AN: Hello! It's been a hot minute, hasn't it! But it's finally time for me to post my new story. Unfortunately, I've decided to stop my use of FFN, so this will be the only chapter of this story I will post here. If you want to read the rest of it, I suggest you get signed up to AO3 and subscribe to me there. I will only be using my FFN account for competition stuff moving forward.

But anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I'm sure it'll be clear almost immediately what it's based on. x

Thursday, 19th September 1996, 07:06 am

Dear Diary,

Excuse my use of such a cliché expression, but I couldn't resist starting off our conversation that way. Using a book to record my feelings and experiences feels a little cheesy anyway, so it only feels right that I use the most corny of words to address you.

It feels rather trite to use a book to record my feelings and experiences, especially since not a lot goes on in my little world, but Mum sent it to me amongst a pile of other birthday presents, and since my life has been a little hectic with school recently, I didn't think it would do any harm. I can see why she thought it might be a good idea, emptying my continuously busy brain into your empty pages. It could be cathartic after all, and help me when my mind feels like it might explode, which is far too often to be normal.

It's odd writing to you as if you were a living being with feelings, but isn't that the way you're supposed to do this?

Of course, there's always a high risk of my books and parchments having a life of their own, too, and I don't want you to get all offended and fight back. It's probably best if I start our relationship off on the right foot.

Yes, the books here are often violent. Hagrid once assigned a Care of Magical Creatures tome that had sharp, pointy teeth and eight eyes. The only way you could open it was if you stroked its spine and lulled it into a blissful stupor. Of course, he didn't include that in our annual letter home, and there were many chewed fingers before he finally disclosed that information.

Then of course there was the cursed diary Ginny had acquired during her first year at the school. We're still not sure how she got her hands on it, but we suspect the Malfoys were to blame, in retaliation of Ginny's Dad, Arthur, conducting a perfectly legal search of Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy does enjoy the dark arts, after all.

All of this news might seem a little peculiar to you, but know that your new owner is a little strange. You see, I am a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and today is my seventeenth birthday. This means I am now 'of age', at least in the magical world. From the moment my big, grumpy, ginger cat Crookshanks woke me up by meowing in my face, if I wanted to I could leave school for good, get a job, get drunk or get married.

Of course, most of these new opportunities are entirely out of my reach, as they would need me to have a social life and a boyfriend, and I have neither of these.

Plus, I'm one of those oddities—a teenager that enjoys attending classes and learning. Why wouldn't you when your school is one of the best magical schools IN THE WORLD?! I can't get enough of reading and enjoy nothing more than expanding my knowledge. A lot of my spare time is spent at the enormous school library, devouring any book I can get my hands on. History, potions, forbidden charms, I love it all.

Now that I see it written down, I can kind of understand why I don't have such a great social life, but I'm happy, so I'm not all that bothered by it, I promise.

Since this is the first page of my diary, I should introduce myself a little bit. If I'm going to share my deepest and darkest thoughts and secrets with you, then it's only fitting that you know who I am.

My name is Hermione Granger, the only daughter of Jean Granger, a muggle dentist from Cambridge.

I had a relatively normal and boring upbringing. I didn't even know that I was magical until Professor McGonagall visited me on my eleventh birthday to tell me that I was a witch, and instead of attending St. Mary's Secondary School the following September, I would be going to Hogwarts once I'd finished junior school.

I'd always thought I was different from my peers. Not in a big-headed, 'I want to be famous' kind of way, but strange things have happened to me since I was five. Once, I set my Great-Aunt Elizabeth's awful lace table cloth on fire by glaring at it after being forced to eat her vile fish pie. The summer before my first day in primary school, Mum was trying to force me into an awful pair of sensible school shoes, and whilst I was parading them up and down the store, the entire rack fell over. She initially put it down to me being clumsy even though I rarely got injured or ill, and it was a relief to find that instead, I had magical powers.

Of course, the news was still a shock for me, and it took hours of explaining from Professor McGonagall before I finally trusted her enough to make that first trip to Diagon Alley to buy my wand. I remember the deputy headmistress saying, "your power is strong, and if we harness it, you will be one of the greatest witches of your time," and Mum was almost crying because it turns out that I wasn't a complete freak with no friends.

