Disclaimer: Hey, in case you got your hopes up between the last chapter and this one, Harry Potter still isn't mine.
Chapter Nine
Hermione made a beeline for the library and was soon nestled in her little nook, staring blankly at a random page with watery eyes. She re-read the same sentence at least ten times, but after finding that she couldn't absorb the content she closed it.
Sitting in there, alone, gave her time to reflect upon what had happened in the Room with Cedric. Everything had been just fine until Cho Chang's name came up.
She clamped down on the inside of her cheek to keep her tears in their tear ducts. She had been his girlfriend before he got murdered. It was none of Hermione's business what went on in his love life, anyway.
Her heartbeat stuttered for a moment and for a second she couldn't take a breath.
She really didn't care.
But you do, her conscience whispered softly.
No. He was only her friend and that was that, Hermione thought with a frown.
Deny it all you want, but you can't ignore what you feel.
Hermione's heart thudded in her chest and her throat constricted as a knot began to form inside. She started blinking rapidly to disperse her tears, but they kept building, resulting in further blurring her vision.
Hermione shook her head forcefully, unintentionally allowing a few tears to leak out. No, she thought, roughly rubbing the back of her sleeve across her cheeks to angrily wipe the salty wetness away. She couldn't let herself think like that. It was illogical.
"Oh, this is just ridiculous!" She muttered. Her tears dried as frustration set in. "Of all the things to get upset about, this is the most childish and nonsensical."
Even as she said it, however, she couldn't ignore the seed of doubt that planted itself in her mind, murmuring softly that she knew it wasn't true.
But how could she care? He was a ghost, for Merlin's sake! It wasn't possible, let alone reasonable! Besides that, a relationship with him would be unrealistic.
Besides that one freak incident all those months ago, she couldn't even touch him. How would it ever work out if they couldn't hold hands? Hug?
...Kiss?
Hermione colored a deep shade of red at the idea, and the fact that it wasn't from immaturity made her blush deepen. Her face turned a deep shade of burgundy at how appealing it sounded to her - kissing him.
All of a sudden, her imagination ran away with her –
Herself and Cedric sitting by the fire, cuddling and talking away at all hours of the night –
Herself and Cedric strolling across the castle grounds hand-in-hand on a fair-weathered day –
Herself getting lost in his eyes, leaning closer and closer until his lips were barely a hairsbreadth away –
"No!" she exclaimed, jerking herself from her startling thoughts. She ducked her head right after, blushing in embarrassment at the particularly loud chorus of shushes she received in response to her loud outburst.
Her heart was galloping at a racehorse's speed in her chest, her breathing ragged and uneven.
As she took in deep gulps of air to calm herself back down, she wondered, still slightly horrified by herself, Where did that come from?
She was ashamed to admit that despite the fact that she didn't know, she was not regretful.
Going back to Gryffindor tower was a tedious task if one was coming from the library.
She had thirty minutes until she was supposed to be up there for curfew, in the common room at least, but with the teetering stack of books in her arms her hopes of making it in time were quickly beginning to diminish. She readjusted her arms around her large bounty of thick, dusty old volumes – six in all, each weighing, Hermione guessed, about three or four kilograms each. It didn't seem like much individually, but all together that equaled around eighteen to twenty-four kilograms, which put a killer strain on her arms and lower back.
Luckily, she was accustomed to this sort of pain; something that was a bit of a blessing since she carried books just like these all the time.
She finally reached the portrait hole, and just in time, too – the tall wooden grandfather clock in the common room let out its familiar deep, three note run as she stepped through. It was a Friday night, and most of the Gryffindors were down in the common room; not that that was much of a surprise.
Two or three different games of Wizard's Chess were going on simultaneously around the room, in their customary corners, and a few groups of students had started up games of Exploding Snap on the floor. She spotted Ron and Harry, sitting on one of the couches, Ginny on the other, talking every now and again. Their conversation didn't really seem to be going anywhere.
As Hermione stared on, she realized something. No matter how much had gone on, she needed to move on. She hadn't cut off all ties with her friends, but things just weren't as easy as they used to be since they began talking again, off and on over the past couple of months. And as she looked at each of their faces, she saw something in common between them.
Frown lines etched into the corners of their mouths, as if they had all been doing so a lot recently, and dark bags under their eyes from lack of sleep. They didn't seem as happy anymore, now that she really stopped and thought about it. And while her Hufflepuff friends were great, these people were the ones she had grown up alongside for the past six years. She had spent holidays with them, gone on courageous adventures with them. Heck, she could even throw in that bit about being a part of the Golden Trio!
