"You goin' to eat tha'?" Ron muffles through a heaping mouthful of pancake, jarring her from her conspiracies. Ron's expressive eyes seek her, a hopeful gloss coating his muddled eyes. How Ron hasn't clogged an artery yet, is beyond her.

She pushed the plate nearest to her, with the final pancake on the Gryffindor table towards her friend. A tapping sensation on her incisors, as a grinning Ron smothers his meal in grains of salt and lemon juice. Neville was a pureblood, and he managed to keep his food in his mouth. Ginny, too. Why was her friend, the exception?

"What's up your neck, 'mione?" Ron asks, his lip textured with crystals of sugar.

"Nothing," and everything. Sleeping had been near impossible. Managing a few meagre moments before the sun crept through the sheer red curtains of her postered bed. Powerless to her splitting mind, she laid in bed thinking for hours. One moment, she'd be grasping at her golden embroidered bed sheets with curling fingers. Reimagining the look of disgust as Snape scowled at her less-than charm work.

Then, she'd switch seamlessly. Mulling over the hushed words between her professors, trying to divine the hidden meaning without luck. It was stranger than strange, to see the exposed feathers of her unswerving professor. To Hermione, he'd always been unpluckable, never manifesting an emotion thicker than loathing. Last night, he was the same man, but with a cracking veneer. She couldn't put a finger on it, but he seemed off.

"Then what's wrong? You've barely eaten. Mind you, I wouldn't either if that sad breakfast was in front of me," he teased. Glaring at her oats and yoghurt with feigned revulsion. She smiled despite herself. Ron was not the brightest, but he was a good distraction when you needed it. A trait that entwined the worrisome Harry and Ron tightly to one another.

"This sad breakfast gives me energy without crashing. Unlike that diabetic nightmare you've digested." A practical breakfast, though it was not incredibly enticing either. Spooning her yoghurt mindlessly, producing a squelching sound with each stir.

"Diabetic?" His dense eyebrows furrowed.

"A muggle disease," it was astonishing how closed the wizarding world was. In a perfect world, the melding of the natural muggle science and otherworldly magic would be revolutionary, in her opinion. Regrettably, such a utopia was idle fiction.

"Don't know about all that, but it was good. What's wrong with you then? You're all broody and think-y," she scrunched her nose in an ugly fashion. Hermione Granger did not brood. She did think, of course, but one could not be think-y.

"I am not broody. I'm just bothered about – my Herbology essay," looking at her breakfast carefully, as the lies spilt far too easily from her bowed lips. She doubted Ron would even question her, but Harry would.

He'd become suspicious of her, lately. Suspicious wasn't the exact word for it. Suspicion, by definition, implied mistrust and Harry trusted her in all things. It was more akin to curiosity, though not as uncomplicated as that, either. A challenging look he'd throw when she'd leave for a class once again. A question shading his emerald orbs.

He knew she was keeping secrets. Whether those were the benign kind women kept or something else, he couldn't tell. She needed to prevent an escalation to suspicion, he had no reason to lose confidence in her. She'd debated telling him about the moonlit conversation she'd heard for a long time. He deserved to know, truthfully.

Deserving or otherwise, it invited questions she was not prepared to answer just yet. She wasn't keeping secrets. It was more like a delayed retelling. She'd tell him. Eventually.

"Of course, you are," he said, smiling at his friend with a pronounced eye-roll and tossed crown. "You've written three times more than you need. Why would you need to worry?" Night and day, were they. The fairies on Harry's opposing shoulders, rarely in agreement with one another. "Besides, I've not started," he shrugged his shoulder, with a swig of his pumpkin juice as her spoon dropped with a clank.

"Ronald Billius Weasley. How are you going to write one-hundred inches of parchment in three days? We got the essay in the first class – honestly, Ron," she huffed. He cringed with each carefully enunciated word.

Ron had no drive. When she'd force Ron to work under threat of muggle torture, he would write three inches in thirty minutes before giving up. Rushing out some haphazard attempt at an essay a few hours before it was due. He never wrote a second draft either. The very notion, sending a pained shiver across her shoulders.

"It can't be that bad – you're always so dramatic. Bet it only took a few days." She didn't deign him with a verbal spar, merely raising an inclining brow. He withdrew from her eyes, having inferred her meaning correctly.

Of course, it had not taken her long. Her and Ron work ethics were hardly comparable. More in the fact that she at least possessed one. He at least had the decency to look at her somewhat curbed.

Albeit, her work was always ready weeks in advance and she prided herself on it. Alas, a cruel voice mocked her. With every turn of her enchanted clock, that warped reality became more and more feasible. Hermione was on the precipice of a spiral, and she battled it with all she could. It was becoming rather wearying for the young girl.

