Chapter Six

It was an odd combination of colors, orange and green.

The flames that still devoured the wreckage that was once his home were dulled only by the sickly green dark mark hovering overhead. The man in black stood in the contrasting light of the fire and the curse, watching it all burn, burn into ash and smoke. Nothing remained- not a single page from a single book. Every last bit of the man's childhood-his life- was in an instant gone.

The man himself grew weary. His shoulders sank; he sighed; he turned away from the blaze.

He had nothing. Nothing to his name. Nothing to call his own. And yet he had more than he ever thought he'd have again.

With one more turn, the man disappeared, and Spinner's End was deserted once more.


She had only been gone a year, how had she already forgotten where the Headmistress's office was?

Retracing her steps for the third time, an increasingly-frustrated Hermione tried once more to locate the stone gargoyle that stood between her and McGonagall. I swear that suit of armor is laughing at me, she thought scathingly as she paced down the same familiar hall. Now, it's a right, then a… left? Where's the staircase? There should be a staircase here….

"Aha!" she exclaimed triumphantly as said staircase moved into position.

"Hermione?"

Squeaking in fright, Hermione turned just as she was about to ascend the stone steps. Professor McGonagall was hurrying towards her, concern written across her features. "My dear, has something happened?"

"Oh!" Hermione was plagued with a sudden guilt. She hadn't until this moment considered the surprise and fear her unexpected appearance would cause. "Everything is fine!" she hurried to assure the older woman in front of her. "Nothing has happened. Well, not exactly." She paused then, not knowing exactly what to say.

Professor McGonagall seemed to understand. After a moment she nodded. "Follow me, Miss Granger. I'd prefer not to have a conversation out in the middle of the hall."

Up the stairs they went, quietly ascending the castle until they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmistress's office. In lieu of a password, Professor McGonagall reached out a hand and gestured to the side- the gargoyle seemed to take the hint and jumped from its podium.

"Impressive," Hermione murmured as they walked past the guardian.

Professor McGonagall smiled over her shoulder. "Yes, well, I've never been one for passwords myself."

"But Gryffindor Tower requires passwords." The stairs began gliding upwards, and Hermione held onto a rail to steady herself.

"Simply tradition," the other woman replied.

The doors to the office appeared around the final curve of the staircase. As the stairs halted, Professor McGonagall pushed the doors open and gestured Hermione through them.

"So, it's official then?" She asked as she looked around at the mostly empty office, boxes lining the walls and a green tartan rug covering the floor. "Are you officially named the Headmistress?"

"It's all but written in stone at this point," she answered as she took her seat at the large claw-footed desk. "Now, sit. Tell me what's troubling you."

"At this point," Hermione sighed as she collapsed into the chair across the desk, "it'd be easier to list what isn't troubling me." Her former Professor waited patiently as she collected her thoughts, staring at her clasped hands. "Do you… you had said that… that if I ever needed anything…"

"That you could come to me, yes. What is it, Hermione? What do you need?"

"I need a room."

Hermione hadn't looked up when she said it, but she glanced up in the following silence. Professor McGonagall was staring inquisitively at her, and Hermione chaffed under the gaze. "This week has been impossibly difficult," she continued. "Between the funerals, the attack, the Order meeting- and I haven't had a single opportunity to process any of it!" Quietly, she continued, "I don't have a place that I can go to really be by myself, to give myself an opportunity to breathe and sleep and think. I need just one moment of peace in my life."

After a long moment in which Hermione began to wonder about the validity of her request, Professor McGonagall nodded and stood. "I assume you still know how to get to Gryffindor Tower?" she asked. Hermione nodded.

"There is no password over the summer months," she said, walking over to one of the paintings on the wall. "I will send a portrait to let the Fat Lady know to expect you."

"Thank you so much, Professor!" Hermione was overcome with relief. Professor McGonagall offered her a small smile.

"I understand how you're feeling, Hermione," she spoke. "Gryffindor Common Room is open to you any time you need it. But please remember, dear, that being alone- while it might bring you clarity- will not heal your wounds. You need companionship in times like these. You need family."

Hermione shied away from the implications in her words. "Yes, Professor," she whispered. "I will remember that."

"Good." Professor McGonagall turned to share a few words with a portrait, which in turn scurried off out of frame. "Would you like me to walk you to the tower?"