The point was that she realized that they must miss her, too, the same way she missed them. So she slowly, ever so slowly, made her way over to them.
Ron was the first to notice, looking up as her shuffling feet drew closer.
He let out a gasp of surprise but choked it down too late; Hermione had heard it and offered him a small smile of encouragement in return. Harry saw her just after, his green eyes locking with hers for a moment and sparkling with pure joy for the first time in a while, his lips tugging up at the corners, but only a tenth of a second before Ginny. Ginny's blue eyes sparked and brightened immediately and she looked as though it was taking everything she had to keep from jumping up hugging her to death.
They were all so shocked that no one, not a single one of the three sitting, said a word.
Hermione set down her books beside the couch, and straightened herself. Waiting.
Harry was the one to break the silence. "Hermione," he hesitated for a moment but caught himself, his eyes speaking volumes that his voice could not convey. Guilt. Shame. "We're…we're all really, truly sorry."
Hermione stood there before them, looking over each of them. They all had the same emotions written on their faces; Ron's eyes were downcast, staring unseeingly at the floor, his knuckles clenched tightly in his lap. Ginny's hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers twisting and tugging on each other. The moment dragged on for a few more beats of silence, long enough for Hermione to realize that they were waiting for her to speak. Her eyes softened as she looked at them.
"I forgive you." She whispered finally, "All of you." Ron's eyes flickered upward, locking onto her face, her eyes, as if searching for a reason not to believe her. His tense body relaxed a little, so Hermione guessed he found it. Harry gave a small, nearly undetectable sigh of relief, but Hermione heard it. Still, she was waiting. She looked at Ginny, the only one who had yet to react.
After what seemed like hours of silence, Ginny spoke, her voice soft and gentle. "Come on, Hermione. I saved you a seat." She patted the empty cushion beside her and Hermione smiled gratefully before obligingly without a single word of protest.
Even after all this time…
She looked around at all of her childhood friends, taking in the way things fell right back into how they used to be.
They were still there for her.
She was crying now, but this time it was with happiness as she let loose peals of laughter with her friends as they exchanged stories the way they always had.
They discussed everything that had happened over the past few months – they'd talked here and there in classes and such, but speaking as freely as this among each other had felt so uncomfortable before. Additionally, the thought of having anything to do with Ronald had been too unbearable for Hermione anyway, so it wasn't like she could sit down and have a good heart-to-heart with Ginny the way she used to during the group's stalemate.
Although the pain of that Hogsmeade trip still hadn't left – every time Hermione looked at Ron, her heart still gave a tight squeeze – it was finally bearable. It had gradually been subdued as the need for his presence had grown. The redheaded boy was stubborn, obnoxious, loud and messy, but he was also her loyal best friend.
And then there was Harry; good, honest, loving Harry. He had been the best friend Hermione had ever had next to Ron, but her bond with Harry was deeper in a different way.
While her feelings of friendship with Ron had grown into something more in a romantic sense, what she had with Harry had become something else entirely. Since she was an only child, he was the closest thing she had ever had to a sibling and she assumed the same went for him. He offered her comfort when she felt upset about something, an ear to listen to what she had to say coupled with sincere, kind words of advice, and a shoulder to cry on when she ever felt the need. Harry was her rock, really, and she took up all the same roles for him. He was the main reason why she had decided to stay friends with Ron.
Well, him and Ginny.
Ginny. The name made her heart ache and her stomach twist guiltily. Ginny had always been there for her, never failing to go out of her way to make sure Hermione was happy. Her sassy attitude and firecracker personality usually helped Ginny get Hermione to smile or laugh when it seemed that nothing else could. She provided her with guy advice that Hermione couldn't – or, in most cases, wouldn't – ask the boys about. Their relationship had been so easygoing and comfortable. Ginny had become something like a little sister to Hermione, one of the dearest people to her heart, and Hermione couldn't let that go.
She couldn't let any of them go.
The grandfather clock in the corner struck two o'clock in the morning, and the four friends knew it was time to part ways until morning. Their eyes were growing heavy as the need for sleep began to set in, so they stood, hugged, and walked up their designated staircases. Hermione's feet trudged slowly up the stairs, her feet feeling slightly heavier, as if there were weights around her ankles to weigh them down.