"Fine. You're right. As usual," a hint of a smile tugging his rounded lips, slightly amused by her beaconing grin. On rare occasions such as this, she reflected upon how similar she was to her beloved half-kneazle. Friendly to any who could appreciate her authentic appeal and dole out praise to her accordingly. Except for that ugly mole, Ron called a pet. Neither witch nor kneazle, wanted anything to do with the grimy rodent.

"You'll do it – Tonight?" She asked, pushing his half-finished plate out of reach. A question, though there were only a few acceptable responses she'd take. Yes, Hermione. Obviously, Hermione. Without question, Hermione.

"Could you help? You're better at this stuff," Ron's shoulders heaved imperceptibly, shrinking into himself. Hermione snorted a laugh wanting of humour. On a typical day, she'd reprimand him for exploiting her, but as with her new normal, today was no ordinary day.

"I can't. I have detention," she admitted, flushing rose at the pits of her slight face. How embarrassing. A detention, she barely deserved but had, nonetheless. Judging by the bulge of his eyes, Ron didn't think so either.

"Blimey – I didn't think he was serious 'bout that. He didn't even give one to Fred!" he said, his voice pitched high. That was the only blessing. Fredrick would not be there, thank the heavens.

"He offered to take it back – begged, to be honest. I didn't want Seamus to cause trouble," as preposterous as that was. It was not as if she'd blown his pages out of reach on purpose. It was an unfortunate side effect. Besides, he was the one who'd blown up the parchments with his failed spells to bring them down. Ron merely laughed at her reasoning. He'd have taken the out. Slytherin as it was.

"You're barmy, 'mione. Who gives a toss about Finnegan?" An offended 'oi' flew from the eavesdropping boy. Ron didn't even acknowledge him – further proving, how he felt about his feelings.

"It's done now," she sighed, resigned to her self-imposed punishment. When Professor Lupin had offered to let her 'clean' the library instead. She'd almost given in, granting the witch access to any book she could touch was a reward in her opinion, and he knew it. A small part of her was still tempted to run to his office with her repertoire of cleaning spells, instead of the demeaning grunt work Hagrid would provide. She'd much rather clean the library, than the Thestral pits.

"Bloody hell," he laughed. She was happy he found the humour in her plight, as she could not. Call it self-pity, but she was wallowing. Mourning her near perfect record, as it died a tragic death. She didn't consider her detention in her first year, a true detention. That was because of Ron and Harry. In this, she was the only one to blame. Seamus Finnegan, too.

Ron composed himself, laying his hand on hers and smiling a crooked smile. His chipped tooth revealed itself, invisible to those whose guardian was not a dentist.

"I'm sorry about Fred and all that – he was bang out of order." Hermione jerked, taking a lengthy blink. The only other Weasley to say anything against their git of a brother was Percy. Even Ginny, who'd called Ron out for being a cad plenty of times, was silent. She flipped her flat hand to squeeze his palm gratefully. No words were necessary as Ron's smile grew, causing her to return the gesture.

"Come on, you sod. Let's get to class," she teased, wanting to revert to normal. Though the change was nice, lingering any longer would be strange for both. He rolled his eyes at her playfully, before yanking his hand back and wiping her away on his shirt. She shook her head, shoving him hard on his shoulder. A small grin breaking her affronted exterior.

She pulled her shoulder bag from under her. As she looked up, she caught the poisoned eye of Frederick Weasley. His eyes, a corrupt black, were boring holes through the skull of his younger brother. She turned away from the intruding stare, as quick as she'd caught him. She was happy it was away from her, as short-lived as it would be.

.

The day dragged, which was normal when you had a time-turner weighing you down. Normally, she'd be dying for the day to close, and she could remain in one place for longer than an hour. Today, she wanted the hours to repeat themselves forever. A constant loop, delaying her detention for eternity. She bucked up in the end. True Gryffindors let the flames lick their skin with a protruding chin and a steel jaw.

Harry and Ron became pointless guides to her walk to Hagrid's Hut – a path she knew by heart. They insisted it was for the pleasure of their company. To help her, they said. The pain of their company, more like it.

'Where did we go wrong, Harold?'

'I don't know – she was always wild – remember her hair? Signs were there...'

'I reckon it was the books – terrible influence. All those tales became her inspiration, the mad criminal,'

'A miserable tumble from grace, if you ask me, Ronald'

'Azkaban next, I reckon. No turning back now, Harry'

And so on. They continued to talk around her, encouraged by her sullen huffing. The constricting hold of her crossed arms grew more oppressing with each syllable. The final straw was the flashing bulb as they reached the hut, as she spotted the hidden Colin Creevey. She wheeled around to her friends, as the faces reddened. She demanded to know what was going on. Harry recognised her steamed tone, possibly even felt the stabbing of her anger in the magicked air.