I took the Professor's prediction as a challenge, and, despite being muggle-born, I excelled at my classes from the moment I turned up at the school. I spent the rest of my holiday devouring the books on my reading list, then persuading Mum to take me back to Flourish and Blotts to buy more, which must have helped me get off to a good start. Most of my fellow students hadn't even opened The Standard Book of Spells when we finally got to our first lesson.

Now, I always come top of my class, apart from last year when I only achieved Exceeds Expectations in my Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L—which I am NOT still bitter about. Last year, Headmaster Dumbledore made me a prefect for Gryffindor, which wasn't a surprise because I always try to stay on the right side of the rules for the most part. But there has been the odd occasion where there's been a perfect reason to break them.

Like the time Hagrid illegally hatched a dragon egg, and I had to help Harry smuggle it out of the castle.

Aside from the magic, studying, and books, I am a fairly average teenage girl. The only thing special about me is the magic, to be honest. In fact, I'm pretty sure the rest of the student body doesn't even know I exist, aside from when I have prefect duties, but even then, most of them roll their eyes at me and ignore me anyway.

I'd rather not be all that popular; it feels like far too much effort that I could be spending on better pursuits. Like reading. Did I mention I like reading?

I have two best friends, Harry and Ron, who I met on the train to Hogwarts on my first day. I would like to say that we got on straight away, but it was a little rocky to begin with. Ron even once called me a "nightmare". Still, we worked it out, and now the three of us are inseparable most of the time.

It's incredible what fighting a troll can do for a friendship.

Speaking of my two annoying friends, I should probably stop writing and head out to meet them. We always eat breakfast together, and despite it being my birthday today, I still have a full schedule of classes and a to-do list of homework that could stretch across the entire length of the Great Hall.

And I love it!

I guess this is where I say, "I'll speak to you later," if I even remember to write in here after my busy day. The European Journal of Social Psychology has worked out that it takes, on average, sixty-six days for a person to form a habit, and today is only our first day of knowing each other, after all.

Until I remember to write again x

The expensive red leather cover of Hermione Granger's brand new diary crackles as she closes it shut. She clicks the flimsy lock on the front of it into place, then lifts her wand to apply an additional charm to keep out any prying eyes.

Glancing around the dark enclosure of her four-poster bed, she looks for the best spot to hide it. Although she's pretty sure she won't divulge all her darkest desires, the small amount of information she has already written on the pristine white pages would be disastrous if they fell into the wrong hands.

What was she even thinking of, gushing about how much she loves school and reading anyway? No wonder she doesn't have that many friends when, like a nerd, she talks more about scary potions and spending hours in the library instead of recounting tales of unrequited love and how sexy the muscles of the latest popular boy are.

It's no surprise the rest of the school treats her like a pariah.

Unable to find a suitable hiding place within the confines of her bed, Hermione peeks her head out of the thick red and gold embroidered curtains, ignoring the disgruntled meow from Crookshanks as the sunlight disrupts his post-breakfast, early morning snooze. Despite the early hour, the other four girls she shares a dormitory with are already wide awake and getting ready for the day ahead.

On Hermione's left, Faye Dunbar is only just shuffling out from under her duvet, blearily reaching for her toiletries so she can go and get a shower. She is always the last out of bed, and the familiarity of the routine brings a smile to Hermione's face. In the next bed over is Helen Dudger, a quiet girl who is adamant she actually belongs in Hufflepuff and spends all of her free time hanging out with the yellow and black adorned students in their year.

Parvati Patil perches on top of her school trunk, brushing her long, dark black silky hair, whilst chatting away to the most popular girl in their year, and perhaps even the school—Lavender Brown.

Lavender is the exact opposite of Hermione. Lively and pretty, with hair that is always perfectly styled, cascading down her back in dark blonde waves, Lavender never has to worry about not having a boyfriend or being stuck without friends. Lav (as she only lets her friends call her) is never seen without Parvati or her identical twin sister, Padma, who is a Ravenclaw, and the boys at Hogwarts always seem to be throwing themselves at her feet. She could have a new beau every week, if she wanted to. She wouldn't even have to ask.

And who can blame them? The beautiful Gryffindor even has breasts, a part of the female anatomy Hermione severely lacks.

