The next morning, Hermione threw the paisley comforter from her body the moment she awoke. She thought about the nightmare she had just seen. This dream had been from a person – Draco's – point of view. Some hairy man was casting well timed Crucios on him, and she still felt the weariness of it in her bones.

What made her think it was real? The nightmares were persistent, sure, but she had never put any stock into any sort of Divination before. Was it the pure terror infusing the dreams? The subject matter? The ache she still felt in her fingers?

As she sat down with her scalding cup of coffee, she looked at her comforting surroundings. The small eat-in kitchen was cluttered, but neat. Everything was where it belonged, the sounds of the city nearby muted. She hadn't wanted to cast charms to keep the sound out, as pure silence would have been unnerving. Was she unnerved anyway?

'Yes. These dreams. Are they dreams, or visions? Harry had been the one to see things in his dreams before, perhaps he would know.'

But Hermione wouldn't bother him today.

'I'll just ask him when I see him next," she thought.

With these thoughts swirling through her mind, she determined to go to Diagon Alley to build her library a bit more, research her dreams/nightmares, and raise her mood. While Hermione was a level-headed woman, she still liked to indulge in a bit of retail therapy when she was down.

Standing up to put her coffee cup next to the sink, she suddenly fell to the floor, clutching her leg in pain. The ceramic mug crashed to the floor, shattering. It felt like someone was standing on the side of her knee, and she clutched her knee, rolling from side to side. Her eyes were squeezed as tight as she could close them. The pain slowly receded, leaving her breathing hard, her hair in her mouth from the thrashing she had been doing.

Slowly opening her eyes, she could see the pieces of her favorite coffee mug strewn about the floor. She relaxed her muscles gratefully and pushed herself off the linoleum. Pulling her wand from her sleeve, she fixed her mug.

Standing in her kitchen, alone, hugging her arms around herself, she thought, 'I need to do something.'

She straightened her appearance, grabbed her stuff, and limped to the Floo.

She thought: It's getting worse, now this is affecting me in the daytime.