"It isn't necessary," Hermione replied. "I can find my way back. But would you mind if I sent a note to Harry and the others before I head out?"

"No need," Professor McGonagall replied. "I will alert them. Have a safe night, Hermione."

Before she passed over the threshold Hermione turned. "Thank you," she replied. "I really appreciate this." At her Professor's nod, she descended the stairs.


Hermione's relief did not last.

Finding the Gryffindor Tower was not something she could forget in just one year, not after countless trips down numerous halls over the span of her school days. Within minutes, her feet knew how to get her there and her head began to wander, her thoughts muddled in her fatigue.

She was back at Hogwarts. Her second home- a place where despite its many challenges had always, to her, felt safe. The air, despite the comfortable summer temperatures outdoors, never seemed to warm much this far into the castle, but the coolness on her skin felt refreshing. The familiar stone walls were glowing softly in the torchlight, and the shadows that danced across the surfaces were oddly calming. She smiled. It had been so long since she walked these halls in any sort of peace.

It didn't take much time before she saw something out of place and she paused. Scorch marks- taller than she but striking against the bare patch of wall- stood out against the stone. She reached out a hand, gently following the line that trailed from one end of the hall to the other, and her smile faded. The marks were a harsh reminder of the thing she most wished she could forget. It brought back memories, not from her school days but from when she returned here; a member of an army, a defender, ready for battle. It was in this hall that she and Ron fought side by side, blocking spells and shielding the flames-

Hermione shook her head sharply, and the visions of light and chaos faded reluctantly from her mind. She couldn't think like that, not now. Not when she was alone, at night, cold and surrounded by shadows.

Her thoughts gradually began to darken the more she looked around. The last time she had been here had been nothing short of terrifying. The torches weren't the only things that had lit the halls, then. The air had blown freely through broken windows and torn apart stone as spells painted the castle in vibrant, terrifying color. The shadows had been far from calming; each dark blot that moved across her vision was another brush with potential death, lurking around corners, in doorways. A sudden shiver came across her as these thoughts flooded her mind, and she wrapped her arms around herself, her breath coming quicker as she hurried her step.

The shadows seemed to be closing in on her. What was once a refreshing coolness became an icy chill and as she turned a corner she was overcome with a feeling that she was no longer alone. She clutched at her wand nervously as she tightened the thin traveling cloak around her shoulders, her eyes darting around. There is no reason I should be worried, she thought to herself. I am safe. Professor McGonagall is here. I refuse to turn around now. I am safe.

Her thoughts grew darker, still. A bit of wall was still crumbled to her left. Perhaps this, here, is where someone- a classmate, maybe- had lost their life. She wondered then how many new ghosts Hogwarts would end up housing. She wondered if she would recognize anyone. Her breath hitched.

When she turned another corner and noticed a moving tapestry she froze. Shaking, she raised her wand and prayed it wasn't one of Them or worse, Her. "Stupefy!" Her voice shook, and the spell bounced off the wall behind the tapestry harmlessly. It didn't stop her from backing out of the hall in a panic.

She turned, quickly, stumbling into a statue of a cruel looking wizard. She looked up into the fiercely etched features- the disapproving sneer, the glaring eyes, and the threatening outstretched wand- and shouted. Visions of the battle swimming in front of her, she threw herself down the hall. Her breath came in hitches, her feet stumbled, and soon she collapsed, curled into a ball against a suit of armor, unable to breathe and drowning in memories.


Severus Snape had nowhere to go. His house had burned, he had no money, and he had no family.

But he had a friend, and his friend had a giant castle. A giant castle with many rooms and hardly anyone to fill them.

As much as he despised asking favors- his track record with them wasn't great- he felt that tonight, homeless as he was, he could make an exception.

Thus, the halls of Hogwarts Castle found themselves in the company of an old friend.

Snape found himself in poor spirits on his way up towards the Headmistress's Office. His day had not gone very well. After hours of sensing that something terrible had happened and having to wait for one distraught girl-child to finally appear to find out exactly what had transpired, only for her to give him very little of what he actually needed to know; after the headache of convincing the St Mungo's healers that he was perfectly capable of overseeing the rest of his care himself; after arriving to his home on Spinner's End, the only reasonably valuable bit of property he owned, just in time to watch the last of it burn to the ground-

And now, on his way to insuring a cup of warm tea and a bed, he found himself very much not alone in his suffering.