Lavender, Parvati, and Padma have subjected Hermione to a five-year-long regime of bullying. They're clever enough to keep the insults and mean charms at a surface level, never doing anything terrible enough to need escalating to the Gryffindor Head of House. But it's enough to give Hermione a strong dislike of the three girls, and she tries her best to avoid them as much as she can.

Chewing her lip, Hermione swings her legs over to the edge of the mattress and contemplates shrinking her new diary to make it easier to hide, but all four of her roommates are already awake and bustling around the dormitory. Even if she tried her best to be super discreet about it, she's pretty sure at least one of them would catch her in the act and would tease her until she graduated Hogwarts.

Which is still almost two years away.

It's clear to see that the dormitory is a no-go for stowing the book. Hermione slips out of the sanctuary of her four-poster bed, wishes Crookshanks a good day with a scratch under the chin, then hides the diary amongst her other textbooks in her school bag. The other girls are used to seeing her escaping the confines of her bed with a school book in hand, so it shouldn't attract their attention or look unusual. Anyway, it'll be helpful to have the diary with her if she's ever struck with urgent thoughts that need scribbling down. After taking a glance at her uniform in the long mirror, she lets out a hard breath then yanks her overfilled messenger bag onto her shoulder before turning to leave the room.

"It doesn't matter how many times you look," Lavender calls from where she's applying lipstick into a handheld mirror. "It's not like your hair or your face would have magically transformed overnight."

Hermione rolls her eyes as Parvati and the rest of the girls erupt into a fit of high-pitched giggles, all of them over-imitating Hermione's last-minute check in the only tall mirror in the room.

Appearance has never been a concern of Hermione's. As long as her uniform is tidy and she's able to attend her classes and learn, there has been no reason for her to worry. Her hair has always been a nightmare—bushy brown curls that frizz at the slightest hint of moisture in the air, making her resemble more of a triangle than a teenage girl. Sure, hundreds of beauty charms exist, as well as potions that could sleek down her hair and tame the beast, but Hermione doesn't have the time or patience to perform them every morning. It's hard enough forcing it all into a plait to keep it out of her face.

But it's not only Hermione's hair that Lavender likes to tease about. She inherited a set of large front teeth from her kind mother. Lavender delights in making beaver and squirrel noises every time she sees Hermione. Although Jean Granger is a dentist and has been promising for years to give Hermione braces to sort them out, it's never the right time to get them fixed, given that Hermione is away at boarding school ten months out of the year.

It's another issue Hermione could fix with a charm, but out of respect for her mother, she's refrained.

Hermione could respond to Lavender's taunts. A hundred various insults sit on the tip of Hermione's tongue, desperate to be hurled out with vials of venom, but instead, she takes the most direct route from the mirror to the dormitory exit.

The school motto is 'Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon' for a reason, and if Hermione were to reply, it would only make matters a lot worse.

Instead, she goes for the kill it with kindness approach.

"Have a nice day, Lavender," she calls in an over-the-top cheery voice, trying her best to show her roommate that she isn't even bothered by her bullying anymore. With a sigh and letting her shoulders slump, Hermione heads to the staircase, knowing full well Ron and Harry will help cheer her up.

⁂

Taking the stairs two at a time, Hermione pushes Lavender's insults out of her brain and reviews her day's schedule. Breakfast with her two best friends, a day full of her favourite lessons and then, if she's lucky and she gets all her homework finished in time, she will spend her evening playing wizard chess and Exploding Snap with Harry and Ron.

"There she is," a familiar voice fills her ears as she reaches the bottom of the spiral staircase.

Hermione lifts her head, a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth as she spots both boys waiting for her. They slouch against the back of their favourite red, squishy sofa, both their uniforms in various states of disarray and their hair a mess. It's unusual for them to beat her to the common room, as both boys prefer their sleep to being awake. She takes it as a true testament to the strength of their relationship that they've made this effort for her.

Ron beams across at her, sending a flutter of excitement through her belly. How can he look so handsome when he's this untidy?

"Morning 'Mione," he says as he pushes himself into a more upright position. "Happy birthday."

"Oh, is today the nineteenth?" she teases. "I haven't been keeping track."