Finally she made it to her dorm. She slipped in through the door quietly, closing it softly behind her and noiselessly shuffled across the room to her bed. She didn't bother changing into her night clothes and merely nudged off her shoes, loosened her tie, and flopped onto her bed on her stomach. Her eyelids shuttered closed, relief registering in her brain as her eyes were met with inky blackness, and she drifted off to sleep almost instantly.
She opened her eyes and was greeted by a foggy landscape and twinkling night sky, each star like a tiny pinprick-sized diamond pressed into a dark fabric. If she held up her hand, the moon would probably have been no bigger than the pad of her thumb.
Clouds suddenly set in, rolling across the sky and obscured the moon and stars from her view. As she looked around at her surroundings, a wave of nausea crashed into her and the beginnings of a headache set in. A wintry breeze blew past her, blasting in her face. Goosebumps appeared up and down her arms and legs even though she was still in her uniform skirt, long-sleeved shirt, tights, and gray sweater vest with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the front.
Something didn't feel quite right.
She was seated on limp, frost covered grass that was cold enough that its chill reached through the protection her tights gave her legs. She shivered involuntarily.
She opened her mouth to speak, to mention something about how cold it was or not knowing where she was, but no words tumbled out. She was horrified to find that her voice was mute. Where am I? She thought, alarm sparking deep within herself. What is this place?
It had a familiarity to it that Hermione couldn't seem to place, but she set that feeling aside, forcing herself to swallow her fear. She decided the best thing to do given her circumstances was to have a good nose around to see if she could find something that could help her figure out where she was. She moved to stand but found herself frozen in place.
She turned in her seated position to see a large, looming silhouette standing amid the dense fog, straining her eyes to make out more details. The fog slowly began to clear, taking her confusion with it as it revealed wooden bleachers. She took in each of the long, wooden benches and the different signs and banners hung around them. She read one that said, "Hogwarts will dominate!" in large golden script and another close by that had the words, "Harry the Champion!" written across the sign in bold red lettering. A sky blue banner with shiny gold trim around the edges was hung on one side, bearing the name and slogan of the French school, Beauxbatons, and a few feet beside it was a smaller one, this one a deep maroon color, that said, "Durmstrang's Victor Krum will get the cup!"
Her brain processed it and she finally realized where she was – the stands for all of the students of the competing schools for the Triwizard Tournament.
That's when she noticed that she was not alone. Someone else was there, sitting on the Hogwarts side of the stands.
Cedric, Her mind whispered.
He was clothed in his champion uniform, the yellow and black checkered pattern sticking out like a sore thumb against their otherwise desolate, empty surroundings. She regarded him curiously. What was he doing here?
"I thought it would be easy enough to guess." Cedric said. Hermione jumped, startled.
Could he–?
He quirked a dark eyebrow. "Hear your thoughts?" She nodded, eyes wide. Cedric smiled a little. "Yeah."
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. That was impossible.
He looked at her, raising his brows in amusement. "Nothing is impossible, Hermione." Hermione watched him in amazement as he moved slowly down the stairs, past rows upon rows of benches. He stopped at the bottommost row and walked out to the railing, gazing at her across the four or five meters that separated them. "You can talk now, you know." He said after a while.
Hermione let out a deep breath, only just realizing that she had apparently been holding it in. "You still didn't answer my question," Hermione told him quietly. "Why are you here?" She asked.
She heard a thud from her left, cutting Cedric off before he could get the words out. Surprise flitted across her face as she turned to look.
"Don't," Cedric warned her.
Hermione looked at him quizzically over her shoulder. "What?"
"You know what." He frowned, furrowing his brows. "You know what's happening."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione whispered, but as soon as the words tumbled out, she began to feel something stir in the back of her mind.
A memory? She couldn't really tell what it was and since it wasn't strong enough to surface, she ignored Cedric's cautious warning and looked anyway.
One look was enough for her to understand the urgency in his voice.
Seeing those eyes again broke her. Lifeless eyes. Dead eyes.
Unseeing and empty.
Those were not his eyes; they couldn't be.
A gut-wrenching wail ripped through her throat. "CEDRIC!" she screamed, reaching over to desperately shake his body. "Stop this right now," she demanded, tears pooling in her eyes. She took his face between her hands and shook it. "Cedric, quit joking around and sit up!"
He was cold and still beneath her palms. No heartbeat in his chest or warmth in his body. No movement of blood in his veins. No color in his lips or cheeks.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she choked out, "You can't be dead, Cedric!"