Snape stopped short in one of the long hallways leading to the Headmistress's Office. His initial thought of why is there a student out of bed took him by surprise, but was quickly followed by another: Merlin, what has happened now?

There, mere strides from him, was a young woman, curled up in front of a suit of armor and wrapped in a cloak. He could see the massive amount of curls from where he stood, and recognized her at once.

"Miss… Granger?"

The shadowed mass that was Hermione Granger stirred. He heard her take a shuddering breath and sob.

Fearing something had happened- because why else would Granger be curled up in the hallway on the way to the Headmistress's office? - he raced to her side. "Miss Granger?" he called again, kneeling by her.

The girl didn't move. He ran a hand through his hair, surveying the hall, looking for clues as to why she was here, in this condition. He saw nothing. He tried again. "Miss Granger, what happened?" When she didn't reply but continued to sob, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her up into a sitting position. She didn't pull away from him, but he felt her stiffen. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her eyes were wide in terror as they darted around the hall, her breathing was hitched, and she was shivering, the wand in her hand shaking as she clutched it close. He knew what this was without performing legilimency- she couldn't escape whatever memory she was reliving.

"Miss Granger, listen to me," he spoke clearly- at his voice she jerked her eyes back to him and he placed his palms on either side of her head, fingers tangling in the hair at her neck. "What you are seeing isn't real. You are safe. Focus on my eyes, Miss Granger."

Despite his words the girl squeezed her eyes shut and quivered under his fingers, whispering something he couldn't hear, repeating it urgently. He began to repeat himself, but her eyes flew open and in one tense move she grabbed his wrists tightly and clutched to him, her wand clattering to the floor between them. Looking up into his face she breathed, "Say my name." Snape swallowed.

"Miss Grang-"

"No, my name!"

Her voice came out as a desperate cry, a sob following shortly after. The girl was falling apart in front of him. His hands released her despite her grip on his wrists, hovering over her shoulders in uncertainty. Her head fell forward and her hair, chaotic as it was, fell into her face and stuck to her tears. "Please," she whispered, barely a breath, and gripped his wrists tighter.

"Hermione." The name sounded foreign to his ears, but the moment he said it he could tell it made a difference. Her breath hitched and when she looked up into his gaze once more her face became less distraught, and through the hands still gripping his wrists he could tell her shaking had lessened fractionally. He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her gaze.

"Hermione Granger, you are at Hogwarts. The war is over. You told me that yourself, when I woke up. Do you remember?"

Hermione took in a deep, shuddering breath and released his wrists. Her head leaned back against the wall as she pulled from his hold, her eyes closed, and an entirely different kind of sob escaped her throat. A delicate, shaking hand came up to push against the fresh tears as she cried, "I can't… I can't…."

Snape was at a loss and quite frankly far from his element. "What can't you do?" he asked, unsure of what else he should say. "Hermione, you're safe. You don't have to fight anymore." She shook her head again. When she opened her eyes, she looked at him miserably.

"I can't forget them," she whispered, despondent.

Snape gave a great sigh and let his hands fall to his knees. Studying her, he finally realized that this was no mere girl that sat in front of him. She was a warrior, a fighter, and every bit the victim of a terrible, terrible war she should have had no part in. And her heart was shattering.

His legs were burning. He slid to her side and sat, resting his back against the wall. Her head fell to her knees, and her eyes tracked him as he moved. They sat in silence, next to each other, her cries fading to the occasional hiccup.

He broke the silence first. "You witnessed many terrible things that night." It wasn't a question. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod. "How many times has this happened to you?"

She sniffed. "A few," she whispered.

He grimaced. He knew there was a reason she wasn't sleeping; he had already guessed that it was the after effect of the war, but he had hoped that that was all, and that she was having no more difficulty except adjusting to life as it is now. Not so lucky, then, he thought.

He had seen this before, after the first war. From a distance he watched as the people around him suffered, their lives falling apart around them, in their own heads. He had experienced a bit of it himself. It was not something he wished on anyone who fought as bravely, as determinedly, as her.

He turned his concern back on the young woman at his side. "Tell me," he asked, "how have you dealt with this in the past?"

Her arms wrapped tighter around her bent knees, and she scrutinized her shoes. "I told you," she responded quietly. "I kept busy."

