A/N: Thanks to ashes2342, Because-I-Got-High, and marisa for their reviews! And a short message to marisa: Sorry I didn't email you when I put this up, but seeing as you didn't leave your address or sign in, I couldn't do so.

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Not claiming to own it. Only borrowing.

I had thought Harry had at least a slight understanding that I'm not myself anymore. I've slipped up a few times, and I'm not sure if it was a subconscious effort to get some kind of relief or I'm not the master actor I thought I was.

Harry didn't notice, though. But Professor McGonagall did.

She found me, about an hour after curfew, sitting in a corner of the library. Books were sitting next to me in a relatively neat stack, making it obvious I hadn't really done any homework. Legs drawn up to my chest, arms around them, chin resting on my knees, back against a bookshelf, I sat staring at the opposite wall.

I was surprised by her presence; I hadn't heard her approach. Quickly leaping into my role, I jumped to my feet, apologizing profusely, telling her I had been thinking and lost track of time. It was a downright lie, and we both knew it.

"Miss Granger, please, calm down," McGonagall said. "And follow me. I wish to discuss something with you."

Her mouth was a thin line as she waited for me to collect my things and follow her to her office. Once there, she gestured to a chair before her desk, which I sat in. I found my eyes drawn to the fire, and was glad for the distraction. The flames snapped and crackled cheerfully, slowly consuming the wood, warming the side of me closest to it.

"Miss Granger."

I tore my eyes away from the fire and finally looked at her. I thought that being able to see emotions in people's eyes had to be a lie, because all I could see were black pupils, blue irises, and the white part that was slightly bloodshot. No insight on how she was feeling or what she was thinking. Her eyes were mere eyes. Only things that allowed her to see. And what she saw was me.

"Is there something that's been troubling you?" she asked. Straight and to the point.

"What gives you that idea, Professor?" I replied, feigning confusion with my tone of voice, cocking my head to the side, my eyebrows knitting together slightly.

"You're not your usual self, Miss Granger. Your work isn't what it usually is, you rarely raise your hand in class anymore, you've been out after curfew, and I've heard about your incident in the Potions room a few weeks ago. Mr. Weasley informed me of what happened earlier this evening between you and Mr. Potter, and has told me that you've become distant since the start of the school year. It worries me that one of my best students seems to suddenly be losing her grip." Blunt. Somewhat angry. Disappointed. Irritated.

I looked at my knees, at my hands gripping them to keep from shaking. The faint white scar on my left hand, right next to the knuckle. I noticed a thread was coming loose on my skirt and one of my shoes was scuffed.

"Hermione," McGonagall's voice was different now, gentle, trying to coax information out of me. "I'm here to help you." She sounded like the nurse that tried to talk to me after he died. "I can't do that unless you talk to me. Did something happen to you?"

This doesn't sound like the McGonagall I know so well. She never sounds like this. She's always stern and never sounds like she's on the verge of pleading. That somehow helps me keep my composure.

"Nothing happened, Professor. Really. I'm perfectly fine. I've just been thinking about...about Voldemort and the Death Eaters and such," I lied. I've become increasingly good at lying lately.

McGonagall gives me a long, hard stare, then sighs, as if in defeat. "Alright, Miss Granger. You may return to your dormitory now."

I picked up the bag with my books I had set on the floor and left, hastily wishing McGonagall a good night. My heart was beating furiously in my chest, and I felt like I was having trouble breathing. I didn't stop until I was a few corridors away, at which point I slipped into an empty classroom, leaning on the door. That conversation had shaken me up for a reason I didn't know.

For a few minutes, I just stood there. Then I took a deep breath, wiped my sweaty palms on my shirt, and exited the classroom, quickly making my way back to Gryffindor Tower for a sleepless night.

A/N: I've said it before and I'll say it again: constructive criticism is extremely welcome! I want to know what you all think, how I can improve, all that good stuff.