THE DRAUGHT OF LIVING DEATH

"The Draught of Living Death is a potion so powerful there is only one known antidote. If not given this antidote, the drinker will be unable to wake until they have died of natural causes. The antidote is known as the Wiggenweld Potion. As the nearest vial is kept safely in the Royal Apothecary in Denmark, I suggest reserving a bed in the hospital wing before you take a sample of your own Draught," said Snape as he prowled the front of the room, "...and pray it isn't potent... Instructions are on the board. You may begin."

Harry stared at page ten of his copy of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, and tried to make sense of it.

Beside him, Hermione was busy muttering away. She kept stealing glances at Draco Malfoy as she chopped up her valerian roots, and Harry couldn't blame her. For the past three and a half weeks, Malfoy had taken to beating her in every single Potions class. Harry for one had no idea how anyone could have beaten her in any one of her classes, but he saw her looking darkly at Malfoy's Potions book, as if it was to be blamed.

"I swear on Merlin's name I am going to find out how he's been doing this if it kills me!" she said furiously just the other day.

"Swearing? Our Hermione?" said Ron in disbelief. "Never!"

Hermione chose at that moment to tell him to go do something that made Harry whistle, impressed.

But how she's going to find out what Malfoy's doing, I've no clue, he thought as he stirred his cauldron. I, for one, have bigger plimpies to fry without getting caught up in how the slithering git's cheating on tests...

"If you could quit daydreaming like a lovelorn Muggle schoolgirl, Potter," said a dark, silky voice to his right, "Perhaps you would get your potion to look more like Malfoy's light salmon shade instead of your own candied red."

Malfoy snickered, and a flustered Harry turned his attention to his potion once more. But his red potion looked more like a rosy shade instead of a candied one, and roses made him think of the flowery smell he got from Ginny when he told her about what the prophecy said.

Ah...Ginny…

He smiled.

He had been rather surprised after he finished reciting it to her. Not for the first time, he was quite astounded by how she acted. Instead of being depressed or sad, like how he thought she might be, she rather took the Sorting Hat's view on the matter and chose to be mad instead.

"You mean you actually believe in it? This isn't Ron or Hermione's doing, is it, because it's a load of shite, Harry, is what it is. The only reason you were targeted in the first place is because Voldemort decided on a whim that you were more of a danger to him instead of Neville. It's because of Voldemort believing in the prophecy that he's after you. If he didn't believe in it, he wouldn't be after you, and you wouldn't be the 'only one who can defeat him', now would you?" she had said.

He barely had time to feel proud of her—she had never said Voldemort's name before, this was her first—

"But he is after me, which means the prophecy is true and I am the only one who can defeat him," said Harry. "Either way, he's going to keep coming after me until he kills me just to make sure that I don't kill him first. Either way, the prophecy is still true. Either way, I'm screwed."

She sighed. "No, you're not. If the prophecy is true, it means you have a power that he doesn't know of. Which means that even if he is faster and smarter and more powerful, you still have a pretty damn good chance of beating him. Just like how you beat him when you were a baby. Just like how you beat him when you were facing Quirrell in your first year. Just like how you beat him in the Chamber of Secrets in your second year. Just like how you beat him in the cemetery in your fourth year. Just like how you beat him in the Department of Mysteries in your fifth year—"

"All right! I get it," said Harry.

A part of him still knew that him beating Voldemort those times was only through luck. But it did make him think about what this power even was that 'the Dark Lord knows not'.

Perhaps 'luck' is the power it's referring to. It could be through luck that I finally kill him. Maybe he shows up to finish me off but forgets his wand. Or he aims it at me, says the Killing Curse, and it isn't till he's dead on the floor that he realizes he pointed the wrong end of the stick at me.

He hastily covered up his snicker when Snape shot him a glare. Hastily, he went back to work and added a pinch of wormwood powder to his Draught.

Or it could be Occlumency. Voldemort doesn't know I've been practicing that, Harry thought. Or that I'm rather good at it.

