A dreamless sleep was had. She awoke the next morning and for a moment, life was forgotten. Her body was limp and her mind blank. Her bones humming as she stretched languorously in her maroon sheets. A ragged sigh escaping as her back arched in pleasure. She closed her eyes and mellowed into her relaxation for a moment more.

"What happened yesterday, Mi-Mi?" The high tenor of Lavender brown came from the foot of her bed. She opened her hooded eyes with great effort. Her roommates stood around her bed waiting. Parvati's hand on her hips like a scolding mother. This did not bode well for the rest of today, tomorrow's problems becoming today's.

"I hate that name, Lavender," she lifted herself to the foot of her bed. She'd rather not be interrogated first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, Lavender was an utter gossip. If she got what she wanted, the word would spread. Hopefully, disenchanting her schoolmates from interrogating her as well. "The Weasley twins picked on the first year, so I gave Fred a piece of my mind. Nothing more to it, really. Oh wait - Dumbledore took fifty points from each of us. I'll earn mine back, I swear, " She said, making no promises of the remaining hundred. She truly was sorry. One-hundred and fifty points were taken. It was a high price to pay.

"Yes, but why?" Lavender stuttered. Hand waving through the air, grasping at invisible questions to hurl at the yawning brunette.

"I told you," Hermione had summarised the events succinctly. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything else invites more questions, more gossip and more hushed whispers. "Nothing else, that you didn't see already. Last time I checked, you had two working eyes, Brown."

"Yes - but - how?" Her nasal voice climbing in exasperation. She should have known this would be her reception. Hermione shrugged her shoulders in response, side-stepping the girls currently blocking her exit. She closed the door of the bathroom quickly. Hoping against hope, that Lavender's need for gossip didn't over-ride her social etiquette. She leaned against the door for support, dreaming of the good ole' days.

Hermione had come to a silent agreement with her teenage roommates some time ago. She did not disturb them, and they left her be. In her very first year, she can admit the isolation had hurt a little. She'd heard she'd have a shared room, and she'd been thrilled. It was one of those new opportunities her professor spoke of. They would be in close proximity for six years. Surely time would force camaraderie between the girls, wouldn't it? Sadly, the invitation for midnight rendezvous with chocolate frogs and gossip, always missed her owl. Her bushy mane was too complicated to participate in makeovers, it would seem.

After some failed attempts to participate, she'd had enough. Finished parading herself, she decided she would live peacefully alone. She'd even shared gossip with them, like a tittering idiot. Their behaviour spoke clear as day. She was not their girl. She wouldn't fawn over anyone, she affirmed to herself. It was against her nature to do so. Once, she'd become friends with Harry, she regretted ever trying to engage the girls. She witnessed the true effect of idle gossip. If she regretted ever trying to fit in, it increased ten-fold as her friend walked the halls with cowed shoulders.

So, their lives moved adjacent to one another. That was fine, she decided. She had her boys and that's all she needed. Female companionship was overrated. They could paint their nails and live their dreadfully dull lives. She'd fight trolls and hunt basilisks, instead. They'd exchanging basic pleasantries, and share their shower schedules That suited Hermione perfectly. Though, when she returned from France this year, it became clear that it no longer suited the girls. French Muggle shampoos in hand, the road through puberty become less craggy for her. Hermione was a different girl, to the naked eye. Her hair had become soft and loose under the correct care regimen. her body stretched, and her remaining puppy started to slip away. Giving way to a woman's curves. Her uniform sat correctly now, the widening of her hips flaring her skirt.

Appearance was not a priority for her. Shiny hair could not defeat a basilisk, any more than straightened teeth could. She embraced her sharp wit and library of knowledge more than ever. Her confidence was one of strength, knowledge and integrity. She could still admit, she was happy with the new changes. There was something wrong with hating your appearance. It was perfectly okay to look in a mirror and be happy.

She'd come back shiny and new. Falsely leading the girls to make a conscious effort to include her. She'd emerged from her hair cocoon, and they had realised there was indeed, a third girl living with them. That was not an over-grown sheep in need of a shear occupying the third bed. It was a fifteen-year-old girl, who was using the wrong shampoo. The offers for the company to Hogsmeade were rejected, of course. She didn't need to be friends with people whose morality lay with the quality of one's skin. People who could not see beyond veneers to the identity within, were not people she needed around her.