"C'mon Hermione. We had to get this. Your very first detention!" His hands spreading to the open landscape surrounding them. She opened her mouth to protest but Harry waved his hand, ready to amend his statement. "Yeah, yeah. The first solo detention."

"We're so very proud, 'mione. Colin here, was only happy to help our dear Harry Potter," finished Ron, through restrained laughter as Harry fought his own. Ron clapped Creevey's slim shoulder as he handed Harry his photo. Hermione was ready to release a barrage of venom, but the unthinkable happened.

Hermione smelled it before she'd seen anything. With closed eyes the smell swelled around her, tangible in a way. A scent she'd begun to loathe – almost woody with some fruit, apple she thinks. A muted fragrance below it – cinnamon, perhaps?

"Well, isn't this a delightful surprise, love," said a smug voice, from over her head as he stood behind her. Standing far too close for her comfort. Hermione's anger was bouncing, petitioning her for freedom. She moved away quickly, a fierce growl leaving her as Fred winked at her.

"Oh, this is too good! Creevey – just one more, get her face. Move in there. Don't be shy, she doesn't bite…much," the flashlight exploded, forcing her back like a frightened mare as the light poured over here violently. Hermione sneered at Fred who switched his winking to the camera, flawlessly. The last photo of him, the cruel head voice sung. How had this happened? How was he here? Did Ron tell him? She wondered what Ron's last photo would be. He was, quite possibly, not long for this earth.

"Why are you here?" She demanded, her hand flying to her hip. She adjusted her stance as Fred absorbed the movement with a wide grin. He must be a sadist, her mind conceded. Ron was dead, deceased and departed.

"We've been accused of stealing the clothes of the Slytherin team as they changed for practice –" said George, as he inspected his clean fingernails.

"– Defamatory lies, to be sure. Told McGonagall we didn't steal them –" continued Fred, with a hand over his heart with an exuding innocence. How Harry and Ron hung off their words was embarrassing, as if they were not mortal beings.

"– We only burned them –" George continued, with a charming smile and bouncing eyebrows.

"– Burning green smells absolutely edible," finished Fred, with a dreamy sigh. If Hermione was to believe in religion or faith, she'd believe any with a core based on reincarnation. As her present self was undeserving of this, but her past self was most definitely a wicked sinner.

"Brilliant," Harry awed, as George bowed low at the waist. Children, she thought. What was so extraordinary about stealing someone's clothing? If it was as a special as they made it appear, then siblings were other-worldly. Harry and Ron were enraptured as the twins and Lee described Draco Malfoy using a quaffle to hide his – well, his quaffles.

"Yer 'ere then," Hagrid clapped his hands. The chipping doorframe shook in response, as he enveloped the small space. Hagrid stepped down from his doorstep, the aged wood protested his large weight. Hagrid towered above everyone she'd ever known. His sides poured over the straining belt holding his raggedy clothes up. Raggedy from interactions with creatures and overuse. "Ron? 'Arry? Yer' not supposed to be 'ere," his eyes darted between the two boys.

How Hermione wished he'd included here in the category.

"We were just taking Hermione down, we'll be off now," Harry said, pulling Ron backwards with him. Hagrid's sooted black eyes looked down on the small witch, his thin lips pinching. Hermione stared at the matted grass under her boots, powerless to the sheer disappointment on the gentle giants face.

"Alri' follow me, ye'll be 'elping me in the forest, somethin's after my chickens. Ye'll be in pairs, to have a little look around" Hagrid huffed, storming passed the group with a strict intent. Surely, he was not serious? The forbidden forest?

"Hagrid. Do you think we should be going into the forbidden forest?" Had he forgotten that Harry came across the Voldemort/Quirrell hybrid in his first year? At detention – with Hagrid?

"Don't worry yer little head 'ermione. I'll be sending you off with fangs or meself, be perfectly fine," he hooked two of his gigantic fingers on his lower lip, whistling for his slobbery dog. Fang bounded from the hut, that slowly disappeared beyond the hill as they drew closer to the forest. Hermione had a rumbling feeling in her stomach, as the wind whispered through the large firs ahead. Whether that was the nefarious energy the forest emitted or a sign of things to pass, she did not know.

"Hagrid, are you quite certain?" She asked in a hushed voice, a private moment between the two. She didn't want to undermine him in front of others, especially with his ongoing Buckbeak problems. Though, she would never forgive herself if she'd said nothing at all. Hagrid didn't seem to mind, thinking her to be afraid. Hagrid's large palm collided with her upper back. Oblivious to his raw strength or underestimating her weight, she knocked forward before catching herself on the scraped bark of a nearby tree.