"Harry, would you mind switching knives?" Hermione whispered once Snape was across the room. "I need a silver blade like yours."

Harry nodded. They switched and he cut up the rest of his sopophorous bean before he saw with confusion that Hermione wasn't cutting hers up at all, but crushing it flat with her borrowed silver knife.

He looked up at the directions hastily to see if he'd been doing it wrong all along—then did a double-take when he saw that it was Hermione who had it wrong.

That's definitely not like her to be disobeying instructions, he thought, then shrugged. It's her funeral.

He went back to his musings from before as he pretended to be studiously stirring his cauldron for Snape's benefit.

The power the Dark Lord knows not...

Ha. It could be stupidity. That one can be rather powerful when you end up killing a fellow student by insisting they take hold of the disguised portkey with you just because you're being noble, for once.

Or when you think Voldemort's torturing your godfather when it turns out you were just dreaming.

He scowled. It must have been the pale fumes from his cauldron, because his eyes were rather watery. He shook his head and finished stirring his potion.

"Psst! Harry!" hissed Ron from Harry's right. "Is it supposed to be this...urgh...diarrhea color?"

"Er...I don't think so," said Harry. He peered in Ron's cauldron, but quickly drew his head back, coughing and eyes watering. "I don't think it's supposed to smell like diarrhea either!"

Ron groaned.

Harry got up and slipped to the storage cabinet for some essence of sloth brain. Where's Goyle when you need him? he thought, and hastily covered his snicker. He almost tripped on D.A. member Ernie Macmillan's foot heading back to his desk.

He thought back to the first Defense Association meeting held that Sunday before. The Great Hall had been packed with several hundred students from all Houses—even the odd dozen Slytherins had decided to show. The first half-hour consisted mostly of Harry and Moony talking to them about the war, fighting, and what to expect from the D.A. classes.

"I know! Give them the same speech you gave us at the start of the D.A. last year, Harry," Ron had told him before they started. "You know, about it not all being flitterblooms and puffapods, and the thing about the...you know..."

That first meeting was mostly aimed towards figuring out where each person was, magically. They split the students up into two groups according to where they were in Defense. Moony was in charge of the first group, which comprised mostly of first-, second-, and third-years, and they started off with the Disarming Spell. Harry himself worked with the older students on mastering the Stunner. The members of the D.A. from last year as well as most of the seventh-years knew most of the spells they were starting out with, of course, and served as Harry's and Moony's helpers working with the less competent students. This made the time go by more quickly as Harry didn't have to work one-on-one with each student, as he'd had the year previous.

All in all, it was a success, thought Harry. He was rather looking forward to the next meeting, planning on what he wanted to teach the students next—

"Time," Snape called. "Wands on desks."

The Potions master walked around the room, making various comments about the contents of their cauldrons. When he came to Harry's table, however, he stopped.

"Potter's looks like he has scooped it out of a troll's nasal cavity, as usual," he sneered. He peered into Ron's cauldron. "And Mr. Weasley...ten points from Gryffindor for forcing the class to breathe your abysmally foul odor. Ah, Miss Granger, I see that you've been taking a leaf from Mr. Malfoy's book."

Harry looked over and saw that Hermione's potion was just as clear as Malfoy's was. Malfoy scowled, but Hermione was wearing a satisfied look under the perspiration of her brow and flyaway wisps in her hair, and did not wither under their professor's glare.

"Very well, then," Snape continued, a smirk growing on his face. "If you believe you have done well enough, why don't you have a sample of your own Draught and we'll see if it works?"

There was a collective intake of breath among the students.

It was because of Snape's teaching that they knew whoever drank the Draught of Living Death fell into so deep a sleep they never woke from it—he himself had told them that Hogwarts didn't even have the antidote. And Harry and Ron, who knew Hermione never brewed an impotent potion, did more than just gasp.

"What, are you crazy—?"

"Are you trying to poison—?"