Hence, the new perceived familiarity the girls adopted. They would stop her on her journey to bed most days, with an update of the day's best gossip. Spreading tales of Millicent Bulstrode's embarrassing attempt to ask a Hufflepuff to Hogsmeade. She'd ration out a few non-pulsed responses, full of feigned amazement. Then resume her nightly rituals, as if they'd not said a thing to her. She'd explained the changes to Harry and Ron. How utterly vain her roommates were and the like. Ron muttered something about women and madness. That was a response she'd anticipated, and thoughtlessly snubbed. Harry though, well, he was far too trusting. He'd suggested giving them a chance. Maybe, they matured, he'd said. As with all things, she knew better.

The only thing that was maturing in that room, was Lavender's ever-expanding chest. Still, familiarity aside, the interrogation gave her an idea of how her day would go. It would be predictably dreadful.

.

Her quill scribbled vigorously, as Professor McGonagall explained the art of animagus transformation.. Her professor was lecturing on the properties of the mandrake leaf, along with the difficulties faced with a dried leaf. A furry tongue was beyond undesirable, she thought. Judging by the disgusted sounds from the students around her, they thought so, too. The theory was relatively straight forward, though an arduously long process, without question. An incredible difficult art to master, but the rewards were worth it. Something she may consider in her later years.

She was studiously ignoring the paper birds Ron had been firing at her since the beginning of class. She had an idea what the messages were about, based on the furious glances from Ron through her peripheral vision. She doubted Ron knew Hermione at all - as if she'd engage in classroom shenanigans like this. During Transfiguration, no less. Divination, though, it was welcomed. She'd rather listen to Lavender, than that daft bint and her opened third eye. If she could open her first two, she may see how absurd she looked in the mirror. A particularly enraged paper bird began to attack her temple, demanding her attention. She was sure the bird was feeding on Ron's irritation through his spell-casting. Sighing, she grabbed the intrusive bird needling her forehead, opening the missive and praying her professor could not see.

Meet me outside of class. Ron.

She knew Ron had seen her open the letter. Still, he'd yet to take his narrowed eyes from her. If it was any other person, she may have been nervous by the unending stares. She was more disappointed at his shirking of their lesson, to be honest. He'd never be an Auror as he hoped, if he couldn't pay attention in his classes. What if he came across a violent animagus? He'd have no idea what to do. All because he wanted to shout at Hermione for a perceived slight against his family, when she had the right of the situation. She wasn't worried at all. This was Ron and she knew him better than most did. He was quick to anger, slow to forgiveness and born with a personal bias in regards to his family. There was a simple magic to appeasing Ron. It required no spell work, ingredients or incantations. Confusion was the key. She had to speak elaborately and quickly, lose his interest and downplay the entire situation while appeasing him. She'd apologise to him emphatically, without admitting fault, that is.

'I'm sorry I hurt you.'

'I'm sorry you feel that way, Ronald.'

A broad and sweeping apology. If all else failed, Gifts could work too. He particularly favoured gifts of the chocolate persuasion, even better if they held the shape of an amphibian. She kept a few emergency chocolate frogs in her bag at all times, for when Ron was in a particularly foul mood. Those moods could almost always be attributed to low glucose levels. That being said, she was rather busy today. The time-turner was strictly to be used for classwork and not for personal use. She'd made a promise as such, owing to the responsibility she'd been given.

Time was a fickle thing. Her professor had already explained the cosmic disasters that could ensue if she changed anything in the past. It was nerve-wrecking when she thought about the ramifications of accidentally destroying the timeline. The first few weeks of the term still remained a jumble in her mind. Trying to avoid being seen in areas she'd just left. Slinking down hallways and trying to keep track of whereabouts all her past lives. She worried if she was destroying herself sometimes, as she split herself across the grounds of Hogwarts.

She wasn't technically breaking the rules, if she allowed Ron to delay her. Technically, she would be using the time-turner to get to class on time. When McGonagall signalled the end of class, a flourish of her wand opening the classroom door. She slowly collected her items, allowing Ron enough time to intercept her exit. If he didn't, well, she would go to class. No harm done. She gingerly gathered her quills, placing them carefully and slowly in her bag. One by One. An arm yanked hers, forcing her to turn around. She didn't have to look at him to know who'd grabbed her.

"We need to talk," Ron said. His features tightly knitting together, scrunching his face into a pug-like appearance. Harry strangely stood in the background, remaining a neutral party. She'd thought Harry would have some opinions to share, too.

"I gathered as much, what with all of the paper birds stabbing my forehead," she tried to pull her arm from his grasp, but his grip tightened on her with intention.

"If you opened them, they wouldn't stab you. Now, would they?" He stepped forward, encroaching her personal space. "Why'd you attack George?"