'Sorry 'bout tha'," emitting a peal of nervous laughter, that jiggled his stomach a little. "Yer'll be fine. I'll give Fang to yer group," the dog grunted in acceptance, moving to her left side. His flattened snout reaching her mid-chest. Speckles of drool falling on to her chest as they fell from his glistening jowls. "He'll not let anything happen to you, 'ermione. If ye find what's been eatin' my chickens, send up red sparks with that wand of yers. I'll be there as soon as," his smile did little to reassure her. She stared into the murky forests, darkening as the night hours came upon them.

"—that puts...George? Sorry 'bout that, Fred. I'm not bright on my best days. Yer'll be with 'ermione then," Hermione caught the tail end of the conversation. She whirled around to protest the pairing. She eyed George and Lee who were sharing sly smiles. She suspected this pairing had not come about by natural means. Fred's toothy grin could be described as charming by others. To her, it was positively predatory.

"Off ye go, we've not got all nigh'. Know yer spell? Good lad," he gave Fred a hearty slap. He hadn't fared better than Hermione, as he sputtered the lost air from his lungs. Hermione muffled her laughter, for Hagrid's sake alone. Who was now apologising to Fred, much more than he ever deserved. Fred's blossoming cheeks were quieting when he strolled to her, a skip in his step. She'd not expected this. The sole of her foot twitched, as her brain traced the fastest route to Professor Lupin's office.

"Don't speak," she said, laying down her one rule. Fang sat on his haunches between the two, a form of mediation. Fred raised his hand against his head sharply in salute.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she hoped that would be the last she'd hear of his voice. It was less common then Ron's voice but induced heavier headaches. She narrowed her eyes, waiting for a sign of betrayal from him. When none came, she gave a slow nod with measured hesitation.

They cut a path through the forest, sticking close to one another for safety. Hermione's hands fought for dominance as they fidgeted behind her back. Fangs trotted along ahead of them as the first line of defence. He was surprisingly quiet for his size. She wondered if there was some Collie mix in the dog, as he was exceedingly clever for a canine. Her eyes picked any movements she'd found, her head snapping to the flocking pigeons or falling branches. She was a laser beam. Well, she was trying to be. It was hard to focus when Fred watched her with pursed lips. Ignoring their quest, perfectly contented to study her profile. She was happy he kept his promise, but she didn't think she'd have to ask him to not gawk at her like a bloody painting.

"What?" she snapped. His gaze never fell, hooded eyes tracing the slant of her jaw.

"I'm trying to work something out," he said, as if it was enough to explain. Far too preoccupied with her face.

"What exactly requires you to stare at me, that is helping you do that?" She asked, shaking her hair in front of her face for a measure of protection.

"Well, that's what I'm figuring out, gorgeous," her skin was aflame under his gaze. She tried to reign in her blush. Judging by the half-smiling man, it was a failure. She pulled her curtain of hair closer, ignoring the over-grown child to her left. Besides, engaging in whatever nonsense he was talking about would only cause deep regret. Was there something on her face? She palmed her cheek, trying to wipe the illusion away. He huffed, as though she'd just stood in front of the tele.

"Alright, I bite. What is it?" She knew he was baiting her. She just knew it. As with all things, her curiosity was stronger than all else.

"Golden or brown," he shrugged, as though it was explanation enough. He encroached her space even further, as he bent towards her as though she'd given her permission. She most certainly had not. The gall of this boy. His breath stroked the side of her nose as she turned to face him, stopping mid-stride. Fang endured alone, while the arguing duo had yet to notice his departure.

"What?" She said, with an incredulous laugh leaking out. The birds above fluttered their wings, as her bubbled laugh awoke their slumber.

"Your hair, love. Golden or brown. I know it's brown with golden highlights, but then when you're angry–" he whistles low, large hand swiping his jaw. "—I swear, it's pure gold. I don't think it's magic. Magical, yes. Not magic, though. I've never seen it before, and I've seen some strange things. Once, I saw a man pull his ear from his pocket. It actually gave us this brilliant ide–" he shook his head, returning his gaze to the wide-mouthed witch before him. "Never mind...ehm…Golden or brown, what do you think? Don't even start me on your eyes. Fecked if I know! Absolute mystery, they are." He wagged his finger in front of her face, rebuking her genetics.

"I knew I'd regret it." She leaned in close, as she sneered before stomping ahead her arms wrapping around her like English Ivy. The twigs snapping harshly underfoot, not even bothering with her vow of silence.