"You kept busy to keep from having these… panics. What have you done when they came anyway?"

She shifted and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Professor McGonagall used my name, before. It was unusual. It brought me back to reality."

That explained earlier, then. "It's good you were able to remember that," he replied, giving her a quick nod of approval. "What about the other times?"

The hall was rather dark, but he could still make out a blush forming on her face. "I…" she mumbled something incoherent, and when he raised his eyebrow at her, she hurriedly explained, "I would take your pulse." After a short pause, she elaborated, "Counting your heart's beat, feeling it beneath my fingers, helped me ground myself. It kept me from getting too lost."

A silence crept over the two.

Why could he not think of anything to say to that?

His discomfort grew to a breaking point.

In a hurry Snape pushed himself up to his feet. As irrational as it sounded even to him, the girl had used him. She had used him like a tool. He wished he felt angry. He wished he could lash out. The truth was, he felt very little- just a mild sense of unease and embarrassment. It was not something he enjoyed feeling regardless.

He barely heard it- barely registered it- but from the spot on the floor he heard her quietly breathed "I'm sorry" and felt that unease grow.

"Miss Granger why are you here?" he asked, looking down at her. She flinched, and he realized his words came out sharper than he had intended them to. Well, he thought, it's just as well. I pity her; I'm not here as a friend. Despite his internal thoughts, he reached down a hand and helped her to her feet. "What are you doing in a dark hallway of Hogwarts at this time of night?" he asked again, making an effort to sound less harsh.

The traveling cloak she wore was too thin for this castle, even in the summer. She pulled it close to her as she crossed her arms protectively. "I came to ask Professor McGonagall for a place to stay tonight," she answered him, looking just over his shoulder. "I needed some time away from… everything," she sighed.

"And?"

He would have been amused with how many times he seemed to confuse her, how many times she gave him that furrowed brow and questioning eyes, if it hadn't been for the day he had. "Well, did you see her? Did she give you a room?" he clarified in a huff.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "She said I could stay in Gryffindor Tower. I was on my way there when…" she looked down at the ground, saw her wand resting at the foot of the suit of armor, and bent to retrieve it. When she stood, she glanced up and met his eyes- he suddenly realized that he had been staring.

"And why," he asked, "would you be needing rooms here?" His initial concerns came back to him. "Has something happened?"

"Nothing more than what we discussed earlier," she sighed, looking up at him sheepishly. "I just… needed some time… I haven't been alone in a long while and I need to sort things through in my head," she rushed out.

If it was one thing Snape could appreciate, it was being alone. "Then allow me to escort you to Gryffindor Tower," he responded. As soon as he said it, he saw her remaining discomfort melt away. There was a time she would quake at being escorted back to her tower in my presence, he thought with a curiosity as they made their way through the castle. Now, she is comforted. War changes so many things…


"Why didn't you tell me how damaged she is?!" Snape demanded, pacing the office.

Minerva McGonagall huffed as she sorted a stack of papers. "Because she's not damaged. She's struggling."

Snape turned and stared at her. "She can't hold onto reality. Her brain is tricking her into seeing things so terrible she can't eat, much less sleep."

"That doesn't make her damaged, Severus."

"It makes her something!" He threw himself roughly into the chair in front of her desk, leaning towards her. "And what have people been doing for her? Besides sending her to Gryffindor Tower by herself in a terrifyingly empty castle."

McGonagall plopped her papers down while giving him a dissatisfied glare. "Is there anything I can help you with, or are you content with huffing at me for the time being?"

Snape returned the glare, crossing his arms as he leaned back into the chair. "I have no home. It's been burned to the ground."

McGonagall blinked, stunned. "When?"

"Fairly recently, judging from the fact that it's still on fire."

"Revenge?"

"The dark mark was hovering overhead."

McGonagall sighed. "I'm sorry. I presume you need a room."

"Just for the night. Preferably not in Gryffindor Tower," he requested with a pointed stare, "as apparently it is occupied."

"For someone with nowhere to go you sure are snappy," she replied, but a smile tugged at her lips. "I've just finished moving out of my old rooms, if you'd like. I'm afraid I've occupied yours."

"You haven't burned my things as well, have you?"

She snorted. "I'll have a house elf send you whatever survived."