"Ten points each for talking out of turn. I believe I asked Miss Granger, not her two blundering bodyguards," Snape hissed at them.

The look on Hermione's face hadn't changed. She met Snape's challenge with a leveled expression, and after a long moment of silence, she opened her mouth—

"I'll do it."

This time, the exclamation wasn't just from Harry and Ron.

"Are you mad, Granger?" Blaise Zabini hissed.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life in St. Mungo's?" said Terry Boot.

"You're not invincible you know—" said Amanda Smythe.

"Hermione, you know that's a potent Draught," said Harry harshly. "Don't do it—"

"Don't let him egg you on like this," Ron whispered furiously. "You don't have to prove anything."

Hermione jerked her hand out of Ron's reach as she dipped her ladle into her potion. "I can take care of myself!" she hissed at them.

"Not from bloody death, you can't!" Ron said, aghast, just as Snape snapped at the room to be quiet.

They all watched with bated breath as she brought the ladle to her lips and downed it in one gulp, all without taking her leveled eyes off Snape. Harry watched her closely after she swallowed, prepared to catch her if she suddenly slumped over. But her face didn't turn green, her eyes stayed open, she kept breathing in and out, and the liquid stayed inside her mouth—her smirking mouth, in fact—

"Twenty points to Gryffindor," seethed Professor Snape between clenched teeth, his face twisting into a scowl. "Class dismissed."

He strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him. At once, the other students merged onto Hermione.

"What happened?"

"How did you know—?"

"Was it a faulty potion?"

"Of course it wasn't faulty!" said Hermione, looking insulted. "It was a perfectly brewed Draught! But Professor Snape and I both know that the Draught of Living Death is only potent when it's stored below ten degrees Celsius."

There was a pause at these words.

"So..." said Ron, still clueless.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was drinking it warm."

There was a silence, until Ron spoke.

"...wow," said Ron, impressed. "You are bloody brilliant!"

The entire school was buzzing about Hermione besting Snape in Potions by the next day, and Hermione awoke on the nineteenth of September with a smile on her face. It wasn't until she saw the presents at the foot of her bed, however, did she remember why.

Today is my birthday. My seventeenth birthday.

With happiness, Hermione began to unwrap her presents. From her parents, there was the complete set of Valentina Jett's magical Of Heroes and Heroines series. There was also a small bag full of Galleons and a note from her mother to buy herself a really nice set of dress robes at Hogsmeade. Next to that was a rather lumpy present, but Hermione squealed nonetheless when she held up the royal blue Weasley sweater with her name scrolled elegantly on the front.

"Perhaps she had one too many 'H' names," she muttered with a grin, thinking of Harry receiving one as well.

It was something Hermione had always secretly yearned for. It was like a rite of passage into the Weasley family, and she was going to wear it with pride.

Next to the sweater, Harry had bought her an expensive silver knife for Potions—'So you don't have to keep borrowing mine,' he had written in the note that came with. There was a bag full of Chocolate Frog cards—and no Chocolate Frogs—that came from Hagrid, and surprisingly Luna had given her a collection of fine, expensive quills. Not so surprisingly, Ginny had got her a hair kit with a number of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion bottles, and rather pretty hair clips; and Neville thought to give her a book on Herbology by Balfour Marjoribanks.

When she opened Ron's present, she gasped. It was a very advanced potions kit that looked quite exquisite and rather expensive for him. She played with it for about twenty minutes, inspecting every detail and taking out each glass vial with awe and delight.

She unwrapped an unknown present next, and a note in a pretty scrawl said,

Dear Hermione,

Happy Birthday! Congratulations on your coming-of-age! I really enjoyed our talk on the first day of term and wanted to thank you for your kindness. Please accept this gift and use it to treasure your most prized possessions. It has an undetectable extension charm on it, it can be shrunk to fit into your pocket along with its contents, and can also be disillusioned. It has been of great use to me over the years, and I have taken very good care of it, hoping that it would benefit another young witch as it has benefited me. I truly admire your knowledge and courage and hope we can be the greatest of friends this school-year. See you in Defense!

