Hermione moped about for the following week. She alternated between anger and tears. She felt like Blaise had ambushed her, in addition to belittling her and making her feel foolish just for believing in the power of good people. George did his best to comfort her, but mostly gave her distance. Today was another such day, but it was Saturday, so she was able to mope around in her pajamas and not have to rouse herself for work. She laid in bed, feeling sorry for herself, but was suddenly aware of the sound of hushed voices coming from the kitchen. Curiosity got the better of her; she tip-toed across the floor, and cracked her door open slightly. She could hear George talking to someone… but couldn't quite make it out…
There it was: her name. He was talking to someone about HER.
Hermione slowly closed the door, and padded quickly across the room to dig through her bedside table. She pulled out an extendable ear, held it up victoriously, and crouched down on her hands and knees, before sending it under the crack of her door.
She heard George's voice, saying "… she's a very strong girl. She'll be alright."
It was Ron that she heard next. "Harry said she's been distant at work this week. Withdrawn and depressed. We're worried about her. She didn't answer any owls about coming to brunch this weekend."
"Give her time. It's her first real heartbreak. She just needs some time to sort it-" There was a beat of silence.
She flinched as the extendable ear was yanked from her fingertips. Her door swung open, revealing her still in a prone position on the floor. She blinked as she looked up at Ron's surprised face, and George's- that bastard – smirk. George crossed his arms and shook his head, "You should know better than to try and use my own inventions against me, 'Mione."
Ron chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Come on, then." Ron crossed the hallway and held his hand out to help her to her feet. "How you doin'?"
"Nosy." George offered, with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Hermione glared at him. "I'm going back to bed." She crossed her room and tossed herself back in bed, throwing the covers over her head.
She heard Ron walk over and sit at the edge of her bed. "Look 'Mione, I know you're having a hard time with the break up but, you can't just mope about forever."
Hermione flipped the covers down to glare at Ron. "It hasn't been forever! It's been a week! I'm allowed to mourn."
She heard George laugh from the kitchen. "Was there a death we don't know about?"
Hermione sat up. "There's about to be!"
Ron rolled his eyes and head in the direction of his brother. "George, quit antagonizing her!"
George poked his head around the corner. "Shan't"
Hermione lurched, but Ron flicked his wand while muttering something under his breath, and the door slammed shut. "Come on, 'Mione. Go get dressed and come to lunch with me n' Harry."
Hermione glared at the closed door for one more moment before looking at Ron and then sinking back into her bed. "No thank you."
Ron sighed, and then looked to the door. "I'll wait twenty minutes for you. I hope you change your mind." He stood and exited.
Hermione felt exhaustion hit her as soon as the door shut. She curled back up, brought her covers to her neck, and let the heaviness consume her. Her eyelids closed.
She woke with a start to the sound of her bedroom door banging open. She sat up in a panic, her vision blurry. She heard, simultaneously, Harry's voice, and the sound of her curtains being thrown open, accompanied by blinding light hitting her room. "GOOD MORNING! OH LOOK. THE SUN IS SHINING. WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAY."
"Ugggghhhhhhhh!" She exclaimed, as she fell back into her bed, once again pulling the covers over her head. "Go away!"
Hermione heard silence, but didn't trust it. She peaked out from under the covers to see Harry standing at the foot of the bed, with his hands on his hips. "What a great day to be ALIVE," he beamed. And precisely upon saying the word 'alive,' he wrenched the covers off of her, and threw them to the floor.
She flipped onto her stomach and groaned into the bed. "I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." She felt Harry's hands latch onto her ankles. She grabbed fruitlessly for her headboard but it was too late. Harry was already yanking her towards himself. Before she knew it, she was upside down, being fireman carried down the hallway. Harry dumped her clumsily onto the couch.
"Oh good, you're up." He said, as though he hadn't just manhandled her out of her room. "Get dressed, we are going to lunch in 5 minutes." She glared at him, stubbornly refusing to respond. He bent down until his face was level with hers. "You are coming to lunch with us. You can either do it dressed like a person, or you can do it dressed like that. Your call. You now have four minutes and fifty four seconds." She stood up and marched into her room wordlessly, chin up, with what little dignity she had left, and refusing to make eye contact with George and Ron, who were both grinning like idiots from the kitchen.
When she got home from lunch, Hermione was feeling a little more like herself. Harry was right. She HAD needed to get out of the flat. Not that she was going to tell him that. She had just put her bag down when someone started loudly banging on her front door.
She opened the door to find several ministry officials. A tall pinched faced man was at the front. "Hello Ms. Granger, I am Oliver Lindsay. Is George Weasley home?"
George responded from behind her. "George Weasley is."
The man named Oliver Lindsay stepped forward. "May we sit and talk?"
Hermione looked at George, clear worry etched across her face. George gave her a small nod and gestured for Oliver to come in. George and Hermione sat on the long sofa, leaving the armchair for Oliver.
"Mr. Weasley, you yourself may not know this, but we have reason to believe that you are a 'creature,'" he began, slowly.
George rolled his eyes. "Not this rubbish again."
Oliver shook his head. "Sir, we are not like Mr. Wilson. We are not assuming that you have any ill intent towards anyone. But, can you honestly tell me that you know what you are? What your abilities are? Why you would have glowing eyes from casting?"
George looked suddenly uneasy.
"We thought not. Could you assure us that you might not accidentally hurt yourself? Or someone else? Do you even know the extent of your abilities?" Oliver pressed, his spine straight with conviction.
Hermione interrupted. "So what? You want to arrest him again?"
Oliver shook his head. "Not arrest, miss. Detain. We want healers to look into what he is, and ensure that he isn't a danger."
George responded coldly. "And if I wanted to leave?"
"Mr. Weasley. Until we can assure that you aren't dangerous, we cannot in good conscious allow you amongst the people. But you wouldn't be in a cell. You would have comfortable living quarters at St. Mungos. You would be allowed visitors. We just want to understand you."
George scoffed. "Well at least my prison will be comfortable. How thoughtful of you."
Hermione leaned forward. "I know how the Ministry works. They would not have approved this unless you'd had a hypothesis as to what he was. So what is it that you think he is?"
Oliver smiled, kindly. "Very smart, Miss. Yes, we do have a theory. According to ancient texts, there is a type of Lycanthropy far more powerful and potent than those turned by being bitten. Those with the affliction do not have to turn, and are not bidden to do so by the full moon. They are given power from a moonstone, and are able to exercise control over other wolves as 'true alphas'. These wolves must be wizards, and the magic of the moonstone boosts the magic of the wizard, meshing the two kinds of magic."
"If that's the case, I don't sound so dangerous." George squinted at the older wizard. "So what's the problem?"
"We need to confirm that this is the case… we also need to discover the extent of your powers. It's for everyone's safety. I do hope you understand that."
Hermione stood, furiously. "It sounds like it's for control!" There was rage in her eyes.
George rose as well, but only to put a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Whatever the case may be, I need to go with him 'Mione. Owl my parents and let them know." He turned to Oliver, who had also stood. "Will my parents be able to find my exact whereabouts by request, at Mungos?"
Oliver replied: "If you'd like, you may pack a bag of your own comforts, Mr. Weasley." Hermione's gut churned. This wasn't right. George pulled her in for a hug. "I'll see you at the hospital, alright?"
She nodded, and immediately ran to the Owlery to notify the family. She couldn't believe this was happening again.