It's a lie, of course. Ever since the trio boarded the train to return to Hogwarts on the first of September, Hermione has kept up a constant tirade of nagging and reminding them about her upcoming celebrations. Usually, she would be unbothered by all the fuss. She hates the idea of a load of eyes on her for any reason, but there's a special feeling about the experience of coming of age in the magical world, the place where she feels the most at home, that has her excitement piqued.

Ron rolls his eyes, and the snitch fluttering in her stomach intensifies. The redhead turns to smirk at Harry. "Sure, because she hasn't been reminding us every damn day since we got back to school."

He yawns and stretches, his untucked shirt lifting to reveal an expanse of pale, freckled skin. Hermione's cheeks heat up at the sight, taking her by surprise. It can't be that she fancies Ron; he's like a brother to her. But she'd be a robot if she didn't get a little bit excited at a glimpse of a man's skin with all these teenage hormones raging around her body. It's not like she's spent any time imagining what else might be under his off-white school shirt or his faded, too-short, black trousers...

Harry's voice cuts into Hermione's daydreams. "Earth to Hermione." He waves his hand in front of her face. "Heya pal, where did you go?"

"Sorry, what did you say?" Hermione shakes the indecent thoughts of her lanky best friend out of her head and forces her eyes up to look at Harry.

"I was asking if you feel any different now you're seventeen?"

Hermione hitches her bag further onto her shoulder and leads the way out of the common room. "I feel exactly the same as when I left the two of you last night to go to bed. I woke up with Crookshanks glaring at me because he wanted me to feed him, then Lavender went through her usual teasing routine about my appearance. The only part that was different was the pile of presents waiting at the bottom of my bed."

"Well, surely now you're an adult, you can hex Lav into oblivion?" Ron offers. "Ginny could teach you her Bat-Bogey hex?"

She opens her mouth to reply, but Harry beats her to it. "Hermione wouldn't do that. It's not worth losing her Prefect badge over."

"True. And I don't want her to lose her status because then I'd be forced to do rounds with Eloise Midgen or a Slytherin."

Scowling, Hermione punches Ron's shoulder. "You're as mean as Lavender. Eloise isn't that bad." They step onto the moving staircases, which shudder and groan under their feet as they shift to get the students to their correct destination. "Anyway, I can't hex a person because they're a bully. That would make me worse than them. Lavender may be horrible, but I'm positive that as long as I carry on ignoring her, she'll give up."

"Yeah, because that's working well for you," Ron mumbles.

She could fight back, but it's an argument the three of them have had twenty times over. Ron and Harry have always been fiercely over-protective of Hermione, even though she can stand up for herself. She knows that if she were to argue back with Lavender every time she chose to pick on her, it would be a waste of energy. And the last time Hermione tried, Lavender ramped up the insults.

The trio reaches the foyer on the ground floor in time to see McGonagall opening the massive wooden doors that serve as the main entrance into the castle. A guest waits on the other side. Hermione studies the visitor, who is dressed rather finely in a regal purple muggle dress coat with a matching hat perched on her head. The lady is as old as the professor, and the pair greet each other as if they've known each other for a lifetime.

The interaction brings a smile to Hermione's face. It's easy to think of the faculty as only existing to serve the students, and she often forgets that they're real people, too, with interests and lives outside the school. Still, it's unusual for visitors to come to the school this early in the morning and on a weekday.

"What are you grinning about?" Ron frowns as he nudges her shoulder with his.

Without realising it, Hermione has stopped in her tracks to watch the interaction at the front door, and the boys have gone on ahead. The redhead looks pissed off that he has had to go back for her.

"Oh, nothing. Today is already a good day. I suppose I'm happy."

"Even with Lavender's friendly remarks?"

"Like I keep telling you." Hermione laughs and hurries to catch up with Ron's lanky strides. "They don't bother me anymore. The only way this day could get any better is if they have eggs benedict for breakfast."

"Well, let's go and find out then."

Ron places a hand on the small of her back, and she ignores the tingle of pleasure that travels up her spine at the gesture as he guides her into the Great Hall.