My warmest regards,

Hestia

Hermione gasped at the small, purple beaded bag that rolled out of the wrappings, admiring it from every angle, her entire arm getting lost inside it as she stuck it in, regardless of how shallow the bag appeared on the outside. Glowing with praise from Professor Jones' words, Hermione tucked the note inside her new bag and set it aside.

Then she noticed two more presents on her bed. One was a small gift with the Durmstrang crest that must be from Viktor, but the other—

Hermione smiled as the wrappings revealed a small book. It was small and brown and its cover read, in faded gold peeling letters, Artificium Merlini. She gaped as she picked it up carefully with experienced hands. It was at least a fair few hundred years old—she hadn't even seen a book like this in the bookshops of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade—and it was written entirely in Latin.

It must be worth a fair fortune! she thought, turning it over in her hands. But who—

A note slipped out of the pages.

Hermione—

You need this more than we do. Have fun with the translation.

A broad smile spread across her face. It was signed by Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore. She made a reminder to heartily thank them at breakfast.

"Oh, dear! It is your birthday, isn't it? So sorry to have forgot," said Lavender, pouting as she walked in from the lavatory and dried her hair with her wand.

You forget every year, thought Hermione irritably. Please remind me not to slip that perfume I always get on Christmas from my uncle on your bed for your own birthday this year.

This left the last present. Just as she'd thought, it was from Viktor, and was a jewelry box, in fact. A small black amulet was found inside—a red rose carved on black obsidian. It hung on a single black cord, and with it a note—

Please accept this gift from me. It used to be my mother's and I want you to have it.

The black and red are Durmstrang colors, and they mean a lot to me...just as you do.

Happy birthday, my Hermione.

—Yours, Viktor

Hermione turned a beet red.

"Oooooh! What have we here?" Lavender squealed.

Before Hermione could protest, the long-haired blonde whipped the note out of her hands and read it aloud to Parvati. The two gasped and giggled when she was done.

"Oh, it's perfect! Not really your colors, but—"

"But, Hermione! Have you two started going out, then?"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"He's gorgeous! Those black, brooding eyes—"

"His dark, wavy hair—"

"Why, it's something right out of a Witch Weekly serial—"

"Oh, stop it, you two!" Hermione snapped, snatching her necklace away from them. She rummaged through her wardrobe for a clean shirt. "I really couldn't wear this—he's just come back, and he's a teacher, and I don't even know if I like him that way—"

"You do!" said Parvati firmly. "All you need to rekindle your romance is one date in Hogsmeade, and he's yours!"

Lavender suddenly gasped. "This isn't a Love Locket, is it?"

"What's a Love Lock—"

"It's only the best gift a man could ever give you!" Parvati gushed. "Well, besides his...you know..."

The Twittering Twins erupted in furious giggles. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Erm, anyway," said Lavender, once they had stopped. "Love Lockets have some sort of potion in them and a bit of the wizard, like his hair or something. Then when the witch he gives it to wears it around their neck, they immediately fall in love with the guy—you know, like a Love Potion? Only it makes you fall in love only with him—"

"—and if they already were in love, like my dad gave one to my mum, it just...you know...makes them want them more," Parvati said suggestively. She looked at Lavender as she said this last, and the two smirked some more.

Hermione suppressed a sigh, but couldn't help but blush all the same. "This is definitely not that, then."

"Oh, try it on! It still could be!" said Lavender, taking the necklace back from Hermione and fastening it around her neck. "See? It looks simply divine on you!"

"Do you...feel anything?" asked Parvati, grinning wickedly.

Hermione looked at it resting on her collarbone. Just as she had suspected, she felt no sudden rush of emotion towards Viktor.

"No," she said primly, rolling her eyes, and rummaged through her wardrobe.

They walked back to their beds, their interest waning.