"For your information, Ronald - It wasn't George. It was Fred. He pranked a first year, and i told him off. He wasn't hurt. Maybe his ego was bruised, but he's medically sound. Dumbledore took fifty house points. Then, Fred asked me if I'd go Hogsmeade. So, if he's not upset, I don't see why you should be." He dropped her arm like a hot poker, stepping away from her. She soothed the skin of her burning arm, while Ron did what appeared to be mental equations as his face shifted wildly from one state of confusion to the next. If it had confused her, it would downright baffle Ron.

"Hogsmeade?" Asked Harry, his mouth falling open. Filling in for Ron as he stood there, all words stolen from him.

"For a butterbeer, to be specific. Don't ask me why - I think it was a prank of some sort – it was rather embarrassing," She admitted, cheeks flushing a violent shade of red marring her olive skin.

"Hardly meant to ask you out," Ron said, sparing a moment to laugh at the idea. Recovering from his shock, he spoke as though it was unreasonable that someone would do such a thing.

"Why's that, Ronald?" she asked lightly, spreading the breadcrumbs at his feet. Harry had more foresight, seeming to notice the danger zone Ron was veering into. His eyes exploding as he tried to lean into Ron's ear. Ron just shrugged his fretting friend away, he scoffed and began to smile, enjoying the seemingly friendly air.

"Well, you said it yourself – to embarrass you, obviously. I mean - its Fred! I heard he went Hogsmeade with Angelina Johnson. She's bloody fit, too," Ron laughed. A faraway look as he imagines the older Gryffindor. The absurd notion that she could fall into the same bracket as the quidditch player, seemed rather amusing to Ron.

"Ron, mate," Harry hurriedly spoke, pulling his friend back from the seething witch. Hermione's breathe whistled through her nostrils.

"So, what, Ronald? Fred is too good for me? or I'm not as good as Angelina Johnson? Hmm?" Ron stood his ground, as she stepped closer. Seemingly blind to her anger or stupidly unafraid.

"You know what I mean. He's Fred and well, you're you...It's not a bad thing, 'mione," he said, stroking her upper arm soothingly with a small smile. You?

"Well. Aren't I glad, it's not a bad thing," She pulled her arm from him, grinding her teeth. Ignoring Harry calling her name hurriedly. She stormed to her Ancient Runes class. Her angry footfalls echoing through the empty halls, looking for a hidden alcove to use her time-turner without notice. How dare he.

Bad thing. Bad thing! What was it exactly, that was not a bad thing?

Hermione was not delusional. She was not the most attractive girl in Hogwarts, but she wasn't the worst. Besides, what made her unworthy of Fred Weasley? He was far too tall, a bit too bulky and his hair - god that hair. Sure, he was somewhat attractive, but everything else was rather unremarkable. His pranks had an intelligent quality to them, as well, she supposes. It would take skill and intellect to create spells and new magical inventions. Other than that, he was an arrogant bully who thought far too highly of himself. Frankly, any girl chasing him thought low of herself.

"Pound for the hound?" Fred appeared from beneath a long tapestry. She startled, her wand springing from her holster, battle-ready. He lifted his hands quickly in a gesture of appeasement. Never straying beyond his position. He seemed to remember his last experience with her magic.

Her fingers slackened, as she realised there were no physical dangers present. The only threats were to her mental wellness. She needed to shake him. She couldn't rightly use her time turner in front of him. His broad shoulders loosened, as her wand slowly drifted to her side. The idea that someone was threatened by her was an odd comfort.

"What are you talking about?" Did she even want to know?

"'A pound for the hound', Dads always saying it. Muggle saying - means you're thinking a lot. Need a wizard one for us, I reckon. Muggles already have a Queen, why should they get everything?" His hand gripped his hip, a movement amusingly similar to Molly Weasley. Her anger dissipating as she imagined Fred in Molly's clothing.

"It's 'penny for your thoughts'," she corrected, as she backed away from him. Leaving him to continue whatever had him wandering the castles during class. Nothing good, she reckoned. His tall form speeding his gait, allowing him to catch her with ease. Their legs moved in tandem to one another. Every effort she made to speed up, stilted her breath. All her attempts were easily matched by the tall wizard, shadowing her without a blink of effort.