"Don't start me with the grey. What's that doing in there? Even more confusing. What colour are your eyes, do you reckon?" He yelled from behind her, as he jogged to keep up with the spritely girl.

"Bored," she replied. His laughter echoed and bounced off the greenery around them. He slowed his jogging, to a brisk walk as he found his place once again. She pulled away, though the limited space between the thick based trees afforded her little breathing room.

"Hmm, bored. Now, that's something I can work with…" leaning into her ear, while avoiding her swatting hands as she attempted to push him away." …care for a bit of mischief?" His hot breath stung her frosted ears, as the chilly November night grew closer.

"No," she snapped, shaking her thick curls around her shoulders. He pulled his hands up in defeat, but she ignored him. She kept walking. To where she didn't know. She'd stopped looking for the chicken hunter a while ago. She regretted engaging him, it was as if she'd given him permission and the flood gates were opened.

"So, what's the deal? how are you in all those classes?" She stiffened, covering her soft gasp with her long fingers.

"What?" Her voice did not waver, bend or pull. For this she was thankful. Internally – she was bending herself into tight knots, little chance of loosening.

"You're assigned to every class, Miss Granger," he said, his voice was lower than usual. She was ensnared, with no way out. She knew how to subdue Ron, but he was like playing with the cub. Fred was the larger mountain lion, requiring more tact to evade.

"How do you now that?" She asked, interested despite her fear. Harry and Ron had yet to figure that one out, though they had suspicions. Fred was unfazed by the question, merely raising his left shoulder.

"I watch you," he said it immediately, as though he hadn't needed to ponder her question. No, he hadn't found her timetable. He just watched her. She wrinkled her nose and faced him. He didn't look at all remorseful for the admitted invasion.

"Well, that's not creepy at all," she hissed.

"Only if we make it so, lovey," he said, bowing close with a salacious grin. She pushed him away, with a great huff. She was itchy all over. How had she been so thoughtless? He could have seen the time-turner, for Godric's sake. Stupid. How had she been so reckless?

"Neville swears you're in Herbology, but Seamus is adamant you're taking Ancient Runes. I tried to ask Brown, but she wasn't very nice. Is she always so rude? Mouth needs a good wash, I reckon," He pouted, but she was grinning happily. Hermione was coming around to Lavender, by the day. She promised she'd thank the witch for that later. For now, she'd her own dirt to spew.

A high-pitched bark whizzed through the air, her ears perked up to the sound. Fred pushed Hermione behind him in an act of chivalry, obscuring her vision. His harsh movement kicked the bark below their feet generating a puffed cloud of dirt, sticking to her pristinely pleated skirt. Entirely uncalled for. She rolled her tapered eyes skyward, exposing the white of her eyes. She was up to date on fourth-year spells. She could likely protect herself better than this tosser could.

"Numpty. That's a dog bark," wiping her skirt of the lifted bark. Fred pushed her back again, despite her sighing. His strangely strong shoulders were pulled taut, his feet aligned with his hips.

"That thing is the size of a small horse. Couldn't be a centaur, could it?" He whispered as she perched over his tall shoulders in the direction his fingers pointed. The cover of night was shielding the full form of the creature before them, reared back on its hindquarters. Two spotted grey eyes buried in a black mass was all she could see. Hermione gripped his arm, trying to take him away but he refused to move.

"Is it a…" Her voice laced with fear. Her eyes were wide and gaping, afraid to see the feral grey again. She knew divination was woolly, but a fool was she. It bore an uncanny likeness to the creature Harry had been researching. She tried to pull the memory of what he'd described but she was short-circuiting. She knew divination was woolly, but a fool was she. Fred's arm reached behind him, yanking her arm and forcing her against his broad back.

"Hermione, I don't like this. It doesn't feel right," his voice was steadily deep. If she'd heard it any other time, she wouldn't suspect a thing. Though, now she could hear the distinct barely-there breathes between his sentences. He was nervous, too. As one should be, when they've no idea what they're facing. His arm gripped hers, burrowing nails biting her. He kept his shield of her, despite the growing growls clawing slowly towards them.

"Let's just back away slowly. When we've covered some ground – run." She whispered, fearful of the linguistic capabilities of the creature before them. She wanted to shut her eyes, fall away from the nightmare. She was afraid when she'd reopen them, they'd be witness to a worsening nightmare. She barely blinked.

"Best shot we have," he agreed, at another time she might have smiled at him. Might have.

They mirrored one another. Three small feet backwards and never parting from there closeness. She winced as a twig cracked underfoot, eliciting a high bark bellowed by the wind. Think, Hermione. Then she had a strange thought of Harry and Ron. Would her friends look for her? Would they tell her Grandmother that she was gone? Would they miss her? Then, she strangely thought of Colin Creevey.

