Hermione was, for the first time in a while, actually alone in the library. Harry and Ron were in the Common Room, playing Wizards Chess instead of doing their homework. The Beauxbaton delegation had all been kept in the Carriage, Madame Maxime forcing them into cleaning it from top to bottom, muggle-style, as a punishment for a party they had thrown for no reason other than boredom. Said party had resulted in three couches being torn, a chandelier falling down, and at least two rooms being set on fire. Hermione had been, thankfully, absent from that event, given that they threw it on a Tuesday night.

Hermione's siblings were also all busy, especially as the end-of-year exams came closer. Despite it not even being Easter yet, her siblings were determined to make up time that they'd lost due to the Triwizard tasks. Ros and Maribel had sent letters to everyone that despite the Tournament, they were all still expected to make a decent showing on their results, especially with OWLs and NEWTs. So all of them had taken to increasing their efforts in their studies, Eve and Amy also having joined several study groups with their fellow Seventh Years.

"Uh, hey Hermione."

The Gryffindor's eyes shot up to look at the newcomer, her quil pausing in Hermione's attempts to improve her Herbology essay. Malcolm Baddock, the First Year Slytherin she had been tutoring stood nervously on the other side of her table, his hands thrust into his pockets. She smiled sweetly at the younger boy, shuffling her books around to make space for him to sit down.

"You alright Malcolm?" Hermione asked, mentally reassuring herself that they do not have a study session scheduled today.

"I uh, have a question," Malcolm replied quietly. The Slytherin glanced around the area, sitting down once he was sure no one was around. "About that Witch Weekly article?"

Hermione stiffened slightly, folding her hands in front of her. She forced herself to take a calming breath, before speaking. "What about it?"

"It said you were adopted?" Malcolm asked, tugging on the ends of his sleeves.

"Yeah, I was," Hermione responded evenly. "After my first year."

"Are there others?" Malcolm glanced up at the older girl briefly, before looking back down at the desk. "That are adopted, I mean."

The Gryffindor frowned, suddenly remembering how scared the little First Year was, when she found him crying in the hallway. "Yes," she finally said, her voice soft.

"Why?" He asked quietly, hunching his shoulders.

Hermione sighed softly, thinking her next words over in head. "Different reasons. I'm not going to tell you everyone's stories - that's their own to tell. However, that article did get my story right in its own way. My - the Grangers moved after Christmas during my First Year. To Australia. They never told me, never even sent a letter, no goodbye." The older girl spat the last bit out, still slightly bitter over the act.

"I was alone at Kings Cross," Hermione continued, furiously blinking away the tears that threatened to fall over. "Ros came up to me, after I'd been there for a few hours, hoping that the Grangers would come. She took me in, tried to find the Grangers, and then offered to let me join the family."

"What about death?" Malcolm asked, so quietly it was hard for Hermione to hear in the silent Library. The Gryffindor bit at her lip, reaching across to hold Malcolm's hands in a comforting clasp.

"There's a few who have had their parents die, yes," Hermione replied, just loud enough for Malcolm to hear. "Some just one, others both. No other family to take them in, so Ros and Maribel adopt them all."

"I lied," Malcolm suddenly said, his eyes searching for something in Hermione's eyes. "That day you offered me studying help. I lied and said I was worried about my lessons. No one, I mean Emma knows, but no one else knows." The younger boy's voice got more desperate as he carried on, removing one of his hands from Hermione's to swipe at his eyes.

"What about Malcolm?" Hermione asked softly, refusing to assume anything.

"They, my parents," Malcolm's voice hitched, his breath coming in uneven pants. He rushed through his next words, desperately trying to get them all out. "They died, they're dead, they were attacked out shopping in Muggle London, it's my fault I said I liked some chocolate Emma had shared with me - she's a half-blood you know - and they wanted to try it and get some for when I came home for Easter and they were attacked by some Muggle they didn't even have time to react -"

"Malcolm, Malcolm it's not your fault," Hermione shushed him quietly, quickly moving around the table to sit next to the crying boy. "It's not your fault, okay, it just happens."