"'Penny for your thoughts' is a terrible wizarding phrase. Won't do at all," He tapped his chin in thought. "Galleon from your stallion?" He brandished a coin from his robes, flipping it earnestly. She ignored him. The best approach she could muster, even knowing there was a possibility of engaging him further by her silence. A sliver of movement caught her from the edge of the corridor. She paused, her arm reaching across Fred to stop him. He jerked back, catching himself on his back-foot. His mouth opening to question the sudden contact, hushed quickly by the thin finger pressed to his lips.

She kept her finger pressed to the warm lips of Fred, as her head turned away, listening for sounds. A low-pitched screeching noise, like a singing chatter, caught her ears. Fred had caught on to the noise too, his red eyebrow arching slightly. She indicated her head towards the noise, stepping quietly forward. Her behaviours as of late were peculiar. Wildly uncharacteristic of her. Harry was the boy who veered into danger.

Hermione merely followed as Ron fumbled behind her. The redhead behind did not fumble or pester. He mimicked her behaviour, quiet as a mouse and just as sneaky. Speaking of mice. The pitter-patter of Ron's fattened rat, as it scurried across her feet sounded in her ears. The sensation of his long-greyed tail hitting her ankles, forcing a yelp from her.

"We better inform Dumbledore. Possibly the ministry," said Fred, his features withheld in mock seriousness.

"If I'd known it was that damned rat - I would've kept walking. If the dementors flaunting each entrance were not enough for you, I should like to tell you - we have to be careful. For Godric's sake, there's-" she whispered lowly, the open secret casting the airs around them as she cut her speech short. There's a mass murder on the loose. If Arthur was to be believed or the crippling creatures dawning the castle, he was trying to get inside Hogwarts. He was trying to get Harry - trying to kill Harry. The theory that he was out to resurrect Voldemort, by killing Harry did not sit well with her. Besides there is no evidence that he could be resurrected, it was far too simple in her mind. Why would a mass murder try to kill Harry? He, who was embedded in the heart of a heavily protected castle, surrounded by the very beings they had escaped?

"Is everything a joke to you?" she sneered.

"No, I take pranks very serious. It's an art form," he said, straightening his tie and puffing his chest. She was dooming herself by engaging him.

"You're ridiculous." An understatement. Verifiably insane was more appropriate but less decent.

"Says the girl chasing mice," he leaned into her, grinning with abandon.

"It's a rat, and I wasn't chasing him!" she snapped, pushing him away with a harsh shove.

"You heard Dumbledore. His whole thing about light in the darkness - using like - emotional lumos or something. That's what we do. That's what I do. Unless you think Dumbledore is ridiculous, well then, you're absolutely barmy," The cadence of his voice was harsh. She scoffed, a mocking sound. That was justification for his abhorrent behaviour and nothing more. They're societal menaces with a speciality in chaos and havoc. Interfering with the education of others should be a committable offence, in her humble opinion.

"You can justify your actions, all you want, Frederick. Though, I would be remiss in telling you that you've got to be careful. Your little pranks will be of no help facing the business end of a crazed man's wand."

Hermione truly took no enjoyment in lecturing others. She'd love to be the type of person to shrug her shoulders and walk away unaffected. She would love to, but her conscience would not allow her. When someone says something foolish, she could play the scenarios in her mind where their ignorance could hurt them. Unfortunately, this left her questioning everyone choices and condemning herself for it.

"Worried about me? I'll live to see our wedding day. Don't you worry there, love," he winked, clucking his tongue loudly. She'd begun to suspect that not only was his newfound lust a method to embarrass her, but a way to defend himself. She was tired of him and rolling her eyes this often.

"If I saw you on my wedding day - well, I'd willing blind myself - if the sight itself didn't manage it," she walked away. Adjusting her sleeves as she walked, blissfully ignoring his retorts. The rat that had coloured her cheeks, scampered across the hall before her. Taunting her, so. Her foot twitched to kick the rodent across the hall, despite her abhorrence to cruelty. She'd never do it. She stood against violence, but then there was something about that rat that caused her lips to twist. It could be attributed to its slimy nature, although lately her dislike was amplified. Easily attributed to the slander said rat had caused her beloved familiar, she supposed.

She refrained from allowing the animal to taste the cruel lick of her thick soles, settling for a cat-like hiss. The beast screeched and fled, as she ducked into a nearby alcove. One turn and she'd find herself in class, pushing the day's events into the recesses of her mind as magical knowledge soaked into her mind. The vanishing feeling took hold as she evaporated from existence, dissolving into the past as the wheels of time ticked.

A foolish thought to tamper with time came, preventing the last few days from occurring. The wish died a savage death on her tongue, seeing the past unfold in front of her for the thousandth time.