"Okay, we'll have to separate. Throw a flare towards…it? Let's just hope it blinds it and we run like hell," she loosened her grip, slowly. Dropping her hand, finger by finger. If this worked, she'd have to thank Colin later, too.

"Don't know who hell is but if he's fast, I'll run faster." She smiled this time, despite her spiking blood. At his jerky nod, they pulled away in opposite directions. She couldn't see anything. Her senses were exploding. She caught her last glimpse of Fred before she turned her head avoiding blinding herself.

"Vermillious!" they shouted in unison, waving their wands in a slanted 'v' formation. She heard the snapping jaws as red exploded around her.

"NOW, FRED!" she screamed, before running faster than she'd thought possible. She didn't wait for a reply, only hoping he'd listened to her. Please listen, Fred.

The blood in her body was thin and high in her head, as she bopped and weaved through the overgrown forest. Nimble and agile were not what one would describe her as on a given day. If they saw her now, they would have. The blood hammering her ears would be painful, if not for the adrenaline lacing her pain receptors. She didn't look behind her. That would cause a panic she was not ready for. She could hear the debris of shredded wood flying around her, as she darted through the thickets. She wasn't sure if she was generating the whooshing noise, as the wind whipped around her or if that was internal.

The world turned to its side, as her legs caved, snagging on a hidden branch. Forcing her down with a thumping crash. A scream ripped from her chest. Her body tumbled through the forest floor at a high velocity. The rustling crunch of dead leaves swirled around her. Her forearms shielded her eyes against the wooden shards. The pain intensified as her body slapped against the base of a large pine tree, with a sickening crack.

The adrenaline eased, leaving the skin of her throbbing ankle scorched. Tears forced themselves out, as her back arched in protest and pain. She whimpered, against her better judgement.

Stop it, Hermione. Now was not the time for your worthless tears. Get up, Hermione. Cry later.

She gave herself a minute to compose herself. Three breathes was all she needed. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. She propped herself on to her elbows, to survey the damage and determine her next play. She hoped her foot was still attached to her. She winced at the pain before her eyes cracked open. Squinting in the darkness, seeing something she was unprepared for. It was not her ankle that alarmed her. No, the aggressive waxed leaves climbing her leg is what scared her. She gasped, instantly recognizing the invasive weed. Devil's snare. Her wand. She needed her wand.

She flexed her wrist, hoping to feel the familiar winding vines, between her fingers. She tried to calm herself, knowing her struggle would only speed her suffocation along. The tears simpered, as her fingers sought purchase against the nothingness. She turned her head, as her leg clenched with the curling plant crowding it. It was not her wand she saw. No, it was two swirling pools of jarring steel that met her vision.

Her head fell against the cold floor. Helpless to the wracking sobs consuming her as the doom hit her aggressively. There was no escape, stuck between a hard place and a large boulder. Stuck between the threatening creature and the bolstering Devil's Snare. She was awash with hopelessness, her final moments reduced to saline tears. She was resigned to her fated, keeping her eyes closed and flooding her mind with the memories of her loved ones. She had no intention of viewing her death.

Harry's first treacle tart.

Ron's crinkled eyes.

Granny's wacky music collection and practiced dance-alongs.

Thud.

A light object bounced on her lithe chest. She gasped feeling a tug to her magic from the object. She opened her eyes, shaking. Her wand lay between the valley of her breasts. How?

A sorrowful whimper came from the creature beside her, she looked to the beast with a heaving chest. The creature's ears tapered down, as he cried to her. A deep crease formed on her forehead, she gawked at the wild creature. It moved towards her, despite her futile attempts to escape as the Devil's snare snagged her lower abdomen in her duress.

The curious creature nosed her wand further up her chest in suggestion. The crease in her forehead shifted with the pull of her rising eyebrows. It wanted her to use her wand. The towering animal backed away from her with a bowed head. She lifted her free arm hesitantly, expecting some sort of punishment but the low howls were gloomy. She held the wand, unable to speak as her parted lips refused to touch. The creature nodded its head in consent.

She aimed her wand towards her body, maintaining eye contact with the feral animal with feline eyes. Lumos Maxima, she thought, not wanting to startle the animal into fight mode with words. Her wordless spell activated, the blood flooded her legs as the Devil's snare receded into the crevices of the barked tree. The fog cleared, freeing her to think. The Grim.

That's what Harry had been researching.

The supposed Grim had yet to move, remaining as still as a June night. She allowed her eyes to wander the animal. Its black fur was dull and matted, with a shag-like quality. She imagined that was due to its environment. If properly cleaned it might be polished and smooth to the touch. The paws were enormous, with grey tufts of fur hid the crevices between its toes. The fur looked considerably softer than his other furs.

