of betrayal across his face "Never!". A lop sided smile grew on his face and he gave her a quick peck on the cheek before walking to the boys dormitory.

She looked after him with a small smile on her face. Harry remained standing next to her though and out of her periphery she could see him looking at her. His face wore an expression of worry and concern as she turned to look at him.

"Do I have something on my face Harry?", she asked him. Why was he staring at her like that?

"No, of course not, it's just, well, are you sure you're okay Hermione?"

She wondered whether to tell him of what had happened this morning. Her sudden memory loss. Her actually falling asleep in front of a professor. He was her best friend after all. But no, she needed time to process the information, and research. She would need to go straight to the library.

"I'm fine", she lied, "just tired. Perhaps it's some 24 virus". If only, she thought snidely, 24 hours don't make you lose your mind and sleep in your professor's rooms.

Harry didn't look convinced but he kept his mouth shut, frowning ever so slightly. She gave him a small smile. She was lucky to have a best friend like him. If it was Ron worrying like this he would have bombarded her with questions until she either relented or broke down in tears of frustration but Harry was - calmer, more understanding

"Honestly Harry. Maybe I'll go and take another lie down though, just to make sure. Thank you". She touched his hand lightly in reassurance before turning to the girls dorm.

He looked slightly appeased but she had known him long enough to tell when there was something on his mind; a slight twitch of his sharp green eyes, the tiniest of frowns on his lips. They were only subtle nuances that were hard to catch. But she noticed. Still though he nodded and accepted her explanation without further question.

"Feel better 'Mione". He disappeared up the stone steps to the boys dormitory. Hermione felt bad lying to him, but the thought of what had actually happened was so mortifying she didn't know whether she'd every be able to tell anyone - ever! She wondered whether Snape had actually seen her sleeping. The rational part of her brain told her that of course he had, she had been in his sitting room after all, but then, why had he not just woken her up and sent her back to her dorm room? There were just so many questions that needed answers, and it seemed like only Snape could provide them, but she would be damned if she would voluntarily approach him, let alone even speak to him again such was her humiliation. The library would have to suffice.

She watched Harry's retreat with bated eyes and as soon as she could see he was gone she grabbed her satchel and school jumper from the sofa and ran towards the portrait hole, swinging it open and jumping through. She almost snorted as a voice in her mind exclaimed 'to the library!' as if a cavalry charge was about to begin. Smiling, she shut the portrait slowly, so as not to make any noise, and then almost jogged off in the direction of her favourite place in the castle.

Hermione has barricaded herself into a corner of the library with every book that she could possibly find on memory loss and amnesia, as well as a few scholarly, and highly controversial, articles on 'The Degenerative Wizarding Mind'. She had spent the last 40 minutes skim reading, only to come up empty handed.

"Drat", she growled, slamming the last book down with a resounding thud, loud enough to earn her a stern glare from Madam Pince.

Perhaps she would need to look into muggle science, she thought to herself, but there was no way she could do that before she went home for the holidays, and that was a month away.

Levitating the books back to their respective positions, Hermione glanced at her wrist watch.

"Double drat", she exclaimed, realising that she was late for the first class of the afternoon: ancient runes. Pulling herself up she began to pace out of the library, Professor Babbling was not one for late comers.

Just as soon as she had made it outside the library she felt her feet going from underneath her, and she landed sharply on the floor, the wind knocked out of her. Resisting the urge to cry she looked down and around her to see what could possibly have caused her to trip.

Bloody shoelace.

It was undone and flopped on the floor like a dying snake. Hermione resisted the urge to scream. Could this day get any worse?

Hauling herself up off the ground, she knelt to tie her shoelace. Picking up either end in both hand she simply looked at the piece of black lace in her hand. She crossed one over the other in a slow and cautious movement, before stopping.

Suddenly she cried out, leaping up and flattening herself against a wall.

I've forgotten how to tie my shoelaces.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

She couldn't exactly go pelting hel-mel through the castle with her lace untied though. Probably end up on the floor again. "Triple drat", she yelled to an empty entrance hall, before snatching both shoes from her feet, and making a run for her ancient runes class in just her socks.

That's it. I've gone mad.