A/N: Have you ever wondered what the other Gryffindors think of our intrepid trio's exploits? Here is one girl whose discussion with a teacher means much more than she could dream of.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

Silent Soldiers: Parvati Patil

Please Let Me Be Right

She thinks I don't know what she does at night. She has no idea that I hear her sneak out of the dormitory late at night, when she goes to meet Harry and Ron. I don't know where they go every night, but it is enough that they do.

They always get into some sort of trouble. Every year is one new danger, one new risk. They could die at any moment. I know that, and it scares me every time I hear Hermione slip out of bed. The problem is, they don't seem to know it. Don't they care whether they die?

How do they do it? How do they always know when something is going wrong; how do they always become entangled in the whole bloody mess? Trouble just seems to sneak up on them. In a perverse way, I'm glad – it's the only way I know what's going on. When I hear Hermione sneak out of the dormitory, or when she stays in the common room far past the normal time, I have to accept that something horrible is happening again. It's the only way to know – information about the school's happenings is for heroes like Harry, not for insignificant Gryffindor airheads. No one tells us anything.

It scares me when she leaves at night. It scares me to know that every year here could be my last. My roommate is living proof that Hogwarts is not impenetrable, as so many believe. If it was, Hermione would have no need to roam the halls at night with Harry and Ron, searching for trouble – or whatever it is they do. Hogwarts can be invaded, and we're all in danger, not just those who go looking for the invaders. 

Sometimes I want to grab the three of them by the shoulders and shake them until they regain their senses. I want to scream, "Look at what you're doing! Don't you understand that you could die? You're bringing danger here, you could kill us all!" But I never do.

I know that without their late night missions, the Dark Lord would have succeeded already. I know that their interferences are part of the reason we are all still alive. And sometimes I'm glad that Hermione sneaks out, because that means I have warning. It means that if she doesn't come back to the room one night, I will have that much warning that life has gone to hell.

"Miss Patil?"

Professor McGonagall has entered the common room, where I sit before the fire. "Have you seen Miss Granger?" she asks. "I need to talk to her about the question she asked earlier."

"She turned in early, Professor," I answer. "She's been exhausted lately. I think that all her extra work has caught up with her."

Sympathy crosses McGonagall's stern face. Hermione is one of her favorite students. "I understand," she says. "I do think that she is working too hard, but…" Her voice trails off, but I can fill in what she did not say. "But certainly Hermione can handle it if anyone can; she's so smart and talented." Of course, McGonagall would never allow herself to show favoritism in such a blatantly obvious way.

I nod politely in agreement. No teacher would ever say that about me. I'm a no one; I'm a pureblood witch with marginal talent who can barely scrape by in Transfiguration, while a Muggle-born rules the class. Sometimes I think that's why the Death Eaters are so determined – they're scared and angry that their pure blood, carefully cultivated for centuries, will no longer be worth anything. They don't want to give up their status, and they're scared of being humiliated by the Muggle-borns accomplishments.

"Tell her I came by when she wakes up tomorrow morning. And get some sleep yourself, Miss Patil."

I nod. "Yes, Professor." McGonagall leaves, and I decide to go up to the dormitory. Before I do, however, I take one last glance at the portrait hole, silently begging it to open. The portrait remains stubbornly closed.

I walk up the stairs to the dormitory. Lavender is asleep, softly snoring in her bed near the window. My bed is next. And in the last one…

Empty. Empty, just as it's been for the past three nights. The situation must be getting worse - Hermione hasn't been in the dormitory all night.

I waver; I want to run back down the stairs and tell Professor McGonagall everything. I want her to find Hermione and Harry and Ron. I want them to be safe.

I don't move.

Only their midnight adventures have saved us before. They deserve a chance to fix things, as they are the only ones who seem to know what's going on. I have to let them try.

They'll be okay.

They have to be okay.

I look back at Hermione's empty bed. "Come back, Hermione," I whisper.

"Don't prove me wrong."

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