"Not like she would anyway," she heard Lavender whisper quietly to Parvati. "She's got all the womanly desires of a hag, I bet. Viktor Krum could put a gallon of Love Potion in there and she'd just think he was nice."

Hermione felt stung. Her back was still to them, but she didn't want them to know that she had heard...or that it had hurt.

Is that really what they think of me? That I don't feel any...desires?

Oh, she felt them all right...just because she didn't jump on every other guy at school...or brag about snogging half the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team...

I just don't act on it at all, unlike the average school-aged whore, she thought furiously, ripping a few buttons in her haste to get her pajama shirt off. I don't get all hormone-crazed just because a bloke smiles at me in the corridor. I don't just get giddy when Cormac McLaggen walks into the room, or Stephen Cornfoot...or Viktor...

"Fine," she said, whirling to face them and slipping her school skirt on. "I'll wear it. But it will be under my robes, mind you—"

Lavender smirked. "Want him closer to your heart, do you?"

"Or your—other feminine body parts?" said Parvati, wiggling eyebrows suggestively, and the two burst into giggles again.

Hermione rolled her eyes and followed the Twittering Twins out the door.

Ron was moody.

He and Harry were already seated at breakfast when Hermione joined them. Ron scooted over to make room for her, as he and Harry continued staring up at the front of the Hall. Hermione thanked them for their gifts, but they still looked preoccupied.

"What is it?" asked Hermione, helping herself to some pumpkin juice.

"Oh, happy birthday, Hermione. Something's up," said Ron, narrowing his eyes at Krum. "Nobody's up at the teachers' table. When we came down, Dumbledore called all the teachers to a staff meeting. All except Krum, who's supposed to keep an eye on us..."

Bloody bastard, thought Ron inconsequentially. He plopped a few more slices of toast on his plate just as a parliament of owls swooped in. "Mail's here."

"Well, maybe something around here can tell us what's going on," Hermione muttered as she seized her newspaper from a school owl. She opened it to the front page. Her face turned as white as the paper.

"Oh no!" she whispered. "Oh no, oh no, oh no…"

Ron was at her side in an instant, Harry just behind him, reading over her shoulder.

DEMENTORS FLEE AZKABAN!

MINISTRY IN CHAOS TRYING TO FIND THEM

"I can't believe it!" Hermione gasped after they had read the article. "Hundreds! Simply hundreds of them let loose..."

"Well, that explains it," said Harry woodenly. "Dumbledore's having an emergency meeting as we speak. I expect they'll be closing Hogwarts' doors any day now."

"Wait—what?"

"Oh come on, Ron. Who's going to want their kids running off to school like good little children when there're life-sucking monsters loose all over the place?" said Hermione.

"It really is no surprise," said Harry. "Dementors have been leaving Azkaban for weeks now. The Ministry's doing everything they can to keep the remaining prisoners there, but with only witches and wizards guarding the fortress...another mass breakout is inevitable now...and every Death Eater that was captured during the Department of Mysteries will be out within the week..."

"Well, happy damn birthday to me…" Hermione said. It was a mark of how dire the situation was that neither Ron or Harry said anything about her swearing.

It was with a very subdued air that they ate the rest of their breakfast. It seemed the news spread very quickly, for everyone in the Great Hall was particularly quiet as they finished up their food and made their way to their first class.

"D'you think we'll even have it?" asked Ron as they merged into the entrance hall. "It's Care of Magical Creatures, isn't it?"

"Ye—"

"Mr. Weasley! If I might speak with you for a moment?" said McGonagall, bustling over to them.

Ron's face turned ashen. "Is it—"

"No, it has nothing to do with the dementors," she said, but her voice was still rather stern. "Come with me, if you will. This does not concern you, Potter, Granger."

Ron looked at them, confused. They shrugged, and he watched them walk away.

"To my office, please," said McGonagall, shaking her head. "I am very disappointed in you, Mr. Weasley!"

Ron followed her, still bewildered. "But what..."