It's not a surprise that she reacts drastically to such a minute amount of human contact. Hermione is very inexperienced when it comes to matters of the heart. She's only ever kissed one boy, and it was hardly a snog to write home about. A couple of years ago, students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons visited Hogwarts to compete in the five-yearly Triwizard tournament. The Durmstrang champion, Viktor Krum, had invited her to be his date at the Yule ball. They'd shared a chaste kiss at the end of the night, but it hadn't even made her foot pop.

Yes, Hermione is painfully single, with bad hair and massive teeth. She's a huge geek, too, which doesn't add to her low social status within the school. Still, there'll be plenty of time for dating and relationships once she's left the school, and she's pretty sure there must be a wizard out there who will adore a gawky, know-it-all bookworm, right?!

Thursday, 19th September 1996 - 07:54 am

Dear Diary,

There's me saying, 'I'm not sure when I'll get a chance to use you', and this is already my second entry of the day. I promise I won't fill you with only school-related ramblings, but as studying is my main focus at the moment, there will occasionally be a need.

As I was taking my seat at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, I remembered that tomorrow is Slug Club. Because I'm not doing so well with the Draught of Living Death, I need to find another way to get on his good side. Slughorn chose me for his group of elite students because I am the 'brightest witch of my age', and I'm highly proud of that. Getting kicked out of the club would be mortifying.

Slughorn prides himself on collecting people that may be influential or that he can rely on for favours should he need them. It's a disgusting way to treat people, now I have it written down on paper, but I wouldn't want to fall out of the teacher's graces in case I should need them.

Anyway, during last week's meeting, he was raving about Moste Potente Potions, his favourite book. I couldn't tell him that I'd already read the book and used it to brew Polyjuice Potion, as it would have gotten me, Harry and Ron in trouble. I don't particularly wish to reread the book either—the recipes I saw in there gave me nightmares—but maybe if I can research other more complex and impressive potions, then I can bowl him over with my knowledge.

Then he might give me a few tips to help me with the draught. I am not beneath sucking up if it helps my grades.

Harry and Ron are off discussing the upcoming Quidditch tryouts with the remaining members of last year's team, and I thought I'd better scribble down the reminder. Otherwise, I might forget. My brain is so full that I often have to rely on to-do lists. And now I have a handy book that should always be with me to keep track of them better.

Also, Lavender has now turned up with her minions in tow. For Merlin knows why she has chosen to sit barely a foot away from me before proceeding to snog the face off Cormac McLaggen, her boyfriend du jour. I caught myself watching them briefly, fascinated by how far someone can get their tongue down another person's throat before realising what I was doing. At least I have you to distract me. If I watch them for too long, I might vomit.

To-do:

Research potions

Review and edit Charms essay

Practice non-verbal spells

Arithmancy equations

Until I remember to write again x

Harry and Ron finish their discussions with last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team then make their way back up the bench to Hermione. She's too absorbed in stuffing her diary into her bag to notice the fact that both boys have their hands behind their backs. One of them coughs, distracting her enough for her to lift her head, a frown appearing on her face.

"Why do you two look like you're up to something?" she scolds, folding her arms across her chest with a huff.

Ron looks at Harry and smirks before turning his attention back to Hermione. "Us? Never!"

Not allowing Hermione to mutter another word, he slides a large box wrapped in sparkling red and gold paper, their house colours, onto the table. A big red bow sits atop of it.

"Happy birthday Hermione!" They shout in unison, garnering the attention of everyone else sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Her heart skips a beat. She hadn't even noticed that neither of the boys had given her a present as she tackled the large pile at the bottom of her bed that morning. Although they've always bought each other gifts for Christmas and birthdays, they've never made a huge fuss over it. It's unlike them to pass it over the table when the rest of the school can see them. There have been hundreds of rumours about the three of them over the years, and this will only stoke those flames further. Even now, Hermione's eyes flit to Lavender and Cormac, who return her gaze with huge smirks on their faces.

Still, she can't stop the smile from spreading over her face as she runs her finger over the edge of the box. "What is it?" she asks, playing up to the attention.

"Open it and find out." Ron rolls his eyes as he slides onto the bench opposite her, next to Harry. "That's kind of the way that presents work."

Not wanting to wait any longer, Hermione tears at the paper, her sudden grin widening as she gets a look at what's waiting underneath.