After a moment she glanced up from her papers. "Can I help with anything else?" she asked brusquely.

"You still haven't answered my question about Miss Granger. What is being done for her?"

McGonagall waved her wand and her papers filed themselves away. "Severus, I promise you I have not dismissed Miss Granger from my mind. I have spoken to her about what she's going through and I've suggested to her that retrieving her parents would only help. She is convinced it is yet too dangerous to do so." She paused, surveying him over her glasses, before adding, "You'll notice that she came here when she needed help."

Snape massaged his lower lip in thought. "She is right to leave her parents where they are- where are they, anyway? She hid them very well," he said.

"That I do not know," she answered, "but I disagree. I don't think she should leave them. We are perfectly capable of protecting her parents from any harm now that the war is over."

Snape snorted. "You always have been optimistic," he said. "The latest attack and my house burning down are two prime examples of the dangers she's trying to keep them from. The war may be over, but the fighting isn't, and she's smart enough to realize that."

"Speaking of the fighting," she replied, taking the conversation somewhere else, "how much do you know? Did Hermione update you on everything?"

"She brought me the paper. That's all I know of it." He began picking at a piece of lint at his sleeve and continued, "Apparently things were a bit… heated… at the Order meeting. She couldn't focus."

A humorless smile fell across McGonagall's face. "Yes, Harry's decision worried many of us. And don't roll your eyes at me, Severus. I myself was hoping that he would finally have a peaceful year now that this was over- to just be a student and not, for once, a savior." Before Snape could add what was sure to be a snarky comment, she continued, "Do you want to know what the Order discussed or not?"

His eyebrow rose at her brashness. "It would be appreciated, yes. Who does the Order think is behind the attack?"

"It's too soon to tell. It could be a copycat for all we know. But the likelihood of that is slim- apparently it was very reminiscent of former Death Eater activity."

"So it's most likely a Death Eater on the run." McGonagall nodded. "But is it a lone person or is it a group? And what do they wish to gain?"

"All evidence points to it being a small group of wizards. As for the motive…" she held his gaze uncomfortably, "we were hoping you could put that into perspective."

Snape sat quietly for a moment, rubbing his bottom lip in thought. "I will need to see a list of Death Eaters that have been captured or killed," he said slowly. "I can see if there are any unaccounted for." He shifted in his chair. "I will also need to speak to Narcissa."

"Narcissa Malfoy?" McGonagall's eyebrows rose as she summoned a few official documents to Snape, who pocketed them inside his robes. "Why?"

"Because I need information," he sighed. "While I was Headmaster here I was quite busy. I was excused from many of the smaller meetings Voldemort held. I may have missed something important."

"And you think Narcissa will give you the information willingly?"

"She will."

"What makes you so sure?"

Snape stood, adjusting his robes as he prepared to leave. "Because Narcissa only loves one thing more than herself, and that is her son. She'll do anything to ensure he has a friend at his trial."


Hermione barely had enough energy to make it to one of the plush red sofas in the common room before sleep overtook her. It was only two hours later when she lurched awake, a scream stuck in her throat and adrenaline racing. Where am I? "Lumos," she whispered, and her wand threw the Gryffindor Common Room into light.

Oh, right.

Her frazzled nerves began to settle as she looked around. The common room was eerily quiet- more quiet than those late nights where the boys and she would sneak out in the early hours of the night. There was no evidence of any student life- no piles of abandoned textbooks, no misplaced robes, no half-finished games of Exploding Snap or any of the other small things that would usually have filled the common room with a sense of life. It was unsettling, and Hermione turned away from the stark room to light the fireplace instead.

Once the fire was crackling, she propped herself up on some plush throw pillows and stared into the flames. Unfortunately for her, while she couldn't quite remember what dream had awoken her, the fear still lingered and her heart just now began to settle. As there was little point in attempting sleep for the moment, she settled in for some introspective examination. She had wanted a room to think, and she was going to waste no more time. But where to start?

Harry. Let's start with Harry. Hermione hated to admit it, but Snape had been right. She was going to be returning to Hogwarts without Ron and Harry in the fall, and she didn't know how she would handle that. The two boys and she had been nearly inseparable since their first year. She had never considered the possibility that they might not finish school together. And now, being in the Gryffindor Common Room alone, it secured her sadness. Her heart felt empty at being left behind.