An hour later, Hermione and Harry were waiting in the common room for Ron. They had a study period and both were trying to work on the essay Hagrid had given them on the classification of dangerous beasts by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, titled Ministry Classification and Why It's Faulty. It was rather useless, however, as they both kept thinking about why Professor McGonagall would need Ron.

They didn't have long to wait—the Fat Lady's portrait banged open, revealing a red-faced Ron. He stomped into the room and threw his bag onto the floor.

"Ron—what—" said Hermione, perplexed.

"CHEATING!" Ron roared at them. "They accused me of cheating!"

"Wait—what?" Harry said.

The color drained from Hermione's face. He wasn't talking about—he couldn't be talking about—

The entire common room had stopped what they were doing to listen in—not that they had to stop talking in order to hear Ron's thunderous yells.

"When was this?" said Hermione, hardly daring to breathe.

Ron gritted his teeth and snarled, "Apparently, your jumped-up boyfriend was there at the try-outs and saw moron McLaggen flying around. He was fine one minute and Confunded the next—and they think I did it! Just so I could get a spot in Quidditch!" He took a deep breath and collapsed on the sofa next to Harry. "They said they're kicking me off the team," he finished stonily.

Neither Harry nor Ron noticed how pale Hermione had got, or how her hands had flown to her mouth when Ron had said this last.

The Gryffindor Quidditch Team at once congregated around Ron.

"But they can't do that!" cried Maggie McGonagall.

"It's not fair—that's like what Bloody Umbridge did last year to Harry and the twins—" said Katie Bell.

"Hang on—they can't do that!" said Harry. "I'm Quidditch Captain, remember? It's my call—"

"Not when it comes to cheating, Harry," Ginny reminded him. "When it comes to any schoolwork at all, it's the Head of House's decision."

"Just face it, Harry. I'm a goner." Ron's voice was unusually weak; his freckled face had a bleak expression.

"Oh no, no, no..." Hermione finally whispered behind her hands. "Ron, I am so sorry!"

"It's not your fault," he said, forlorn.

She slowly lowered her hands. "But it is," she said, almost inaudibly. "I Confunded him!"

Ron's head jerked around. Harry stared at her in disbelief.

"You hexed him?" said Harry. "But he's Head Boy! You're a prefect!"

"I know!" Hermione wailed. "I shouldn't've done it, but if you'd heard the things he said about us—and I wasn't sure Ron would—"

"No, it's all right!" said Harry, turning back to Ron. "If Hermione confesses that it was her and not you, they'll have to let you back on!"

Ron, however, did not seem to hear Harry's words. Instead, he was staring at Hermione with a look on his face that took Hermione aback.

"You did it?" Ron said quietly to Hermione.

"I did, and I'm sorry, and I shouldn't've, but I wasn't sure you would—"

"That...I'd...what?" he said, voice dangerously quiet. Ginny's hand left his shoulder. The people gathered around them suddenly made themselves scarce.

"Th-that—you'd—erm—" Hermione stuttered, alarmed at the furious expression on his face, the venom in his words, that look in his eyes...

"That I'd beat him, is that it?" said Ron, voice rising. "You didn't think that I would beat him at Keeping, so you thought you'd better step in then, didn't you? What, were you trying to keep me from making a fool of myself—?"

"No!" she cried, aghast. "Ron, I would never—"

"Thought you would just step in and save me the humiliation, didn't you!" he shouted.

"Ron, I wouldn't!"

"Ron, I don't think—" Harry started.

"Shut up, Harry!" Ron yelled, and Harry's mouth clamped shut.

Ron whirled back to Hermione. "I don't NEED you to fight my battles! I can bloody well take care of myself!"

"Ron, please, that's not what I was trying to do—" she pleaded.

"And now you're going to sit there and LIE to me about it! I can't believe you think I'm stupid enough to—that I'm pathetic enough you'd—"

"Ron, I—"

"Don't!" Ron growled at her.