A halo of tangled fur maned around the head of the animal like a lion, matching its feline grey eyes. The snout was elongated, unlike fangs snubbed nose. The animated ears gave the animal a friendly quality, contrasting its overall fearsome appearance. Then again, we only feared what we did not know.

"H-h-hello," she croaked, her voice hoarse from weeping. A single ear perched from its floppy state, reminding her of her neighbour's schnauzer, Gimpy. She laughed with the silliness of it all, as she lay weakly under the eye of a fearsome Grim. The dog – yes, dog – barked at her, before twirling around in a circle three times. It painted heavily, an animal version of a smile.

"I'm Hermione," her voice felt new, as though it belonged to someone else. The large dog bowed in greetings, eliciting a watery laugh from the witch. He or she, seemed to enjoy her laughter, looping a large circle again.

"You're not scary at all, are you?" She asked with a half-lidded glance at the tilting headed animal. The dog barked, the meaning lost on her. Seeing as no jaws were clamping around her neck, she'll assume it was a no. She lifted her hand towards the animal, palm out as she knew fang liked. The dog crept forward, as though afraid to scare her again. She steeled herself, refusing to flinch.

"HERMIONE! GET AWAY FROM HER!" Fred screamed, sending a slew of red flares at the dog. She shielded her eyes with her forearm, screaming for him to stop but the sound muffled with the pained cries of the kind creature as the hot sparks singed its tail. She opened her eyes, catching her last sight of the dog as it scampered away. Fred ran towards her, skidding on his knees as he dropped before. His arms began to turn her face, searching for malice. She swatted him away with a fierce pout.

"What did you do that for?" She demanded, propping herself on her tired limbs. Fred's eyes doubled before he scoffed, shaking his head harshly. She waited for his response.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, incredulous.

"As you should, be. That dog saved me – more than you managed. You just hurt an innocent animal," she knew it was uncalled for. She couldn't blame him for not coming to her rescue. She was no damsel, after all. Though, she could not find it in her to care.

Fred flew to his feet, mouth agape and ready for nesting birds. "Innocent? He was the bloody reason we were running in the first place!" He bellowed. "You know what? There's no pleasing you, Granger."

She flopped back down, wincing a little. She crossed her arms across her chest as she lay unmoving on the ground. She looked more like a child throwing a fit for denied sweets in a grocery shop than the haughty attitude she had intended. Fred turned his back to her, huffing into the night air before throwing his hands in exasperation. He stood for a moment, seeking something in the night air. He wiped a hand across his face before turning back to her.

"We'll move back towards the forest line and call for Hagrid there. Can you walk?" He asked, knowing she'd say yes even if legs were severed.

"Of course, don't be ridiculous. Just help me stand," she held her hands out expectantly. His tongue visibly grazed the inside of his cheek, as he moved to help her. With a grunt of exhaustion, she was vertical again. The trees laying correctly in her world once again. She bared her weight on her uninjured foot, fearful to test it as the blood thumped around the appendage.

"There – see? Perfectly fine," she said, with a deep sigh. His tongue traced inside of his cheek, pushing the shadowy skin of his cheek out. He hesitated, before his back straightened and he grew taller with ambition.

"I can carry you,"

"Absolutely not!" she cried, her arms flying to her hip. The motion caused her to wobble slightly, Fred's eye catching it and raising an eyebrow.

"You're clearly injured, Hermione," he pointed towards her foot, which was twice the size of the other.

"A mild sprain," she rolled her eyes. His teeth worried his lip as he observed her, clearly unconvinced. He didn't agree, or nod his head simply moved out of her way in a challenge. She lifted her chin, ready to prove him wrong. Yes, the pain was extraordinary, but she'd fallen in muggle PE class before. She just needed to walk it off, the pain would ease up. She took a determined step forward, faltering immediately as she sky-rocketed to the floor. Fred was expecting her utter failure, already catching her from behind.

"Stubborn Wench – that's it!" He snapped, hauling Hermione over his shoulder. Despite her seizing muscles, she fisted his wide back harshly. The strong muscles were unyielding to her fisted rage, refusing to surrender.

"Frederick Gideon Weasley! Put me down, this second!" She shouted, each word dotted with a scathing smack. If it hurt, he conveyed no signs of pain.

"It's this or bridal style. Your choice, love. You're not walking – because you can't," he said calmly, his hands never moving from her mid-thighs. She scoffed, though she was glad he could not see her reddening face. She harrumphed, before loosening her rigid set. There was little she could do besides hex him, which would leave them both unable to walk. He took some pity on her by remaining silent, as she hung sadly from his shoulder. Thank Merlin for small mercies. She was feeling rather dizzy from her limp position, though she refused to be carried as if she were a blushing maiden. Drowning brain cells be damned – she has more than enough, anyway.