"I'm not," his voice interrupted her, the lifeless body in the grass disappearing in a puff of smoke.
Hermione looked up with unshed tears shining in her eyes to see the other Cedric standing right in front of her, momentarily having forgotten about him in her panic. "What do you mean?"
"There's still time, Hermione," Cedric told her gently.
"How much?" Hermione asked, urgency lacing into her voice.
He disregarded her question and continued to speak as if she hadn't uttered a word. "You're close, but you need help," he said. He looked around suddenly, his face dawning a look of desperation. He looked back at her, his eyes shining with fear. He started speaking again but his words were coming out quickly and somewhat jumbled up. "You need to hurry. Your time is almost out."
"Where do I go?" Hermione blurted. A million questions were bubbling up in her mind, and she knew that she had to talk quickly if she wanted to ask them all. "How close am I to helping you?"
"Hurry," he whispered, the terror on his face more than she could bear.
"What do I do?" Hermione cried out to him, leaning forward to grab him just as his body vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Hermione's hands empty.
The stands were melting away into nothingness, the fog swallowing up everything.
"Tell me, Cedric!" she begged, swallowing hard to dispel the lump in her throat. "Please!"
But it was too late; he was already gone. All of it had disappeared except for her and the questions she knew that Cedric would never answer.
Sunlight slanted across her eyelids, causing her to stir. She awoke in a daze, confused after her dream, but deciding that a nice hot shower might help to clear her mind.
As she stripped off her clothing and stepped into the steamy jet of water, her mind wandered back to the dream – back to the ground in front of the stands and Cedric's ominous words.
Who did she know that Cedric trusted the most?
Hermione thought of Dumbledore first, but quickly ruled him out. Despite the fact that he was powerful, she doubted that that's "the help" he had been talking about. Next was Cho, but there was no way that she was going to ask her for help.
So…that only left…
Suddenly, the water was turned off abruptly and she was climbing out of the shower, hurriedly wrapping a towel around herself and drying off as quickly as she could. Only one thing was on her mind: one name.
Scott.
Hermione nearly flew across the school in her haste to get to the Hufflepuff commons, which was located down countless flights of stairs and a little past the kitchens. She wasn't entirely sure whether or not he'd be there, but it was a start.
The best one she had so far, Hermione thought as she raced around a corner and through a corridor.
All the staircases and corridors were empty since practically all of the students were all still fast asleep in their beds, which kept from hampering Hermione's pace.
By the time she reached her destination (a discreet little nook just to the right of the kitchen corridor), Hermione was doubled over with both palms rested on her knees, huffing and puffing as she tried to catch her breath. "I really need to exercise more often," Hermione muttered when her heart rate and breathing had returned to normal, "because that was pitiful." She straightened her back and looked over herself, double-checking that she had everything she needed.
She was wearing the basics of her uniform: knee-high gray stockings, obsidian-colored flats, black knee-length pleated skirt, a white short-sleeved button-up collared shirt, gray sweater vest, and her Gryffindor-colored tie. A smooth, brown leather satchel hung at her side, and she opened it and pulled out its contents – her wand and all the letters she had received in the beginning from Cedric – before closing it again and facing the obstacle before herself.
A stack of barrels barred her path, placed right in front of the common room entrance. She had done plenty of research over how to get through them, and knew that if she were to make one mistake then she'd mess the entire thing up. Hermione took careful steps toward the correct barrel, making doubly sure that the one she stood in front of was in the middle of the second row, two from the bottom, and then reached out a tentative hand. Her knuckles softly brushed against the wood at first, hesitant as she began to knock, but eventually she got into the swing of it.
Her knocks were precise and constant, rhythmic and methodical as she knocked out the tune. Entering the Hufflepuff common room was tricky; one had to knock out the rhythm of "Helga Hufflepuff" in order to get through. If the sequence of tapping or the incorrect lid was tapped, the trespasser got drenched in vinegar and was unable to gain admittance inside. She had read about it in Hogwarts, A History.
Finally, her hand fell still and she waited, sure of herself but trembling nervously like a leaf nonetheless. After all, what if she had done something wrong?
A few beats of silence passed, seemingly long and unyielding before something happened. Slowly at first but gaining momentum after less than a second, the lid of the barrel she had just knocked on swung open, revealing a passageway.