"First-edition books? You've got Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre and Rebecca? These are amazing. Where did you get them?"

"I sent a few owls to my mum." Harry grins. "As soon as I told her our idea, she was on it. You know she loves reading muggle stories as much as you. I was worried she wasn't going to send them to school."

Ron interjects, "Yeah, we didn't want to give you a rubbish gift, not for such a special birthday. And we know you have tons of books, but you always say that you can never have enough and these were hard to find, Lily said. She had to go all the way to Foster Books in London for them, so look after them."

"These are brilliant, but honestly, it's not a big deal. Turning seventeen isn't going to change me overnight!" Hermione turns the first book over in her hand to read the blurb on the back. "But this a great idea, thank you, both of you."

She longs to lean over the table to give both boys a huge hug, but knowing that Lavender is already watching them, Hermione settles on flashing a huge, thankful smile at her best friends. With a tap of her wand, she shrinks the present then stows it safely in her bag before turning her eyes to the table, where it looks like a hundred different tasty breakfasts wait. She scans the various meals for the treat she said would make her day.

"Eggs benedict, brilliant!" She reaches over to take a plate of food before tucking in. She didn't even realise she was hungry until the first taste of hollandaise sauce explodes in her mouth. "Even better than my mum's."

⁂

After breakfast, Hermione and the boys hurry off to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Snape seems crankier than usual, but even his grumpy mood doesn't quell her cheeriness. They're still learning the theory behind non-verbal spells, which has proved challenging. On top of the more complex charms and potions they now have to master and the mountainous piles of homework, the professors also expect the sixth-year students to perform every spell without muttering the words. Snape, being a particularly nasty teacher, has decided to make this as difficult as possible.

They leave the room feeling exhausted, even though there are four hours of lessons still to complete.

"See you at Potions?" Harry asks, lifting his round-rimmed glasses to rub at his weary eyes.

"Yeah, if I survive. At least you two have a double-free now. I have two hours of Arithmancy before we head to the dungeons."

Ron claps her on the back, the force of the hit pushing her down the corridor in the direction of Professor Vector's classroom. "Good luck!" he calls, laughing as the lingering students shoot dirty looks in his direction.

Hermione might feel bitter that she has lessons whilst the boys have free time if she hadn't already reminded them five times to make a start on their Charms essay. She knows they'll at least make an effort before getting distracted five minutes into their attempts to play chess. They're rubbish at concentrating on work when she isn't around.

Her suspicions are confirmed when she meets back up with them in front of Slughorn's dungeon. "How many feet did you write?"

The tips of Ron's ears turn pink whilst Harry shuffles from foot to foot, avoiding her gaze. She doesn't stop glaring at them, and she doesn't have long to wait before Ron finally speaks up, "Uhm, one, maybe two? Harry's writing is bigger than mine."

Hermione tuts. "Seriously? You're going to have to catch up on a lot of work by the time we finish today. I thought we were going to hang out after we finished our homework since it is my birthday."

Ron's eyes narrow. "Is it your birthday today? You didn't tell us! We don't have any homework due tomorrow, and the deadline for charms is Tuesday. Not all of us do their essays straight away, like you. There's a whole weekend ahead of us, Hermione."

Their bickering continues as they make their way into the class and unpack their belongings at their usual table. But Hermione and Ron's argument is cut short as she catches a glimpse of the battered copy of Advanced Potion Making that Harry slides onto the desk.

Rolling her eyes, she abandons her nagging of Ron and turns her full attention to Harry. She pushes the copy further onto Harry's side of the table with her wand, her nose wrinkled in disgust. With a tut, she asks, "Haven't you received your new copy yet?"

"Nope! I've not ordered one."

"Harry!" Hermione shrieks loud enough that the Slytherins perched at the table in front of them turn around. The corner of Draco Malfoy's mouth turns up in a sneer. "Why not?"

"Why would I? The Half-Blood Prince is a great potions master, and he's excellent at charms, too. I'm learning more than I ever did in any of Snape's classes, and it's all down to the Prince's book."

