Disclaimer: The characters and setting most definitely do not belong to me – they came from that wonderful story-teller J.K. Rowling.
The next day, Hermione was not in class, nor was she present at meals. After dinner, Ginny told Ron that Hermione wasn't in the girls' dormitory at all and hadn't been since before classes started. Ron and Harry cornered Professor McGonagall on her way out of the Great Hall. She had been leaving with Snape and Dumbledore. Undaunted, Harry strode right up to the trio.
"Professor McGonagall, we need to talk to you."
Minerva stopped and turned, giving the boys a sharp look, as if she were on her way to an important meeting and was suddenly waylaid by traffic. "About what, Mr. Potter? I have much to do before . . ."
"It's Hermione."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dumbledore arch an eyebrow.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" The sound of McGonagall's voice drew his eyes back to the professor.
"Um . . . privately?" Again, Harry felt a curious look from the Headmaster.
McGonagall looked between the two worried faces of her pupils and sighed. "To my office, if you please. Excuse me, Headmaster, Professor Snape."
A few minutes later, Harry and Ron found themselves standing in front of their professor's desk. Harry felt like a bug under a microscope.
"Well, Hermione's been acting . . . . strange lately," Ron tried explaining.
"I've noticed, Mr. Weasley, as have several other professors," McGonagall surveyed them over her glasses, "and have tried speaking with her on several occasions, yet she insists that, barring a little exhaustion, all is well."
"But is anything you can do?" Harry asked. "Force her to tell what's wrong? Use Veritaserum?"
McGonagall frowned. "You know as well as I do that I cannot force a student to do or say anything they do not wish to do or reveal. However, since she has not informed either of you, I am seriously concerned. I suggest you allow her to tell you when she is ready. If you still feel that there is something acutely wrong with Ms. Granger, then perhaps she may require a visit to the Headmaster. I doubt that there is anything as serious as that. It may just be a case of pre-N.E.W.T. jitters. Now please go back to your dormitory. I have work to do."
Harry scowled as he left the classroom. The N.E.W.T.'s were weeks away. Not even Hermione could be that nervous.
An hour later, Harry and Ron wandered out of the school. They had just spent the last hour searching everywhere for Hermione. All her usual haunts – the library, Myrtle's bathroom – were devoid of their friend. Resigned, the two boys decided that a visit to Hagrid might cheer them up. Each held a small glimmer of hope that Hermione was merely holed up with their Care of Magical Creatures teacher. If not, at least Hagrid might provide an insight into Hermione's strange behavior. They trudged onward through the snow, the invisibility cloak held firmly under Harry's arm. With only an hour until curfew, they were unsure whether or not they'd make it back to the tower without being caught.
Ron's wand was out, lighting the path. Footprints crisscrossed the path before them, caused, no doubt, by students attending that day's Care of Magical Creatures class. As the neared the cabin, the prints slowly disappeared until only one set remained. Four feet before the door, the footprints stopped, as if someone had suddenly changed their mind, and turned toward the lake.
"Hermione, d'ya think?" Ron asked.
Harry nodded and motioned toward the lake. "Let's go."
The boys walked to the lake, the snow muffling their footfalls. They could hear a faint sniffling sound. The light revealed a hunched figure sitting on the shoreline of the ice-covered lake. It appeared unaware of the approaching figures.
"Hermione?" Harry called.
The figure jerked upright. Hermione's eyes, wide and bloodshot, surveyed them with horror. "Leave me alone," she croaked, pointing her wand at her two shocked friends.
"We're here to help you," Ron pleaded, "Tell us what's wrong."
"You don't know . . . what it feels like. To be . . . be . . ." A sob escaped from Hermione's lips. She clamped a hand over her mouth, whirled, and, her robe billowing behind her, fled into the darkness before Harry and Ron could react.
"Hermione!" Ron tried to take off after her, but Harry held him back. His eyes were not focused on the running figure, but rather elsewhere.
"Harry, we need to . . ."
"Ron – look!" Ron's eyes focused on where Harry was pointing.
"What's that?" A small leatherbound book was resting near where Hermione had just been sitting.
"I think it's her journal," Harry explained as he bent to retrieve it.
"Let's read it!" Ron made a grab for it, but Harry swiftly stuck it in his robes.
"No way, Ron! It's her personal property!" cried Harry as he took off for the castle.
"But we could find out what's wrong with her," Ron pleaded.
"Yeah, but you know Hermione. She probably hexed it."
"So?" Ron looked exasperated.
"So she'll know we read it if we go to breakfast with hex marks all over our faces and then she'll never tell us what's wrong."
Ron sighed. "I guess you're right, Harry. Let's give it back to her tomorrow, though. She'll probably curse us if we sneak up on her again."