Hermione sighed in relief and crawled inside of it, her anxiety from moments ago already fading. It swung shut behind her and she was momentarily plunged into darkness, blinking her eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting, and she crawled a short way until she saw the end of the earthen tunnel bathed in light. At last, she reached the end of the tunnel (though it was admittedly short; probably only about one and a half to three meters long) and tumbled out, brushing off the bits of dirt that clung to her clothes and hair.
When she looked up, the sight before her took her breath away.
Hermione had read about the Hufflepuff common room in multiple books – including Hogwarts, A History, of course – but no text on paper could adequately describe it. The room – a basement, due to its location one floor below ground level, from whence it had gained the popular nickname "Hufflepuff Basement" – appeared to be a hollowed out space in the earth. It was a spacious room, rounded and low-ceilinged with gleaming copper furnishings and accents. The shape of the room reminded Hermione of the hobbits' homes from J.R.R. Tolkein's Lord of the Rings series that she'd read with her father as a child.
Yellow tapestries were hung all around the room and a couple of overstuffed yellow and black upholstered couches and armchairs were placed around a large, circular, yellow wooden fireplace with the a few carvings of the Hufflepuffs' prized house animal, the badger, in the honey-colored mantelpiece. The fireplace currently housed nothing more than the last smoldering embers from what Hermione assumed to last night's fire.
Round windows lined the walls close to the ceiling, allowing the early morning sunlight to filter through them and dust everything it touched in gold as well as provide a view of the lush, vibrant spring grass and the yellow dandelions that had begun to sprout here and there among it.
An oval shaped portrait of Helga Hufflepuff was stationed just above the mantelpiece and she smiled down at Hermione, though her expression was slightly curious. But what had really rendered Hermione speechless was none of that; it was the naturalistic, earthy feel the room had. It was cozy and homey the same way as the Gryffindor common room was, but it was bursting at the seams with plants of all kinds. Potted plants of all shapes and sizes and colors filled the room: hanging from the ceiling, sitting in windowsills, and perched on tables and other surfaces around the room. Hermione knew most of them from all of the reading she did, but there were some that she'd never even heard of before – extremely rare ones, that is.
Hermione breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of the dirt and all the different scents the flowers, both magical and muggle alike, gave off. She was surprised that they didn't overpower the room, instead working together to blend the multitude of fragrances into a soft, underlying floral perfume. It was so beautiful that Hermione almost forgot what she was really there for, simply content with standing on a corner of the grand yellow and black woven plush rug and taking it all in with a look of wonderment on her face.
Almost, but not quite.
She shook her head, making a mental note to visit more often and peered around for the entrance to the dormitories. She spotted them almost immediately – two circular doors with polished copper doorknobs on the far left side of the room. They were nearly identical except for the color of their painted wood: the left door was yellow and the right was black.
What if Scott refused to help? Hermione thought suddenly as she made to take a step. Her foot returned to its previous position almost instantaneously.
What if he didn't believe her when she told him the truth? She shook her head in annoyance. No, she reminded herself, it was Scott she was talking about, here. Of course he'd believe what she told him. Why wouldn't he?
But that niggling voice in the back of her head would not be silenced so easily. What if he told other people about it? Then what? She was really stumped there. Did she really want to enlist the help of Merlin-only-knew how many people if that happened?
Would that happen?
Hermione was about to come up with a good counter to her doubt when the black door opened, forcing her thoughts to come to a screeching halt.
A scrawny-looking first year boy with buzzed black hair and ebony skin stepped out and she saw her chance to get to Scott right then and there.
"Hey!" Hermione called, pointing at the boy. He looked up, startled, his brown eyes wide. She saw his eyes glance at her red and gold tie.
"M-me?" he squeaked. Hermione nodded vigorously. The boy shuffled forwards nervously, his every move light and quiet. His shy personality strongly reminded Hermione of Aiden, and the thought made her smile gently down at the boy.
"What's your name?" she asked softly.
He seemed to calm down just a little when he realized that she wasn't going to do anything bad to him. Hermione frowned inside, worried that the poor kid had run into Malfoy and his goons, but she knew that now wasn't the time to ask him about that (or offer her protective services to him). "Rudo Kofi," Rudo replied quietly.
Hermione nodded, filing the information away.
Rudo Kofi. The name was of African descent, implying ancestry or possibly residency there. She studied his face a moment. His British accent was too strong for him to live there, though there was a slight accentuation of Swahili in it so perhaps he visited a lot.
She shook her head. Now was definitely not the time to go into an in-depth analysis on Rudo's genealogy. "Hermione Granger," Hermione said, her smile still situated on her lips.