And behind that emptiness, she felt an immense amount of self-loathing. On a logical stance, she understood how Harry felt, and she could even understand why Ron would want to go as well. So why couldn't she be supportive? Why did their decision hurt her so much? Why couldn't she just get over it?

She was struggling. She had to admit that to herself. The panics she was experiencing, the sleeplessness and the lack of appetite- she knew the signs. She knew she wasn't getting better, as she had hoped, with time. How long could she keep going like this? If Snape hadn't found her earlier…

And then there was Snape. She ran her hands through her hair- as much as she could before the snarls caught her fingers and she had to shake them loose. Snape was another concern to her. She had been so dependent on him lately- and while she was aware of how unhealthy that could be, she was afraid of what it meant now that she wouldn't have that support. Now that he had no need of her, it was just another goodbye she had to face. She hadn't thought too much of it, but she had enjoyed her conversations with him this past week. It was surprisingly pleasant, hearing his sarcastic commentary of their misadventures- a word he himself had used to describe their last year on occasion. He had given her a new perspective on things, and once, just once, he had even made her laugh. She smiled, thinking back on it, and her sadness grew. Now that he no longer needed her- for care, for information- she doubted he would seek her out in the future. What would he do now? Would she see him again?

She pushed past that thought quickly. The idea of not seeing him again hurt, and that hurt confused her. She was tired of being confused.

Instead her thoughts drifted to Ron, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. She knew, knew, that she had once had such strong feelings for Ronald Weasley. She remembered them as a distant memory, soft and blurred. There were times when the feelings came back, in an intense moment of clarity, and it was all she could do not to cry as she swam in the feeling of his embrace, of his kisses, of his hand on hers. But most of the time… most of the time she felt very little. It was astounding that in the nothingness she felt when she thought of him there loomed such a feeling of guilt and remorse. For years she had dreamt of the relationship she had now, with the man she had loved for so long as more than a friend, and now that she had it, it didn't feel real. She felt as if she was putting up an act, behaving only as she felt she should be, but not how she truly felt. She was not only lying to herself, she was lying to the world.

It was odd then, when such a nothingness filled her in their relationship, that she still felt lost when she learned of his desire to leave. But it was up to her, wasn't it, to be supportive? Even though, she thought with a bitterness she quickly tried to squash, his intentions were not expressed directly to her in the first place? Despite this, he needed her to stand by his side and strengthen his resolve- the supportive way a girlfriend should. Her feelings were not the only ones in this relationship, and she had to remember that despite how hard it was for her to ignore his future absence from her. And she wanted that, didn't she? Her boyfriend at her side?

Her fingers writhed together, and when she looked down at her hands she chuckled, remembering the last time they had taken this kind of abuse from her. "By all means, continue twisting your fingers into knots." Snape had brought a genuine laugh from her that day, despite all the sadness that had been surrounding her. It was such a refreshing breath of air to be around someone outside of all of the sorrow and gloom that seemed to hover over the Burrow. With a pang in her chest she realized just how much she would miss it.

She shook her head and hovered another log onto the fire. It was time to focus less on the past and move forward.

She knew that her feelings towards Harry and Ron were temporary. She understood that, even if she couldn't feel it. The three had been through worse, much worse, and had come out just fine. With that in mind, she decided to try her hardest to be supportive of Harry and Ron, despite her underlying disappointment.

She still had the Ward Task Force research to complete. She supposed that, since Snape would have no need of her, it would make for a good use of her spare time. On top of that, she had a new school year to prepare for and the Order was still heavily involved in the post-war cleanup. She had plenty of things to keep her occupied- she didn't need to rely on Snape to keep her busy anymore. It was both a freeing and a heavy thought.

"Alright then," she said aloud as she reached for her bag, "I think it's time for a plan."

Her thoughts a bit less muddled, she pulled out a parchment, quill, and the Ward book. Sleep would not come for her for a while yet, she could feel it. Might as well get busy.


A/N: Wow, guys. I didn't think this chapter would be quite so long. I had to cut it short- there was supposed to be one more scene! But there were some powerful moments in this chapter and I felt like the scenes needed to be full. I know that overall a lot didn't happen in this chapter, but hopefully there was a connection and Hermione has finally gotten some peace of mind so things will move a bit more smoothly for her in the future. Let me know what you think!