He snatched up his bag and stomped up the stairs, leaving a very upset Hermione, and rather bewildered Harry, behind him.

All in all, Hermione thought miserably, this was not a very good birthday.

If Harry thought that Ron would forgive Hermione and come to his senses within a day or two, he was very wrong.

Several times Harry witnessed her go up to Ron and apologize, but he left without giving her a glance. Harry, of course, was torn between his two best friends; and like all other times in the past, hung out mostly with Ron, if only to knock some sense into him.

"Don't even try," said Ron as Harry opened his mouth to speak about it.

"But couldn't you—"

"No."

"But she—"

"No!"

"But, Ron—"

"NO!"

And that was the end of their discussion.

As for Hermione, Harry had never seen her so disquieted. Instead of justifying her actions and retaliating, as she normally would have done, she took to punishing herself more than Ron was doing—something which suited Ron just fine.

"You know what you need to do, don't you?" said Harry the next day.

"Yes," she said miserably.

"Do you need me to go in with you?" said Harry kindly.

"No," she said, still miserable.

"It won't be that bad. She wouldn't expel you—you're her best student. The best student, in fact, remember? You'll prolly just get a slap on the wrist, a detention or two, and a be-on-your-merry-way. Just grit your teeth, go in there, and 'fess up."

And so, she did just that.

As she recounted to him later, McGonagall had been appalled. In fact, she hadn't yelled at all but kept her voice dangerously quiet—the tone she used when most disappointed. Hermione had lost Gryffindor House fifty points for her "blatant indecency in harming the Head Boy, not to mention fraudulence!"

She was still able to keep her prefect badge(something which shocked Hermione), nor was she expelled, or put on suspension—the three things Hermione had feared the most.

"There...see, it wasn't so bad..." said Ginny, rubbing her back.

"I've got detention every day for two weeks!" Hermione moaned. "I've never had detention before!"

"Never?" said Ginny, astounded.

"Well, there was that one time in first year, when we had to go into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid...but..." Harry hesitated, looking at Hermione as if for the first time. "You seriously never get detention."

"Hermione...you definitely need to get out more," said Ginny fervently.

Hermione was in detention with Professor Flitwick when McGonagall re-held the Keeper try-outs for Cormac McLaggen's benefit. Harry felt bad for her, and kept glancing at the castle, hoping she could see the try-outs. Hermione told him that she tried to clean the Charms windows as slowly as she could while watching the Quidditch pitch from afar. There wasn't much she could make out, however, and as soon as it was done she ran up to Harry, asking how it went.

As soon as Ron saw her, he turned his back and walked up to the boys' dorms. Harry knew Hermione believed the worst.

"No, it's all right!" He reassured her. "He beat McLaggen, but it was rather close."

She nodded, watching Ron's back as he disappeared from view.

It wasn't soon after that the whole school had heard about Hermione, the "perfect prefect", hexing the Head Boy. It was a mark of how pompous McLaggen was that most of the students congratulated her, but there were still some that jeered and made fun. Even their professors were seen to shoot her a disapproving glare during their classes.

"They're just surprised, is all," said Ginny to Harry one day, after Harry had commented on it. "I mean, she's been known as the goody-two-shoes teacher's pet for six years now. They've all built her up as some perfect image that can do no evil...anyone would have cracked under all that pressure, really. And now that she's shown she's just as human as the rest of us, they see it as a personal attack on their beliefs. Rather like how the media is with you and Dumbledore, really."

Harry nodded as they came to a stop at the gargoyle on the Headmaster's floor.

"Well, good luck, Harry," said Ginny, and after an awkward pause, she left.

He proceeded up the revolving staircase after giving it the password.

He tried to block Dumbledore out of his mind the best he could, but his heart wasn't really in it. After a few more half-hearted attempts on his part, Dumbledore finally excused Harry for the night.

"You'd do well to get that problem of yours solved by next week, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore before he left. "We really can't waste anymore time."