Hermione ignites the flames under her cauldron, fuming at Harry's reliance on the graffitied textbook. They're still working on the Draught of Living Death, which she is struggling to produce. Under Snape's tutelage over the last five years, she's always come top of her class, despite his hatred of her. Once, he even called her an insufferable know-it-all. You'd think with a kinder professor, Hermione would be performing even better, but her sixth year is throwing her off-kilter.

Of course, her bitterness at her lack of success has nothing to do with the fact that, for once, Harry is outperforming Hermione in one of her favourite subjects. He even managed to turn his potion into the right shade of lilac at the halfway stage during his last lesson, whilst hers bubbled away at a ghastly mauve. It had taken her a lot of effort to congratulate him and not remind him that he's cheating by not following the instructions chalked on Slughorn's whiteboard.

"Can you two not fight about this today, please?" Ron pleads, forgetting that he was only moments ago bickering with the witch. His words interrupt the steely gaze Harry and Hermione are sharing. They stand on opposite ends of the Half-Blood Prince matter, and Ron regularly gets fed up with playing mediator between them.

Hermione huffs. "Fine, but I'm not going to drop it completely, Harry. Buy a new book before that one gets you into trouble."

She gives him what she hopes is a threatening look, then turns to her own potion, preparing the infusion of wormwood before adding it to the liquid. It doesn't take long for her to forget her grievances with both best friends and fall into the calming monotony of brewing potions. She follows the instructions to the letter, and this time, the liquid in her cauldron is starting to look more lilac than heliotrope.

A grey haze fills the room, and the heat of twenty small fires combined with the smell of Asphodel quells any residual irritation at her lack of success. Potions have a rhyme and reason, like baking, and Hermione is confident that eventually, she'll nail the Draught. Then she can add it to the long list of academic achievements she already has stored in her head.

Maybe I should start logging these in my diary?

As she's about to add the sloth brain to the bubbling liquid, a sharp knock resounds around the quiet room, waking her from her concentration. It's unusual for classes to be interrupted like this, and twenty heads lift from their cauldrons to investigate the intrusion.

Slughorn calls for the visitor to enter, and a small blonde Gryffindor enters the dungeon. He clutches a note in his hand, which he passes straight away to the professor before exiting as quickly as he turned up. Slughorn reads the letter then his eyes scour the room.

"Ah, Miss Granger. It seems Professor McGonagall has summoned you to the Headmaster's office. You are to attend immediately. I'm sure Wimby and Potter can tidy up for you. Come along now," he adds, "This message says it's urgent, and you don't want to keep Minerva and Albus waiting."

All eyes are on Hermione now, and a squeak escapes her lips as her stomach tightens. Her brain searches for any clue as to why the Deputy Headmistress might be calling Hermione away from her lessons.

"What have you done now?" Ron whispers as Hermione shoves her book and parchment into her bag.

"Nothing! If I'd broken any rules, then surely McGonagall would want to speak to you two, as well?"

Harry sniggers, and as Hermione glances over at him, her heart pounds an angry beat against her ribcage and jealousy swirls in her stomach. His potion looks perfect, yet again. The thought annoys her more than she cares to admit, adding to the fast-growing list of concerns blossoming in her head.

Her dark-haired best friend doesn't notice this, as he gives her a small smile. "See you at dinner then? We'll save you a seat. Dobby promised you a cake. Try not to miss it. He'd be devastated."

A scowl fills her face, and she fights back the snappy retort she longs to throw at Harry. Dobby is a free elf, but that doesn't mean Harry has to use the creature as a personal slave. And it's not Harry's fault that she's not performing as well in Potions as he is. It's that stupid book.

Still, it wouldn't do to start a proper argument with him on her birthday and ruin what has otherwise been a brilliant day.

"Yes, yes," she hurries as she hauls her bag onto her shoulder with a groan. "I'll see you then. Try to resist eating the cake until you've sung to me."

Ron and Harry grin back at her, and she almost trips over an empty stool in her rush to leave the room, her wrong-coloured purple potion still brewing in her pewter cauldron. Whatever McGonagall wants to speak to her about must be urgent to call her out of lessons.

Hermione steps out of the dungeon and glances around to get her bearings before making her way to the third-floor office as quickly as possible, ignoring the millions of irrational thoughts threatening to push her into a panic attack.

You've not done anything wrong. It's Prefect related.

If only she could believe her own mantras.