"Here we are," he said, sliding the woozy witch down his long torso before sending the red flares to the sky for their Professor. She was being impetuous. He was helping her – even if she'd never admit to needing it. He'd even tried to save her, even if he'd saved her from a glorified Shih Tzu.

She looked to his forehead for any visible signs of exhaustion. A patchy redness or a single bead of sweat but neither were found. In fairness to Quidditch, for all its faults, it kept its players at peak fitness. It probably wasn't easy, all the same. She was no feather. He'd performed a thankless job, that deserved some acknowledgement from her. Her Grandmother would be ashamed of her – ongoing feud or not.

"I – you –" she frowned, the words caught in her larynx and refusing to exit. Fred looked at her strangely, eyes examining the condition of her pupils. "Thanks for carrying me," not that I needed it. He jerked his head from her vision. He'd yet to let her go, she was appreciative of that too. Her dead limbs were of no use to her.

"Anytime," he replied, his smile forced and not fully facing her. She reckons she knows why he's acting this way. The absence of praise for his other feat. She withheld her eye-roll, he had helped her. In his own, misguided way.

"Thanks for saving me. Even if it wasn't necessary-" he rolled his eyes, the forced smile dropping exposing his irritation in his curling lip. She held her finger up, to halt his attitude. "You didn't know that and helped me, anyway," she rushed. He searched her eyes for something, she didn't know what, but his curled lip relaxed. His smile was small – and real.

"Anytime," he repeated. For once, Hermione smiled back.

"Whats 'appened you?" Hagrid rushed from a diverging path. She pulled away from Fred, though allowed him to support her injured side under her arm. She had warned him earlier. She'd even contemplated giving him a piece of her mind while she was drooped over Fred, but his current watery eyes blocked her.

"Found the source of your chicken problem – a dog," she said, ignoring Fred's scoffing. It couldn't be a grim, it was an impossibly large dog. It was too kind to be the creature Harry described. Hagrid stopped in his path, torn between fussing over her and interrogating her. He loved his chickens as much as Hermione – possibly more. He roved over her body, considering her injuries with narrowed eyes. It was her pride that was shattered more than anything. Her ankle smarted a bit, too.

Hagrid approached, getting a closer at the injured witch and wizard. Frederick was in shambles, a small cut grazing blood down his left cheek. Probably a rogue branch. His hair stuck our in all direction, muddy hand marks covering any exposed skin. God knows what she looked like. Hagrid looked fit to burst, a wash with self-hatred. He wore a similar look when Draco was attacked. Maybe he feared his new job role? She knew nobody here would complain, unless someone told Molly Weasley. The woman was far too invested in her children. Not that she knew what that was like. Hagrid whistled for Fangs, as sweat accumulated on his forehead.

"Don't worry Hagrid. We're alright, right Fred?" She snapped her head to her current support system, holding a silent conversation with her eyes. Fred's bronzed eyes narrowed, wanting to protest her decision. It seems he's not too happy with the Care of Magical Creatures professor. Not that she could blame him, he'd been wreckless. Hell, she'd even warned him before of this. She gripped his arm softy. Fluttering her eyelashes in a way that always made Granny Ruth give her more ice-cream.

"Yes, barely scratched," he said, he sighed in acquiescence. His upper lip jerked as Hermione beamed at him before returning to look at the fidgety professor.

"Was it-" he stopped himself, realising there were more important things than his questions. Hermione empathised with a hungry mind. Fred's foot restlessly tapped on the marshy ground.

"Yes, Hagrid?" she encouraged, with a placed smile. Schooling her features to hide the persistent throb of her aching back and swelled foot.

"Was it –" he hesitated once again, though her encouraging nod emboldened him. He sighed before pressing on, with one eye closed "– a nice dog?"

Fred was almost bent at the waist from laughter. If Incredulity or amusement was the source, she couldn't determine. Hermione schooled her features as Hagrid's face bloomed in embarrassment. Of course, he'd ask that. She knew her answer, even if Fred protested it.

"Yes. Yes, I think so, Hagrid."

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Hi all,

I recently updated the last few chapters for FFN. Net, as the format was weird when I converted it. I should have checked that sooner lol. All my notes at the beginning and end are gone, tbh I was too lazy to put them back in. Thanks for any reviews left, I love hearing feedback. Keeps me motivated!

Anyway, thanks for reading the story so far! Leave review, if you're so inclined.

Until next time