Harry agreed with his friend but couldn't shake the small nagging voice in the back of mind that told him to read the journal.
The next day, Hermione was not in class, nor was she present at meals. After dinner, Ginny told Ron that Hermione wasn't in the girls' dormitory at all and hadn't been since before classes started. Ron and Harry cornered Professor McGonagall on her way out of the Great Hall. She had been leaving with Snape and Dumbledore. Undaunted, Harry strode right up to the trio.
"Professor McGonagall, we need to talk to you."
Minerva stopped and turned, giving the boys a sharp look, as if she were on her way to an important meeting and was suddenly waylaid by traffic. "About what, Mr. Potter? I have much to do before . . ."
"It's Hermione."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dumbledore arch an eyebrow.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" The sound of McGonagall's voice drew his eyes back to the professor.
"Um . . . privately?" Again, Harry felt a curious look from the Headmaster.
McGonagall looked between the two worried faces of her pupils and sighed. "To my office, if you please. Excuse me, Headmaster, Professor Snape."
A few minutes later, Harry and Ron found themselves standing in front of their professor's desk. Harry felt like a bug under a microscope.
"Well, Hermione's been acting . . . . strange lately," Ron tried explaining.
"I've noticed, Mr. Weasley, as have several other professors," McGonagall surveyed them over her glasses, "and have tried speaking with her on several occasions, yet she insists that, barring a little exhaustion, all is well."
"But is anything you can do?" Harry asked. "Force her to tell what's wrong? Use Veritaserum?"
McGonagall frowned. "You know as well as I do that I cannot force a student to do or say anything they do not wish to do or reveal. However, since she has not informed either of you, I am seriously concerned. I suggest you allow her to tell you when she is ready. If you still feel that there is something acutely wrong with Ms. Granger, then perhaps she may require a visit to the Headmaster. I doubt that there is anything as serious as that. It may just be a case of pre-N.E.W.T. jitters. Now please go back to your dormitory. I have work to do."
Harry scowled as he left the classroom. The N.E.W.T.'s were weeks away. Not even Hermione could be that nervous.
An hour later, Harry and Ron wandered out of the school. They had just spent the last hour searching everywhere for Hermione. All her usual haunts – the library, Myrtle's bathroom – were devoid of their friend. Resigned, the two boys decided that a visit to Hagrid might cheer them up. Each held a small glimmer of hope that Hermione was merely holed up with their Care of Magical Creatures teacher. If not, at least Hagrid might provide an insight into Hermione's strange behavior. They trudged onward through the snow, the invisibility cloak held firmly under Harry's arm. With only an hour until curfew, they were unsure whether or not they'd make it back to the tower without being caught.
Ron's wand was out, lighting the path. Footprints crisscrossed the path before them, caused, no doubt, by students attending that day's Care of Magical Creatures class. As the neared the cabin, the prints slowly disappeared until only one set remained. Four feet before the door, the footprints stopped, as if someone had suddenly changed their mind, and turned toward the lake.
"Hermione, d'ya think?" Ron asked.
Harry nodded and motioned toward the lake. "Let's go."
The boys walked to the lake, the snow muffling their footfalls. They could hear a faint sniffling sound. The light revealed a hunched figure sitting on the shoreline of the ice-covered lake. It appeared unaware of the approaching figures.
"Hermione?" Harry called.
The figure jerked upright. Hermione's eyes, wide and bloodshot, surveyed them with horror. "Leave me alone," she croaked, pointing her wand at her two shocked friends.
"We're here to help you," Ron pleaded, "Tell us what's wrong."
"You don't know . . . what it feels like. To be . . . be . . ." A sob escaped from Hermione's lips. She clamped a hand over her mouth, whirled, and, her robe billowing behind her, fled into the darkness before Harry and Ron could react.
"Hermione!" Ron tried to take off after her, but Harry held him back. His eyes were not focused on the running figure, but rather elsewhere.
"Harry, we need to . . ."
"Ron – look!" Ron's eyes focused on where Harry was pointing.
"What's that?" A small leatherbound book was resting near where Hermione had just been sitting.
"I think it's her journal," Harry explained as he bent to retrieve it.
"Let's read it!" Ron made a grab for it, but Harry swiftly stuck it in his robes.
"No way, Ron! It's her personal property!" cried Harry as he took off for the castle.
"But we could find out what's wrong with her," Ron pleaded.
"Yeah, but you know Hermione. She probably hexed it."
"So?" Ron looked exasperated.
"So she'll know we read it if we go to breakfast with hex marks all over our faces and then she'll never tell us what's wrong."
Ron sighed. "I guess you're right, Harry. Let's give it back to her tomorrow, though. She'll probably curse us if we sneak up on her again."
Harry agreed with his friend but couldn't shake the small nagging voice in the back of mind that told him to read the journal.