"But why them?" Malcolm asked, tears falling freely down his face. "They have - had - magic, they could have stopped it, but they didn't even pull out their wands! They didn't have time the Muggle just just killed them."

"I know sweetie," Hermione said, wrapping one arm over his shoulders whilst her other cast a quick notice-me-not charm around them. "I know. It just happens, I'm so sorry." Hermione felt useless as Malcolm continued crying into her shoulders, all she could do was rub circles on his back.

A short while later Malcolm sniffed, pulling himself slightly away. "I'm sorry Hermione," he mumbled. Hermione just smiled sadly, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and handing it over.

"You don't need to apologise," Hermione said simply, shrugging.

"Emma's parents said I could stay with them, but they haven't really got the space, and her grandparents are quite ill," Malcolm trailed off, playing with the tissue in his hands.

"I'll speak to Ros and Maribel," Hermione offered, and gave the First Year a small smile. "We'll sort something out."

"Thank you Hermione," Malcolm nodded, giving his own, weak, smile back in response. "Thank you so much."

Hermione just smiled, waving her wand to dispel the charm she cast. "I'll speak to them," she repeated, as Malcolm pulled her in for a tight hug.

"I'm going to speak to Emma," Malcolm said, letting Hermione go. "Thank you." The Slytherin have Hermione a jerky nod before racing out of the library.

Hermione watched after him until Malcolm rounded the corner of the door, disappearing from view, with a sad smile on her face. Once satisfied he was gone, she turned with a sigh back to her work, putting her books and essays in her backpack. She then pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, and quickly crafted a letter to Ros, explaining what happened to Malcolm.

Parchment clutched in hand, safely sealed in an envelope, Hermione briskly walked to the Owlery. Her pace did not falter as an arm was slung around her shoulders. "Can I borrow your owl please Amy?" Hermione asked instead.

"I see how it is," Amy teased, adjusting her pace to keep up with the younger witch. "No 'hi Amy, how's NEWTs coming' and no 'I'm so glad you haven't thrown yourself into the Whomping Willow to avoid your exams'."

Hermione rolled her eyes, nudging into Amy. "I'm terribly sorry," she drawled sarcastically. "How close are you to dropping out today?"

Amy sighed exasperatedly, holding her thumb and index mere millimetres apart. "This close 'Mione, this close. I don't see how Diggory is studying for his NEWTs and preparing for the Third Task."

"They're all exempt," Hermione said offhandedly, pushing open the door for the Owlery steps. "Harry said Professor Dumbledore explained that they all get whatever results their professor's give them - Fleur and Krum too."

"What?" Amy exclaimed, eyes widening. "You're telling me all I had to do to pass my NEWTs is to be part of this bloody death tournament?"

Hermione winced, mind flashing to Fleur and Harry, who won't find out about the final task until after Easter.

Amy seemed to realise what she said, and began backtracking quickly. "Not that they'll let that happen 'Mione! Not with the thin ice Ros has Dumbledore on - one more toe out of line and I think Ros'll let Maribel at him."

"I know, I'll still worry until after the Third Task, though," Hermione admitted, leaning against a surprisingly clear patch of wall in the Owlery. Amy softly whistled her owl down from the rafters, humming as she stroked his feathers.

"I'm sorry, we're all worried too," Amy said, turning to Hermione with her owl expectantly holding its leg out.

"They'll find out about the last task soon," Hermione replied, deftly tying the letter onto the owl. "Just as long as it isn't dragons again."

Amy laughed, shaking her head and letting her owl fly out the window. "As long as it isn't dragons," she repeated. "What're you sending a letter for anyway? Not more of your notes from previous years?"

"No," the Gryffindor shook her head, slumping slightly. "It's Malcolm - that firstie I tutor. His parents died a while ago, and he hasn't got anyone else. One of his friends, Emma, offered to let him crash at hers but…"

"It's not like home," Amy finished sadly. Her own mother had passed away when she was younger, and her father died Halloween during her second year. "I get it. They'll take him in 'Mione. We'll look after him."

"I know," Hermione offered the older Ravenclaw a weak smile. "House of strays, right?"

"And misfits," Amy joked, nudging Hermione with her shoulder. "House of strays and misfits."