The boy's eyes grew wider, but in awe instead of fear. "You mean…" He opened and closed his mouth a few times in disbelief before managing to ask, "So, you're friends with–?"
"Harry Potter?" Hermione offered. He nodded slowly. Hermione laughed. "Yes, he's one of my best friends."
All of Rudo's previous hesitation and bashfulness evaporated in an instant, replaced by a look of pure delight. "What can I do for you this morning?" Rudo asked warmly, a stark contrast from his earlier tone.
"Straight to the point, huh?" Hermione asked, her eyes shining with warmth, and Rudo nodded excitedly. "Good; that's a nice quality to have." She saw him fighting back a proud grin. "Could you possibly do me a favor, Rudo?"
"Sure!" he answered. "What do you need?"
Hermione pointed at the door he had just come through. "Do you think you can fetch someone for me, please? It's urgent."
Rudo blinked in surprise. "Yeah, I can do that. Who're you looking for and what year is he?"
"Scott Logan, seventh year." Hermione said confidently.
"Okay," Rudo said, "I'll be right back." He turned and ran across the room, back toward the door and flung it open to dash up the stairs. Hermione waited patiently in the common room for him to return with Scott in tow, her eyes still glancing around a bit.
There was just something about the room that made it so beautiful, she thought, gazing in fascination at some of the more uncommon blooms. It was something that the Gryffindor common room lacked and it wasn't just the plants. Hermione's eyes scanned the room. It had a sort of rustic, simple elegance. Her common room didn't have that; it was all polish and glory up there.
She sighed wistfully and allowed her thoughts to wander away from comparing common rooms as she looked at the door. There really was no turning back now. She couldn't leave now that she sent someone for him.
She had to do this.
Hermione breathed in slowly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth in an attempt to calm her suddenly racing heart down.
Be brave, Hermione. You're in Gryffindor for a reason, She reminded herself.
She had to do this for Cedric's sake.
She was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts as the door handle jiggled. The door slowly opened and out came Rudo, positively beaming, and as the door opened wider Hermione's heart flew up to her throat as her anxiety reached its peak.
Scott stood in the round doorway for a moment, his hair mussed up from sleep and sticking out in different directions, his expression muted by sleepiness. His clothes – a pair of yellow and black plaid pajama pants and a white T-shirt – were disheveled and his feet were bare. He blinked his eyes blearily and looked at Rudo, scratching his head. Hermione saw his lips move and could just make out what he was saying from across the room. "What'd you say I needed to wake up for, again?"
Rudo looked over at Hermione and grinned. Scott's eyes followed his gaze and he raised his eyebrows when he saw her standing in the middle of the common room. Hermione forced herself to hold in a laugh as he righted himself immediately, all the tiredness from a moment ago gone, and a smile graced his face as he thanked the first year. The younger boy simply nodded before walking over to Hermione and muttering, "He sleeps like the dead."
Hermione giggled. "Thanks for resurrecting him for me, then," she said softly.
He shrugged, his lips quirking upwards at the edges as he replied, "Anytime." And with that, he walked out of the common room.
"You look a little out of place down here, little lion," Scott called out to her, smirking slightly.
Hermione let out a laugh and walked toward him. "Good morning to you, too, Scott."
He strode across the room to meet her in the middle, standing before her with a curious expression as he said, "Not that I'm not flattered that you dragged yourself out of your comfy bed this morning to look for me, but what are you doing in here?"
Hermione's nervousness surfaced again and grew tenfold. She forced herself to refrain from fidgeting with her fingers. "I have something I need to talk to you about," she explained.
He raised his eyebrows again and moved past her to plop down on one of the couches, gesturing to the adjacent one. "Talk away, Granger."
She shook her head, anxiety etching itself across her face. "I will, but not here."
Scott's carefree smile dropped off of his face and he stood back up again, his expression changing to one of concern. "What's going on?"
Hermione bit her lip and looked around before reaching out and taking his hand. "Can we go somewhere more private?" She asked quietly, a note of urgency in her voice.
He frowned, perplexed. "Yeah," Scott said slowly, "but hold on. Stay right here."
"Alright," Hermione breathed, relieved that he had agreed to go. Scott flashed her a warm, kind smile that didn't quite lighten the unease in his eyes before turning back toward the door that led to the boys' dormitories.
"I'll be right back," he said, disappearing behind it once more after Hermione nodded her assent.
Her heart was beating quickly. She hoped he would listen to her long enough for her to explain everything.
