Perfection
It's the middle of the night. I can see the light of the moon streaming in through the window near my bed. The pale light, gently caresses my blanket, softly kissing the part that covers my feet…my shaking feet. I just had a dream, a frightening dream. I don't want to go back to sleep in case it returns.
I lie in my bed and listen for the steady breathing of my roommates. I hear them; each breathing in slightly different rhythms that are still more or less the same. But my breath doesn't flow smoothly, solidly. It catches in my throat each time I inhale. My breathing is quiet enough that the other girls do not stir. They are fast asleep, dreaming normal dreams.
I draw back the scarlet hangings around my bed. My slippers are sitting neatly next to my bed, and I slide my feet into them. Slowly, I stand up and walk to my trunk. When I open the heavy lid, it blocks the light from the moon so that I have to feel for my sweater. It's a pink, crocheted button-down. My mom gave it to me for Christmas last year. My blissfully oblivious, Muggle mother. She'll never know what life is like here, at Hogwarts, in the magic world. My Muggle parents will never even know that Voldemort exists.
Pausing, frozen in time, I stare blankly into my deep, black trunk. I sigh almost inaudibly and lower the lid. I lock the latch on the front; my roommates don't like me much and I'm always cautious.
As I rise to my feet, I notice that I'm shaking a little from both cold and the dream. I slip on my sweater and button it all the way to the top. I'm still somewhat cold, but I know I'll be perfectly warm once I am in front of the fire. Silently, I pad across the room and open the door. I follow the stairs' spiraling path down to the Gryffindor Common Room.
The heat radiates from the fireplace of the circular room. I sink into the large, comfy armchair closest to the fire. With the new warmth washing over me, I undo the top buttons of my sweater, exposing a little more of my blue- and white-striped pajamas. My mind wanders and I let it fill with random thoughts. And soon those reveries become true sleep.
It's about mid-morning and Ron is here with me in the courtyard. It's break, I know it is, but it's just the two of us. Ron looks down at me; he's standing very close. He leans in towards me as if he intends to kiss me. Ron pauses just inches away and whispers, "Hermione. Wake up."
I start and my eyes fly open. I'm still sitting in the chair next to the fire, which seems to have died out hours ago. It is early morning, now, and Ron is here, but he is not leaning towards me, and he is not whispering. He is shaking my shoulder and shouting, "Hermione! Wake up!"
"Sorry," I say, not really paying attention. I don't understand what I was just dreaming. Why would Ron be trying to kiss me? And why would I feel so happy about it? These are my musings as I give my body a little time to waken and stretch.
Harry trundles down the dormitory staircase yawning. He's already dressed and I instantly remember that to day is a Hogsmeade visit. "Hermione, what are you doing down here in your pajamas?" he asks, perplexed.
"I couldn't sleep, so I came down here and I suppose that worked, didn't it?" I reply as if this happens everyday.
Ron and Harry glance at each other. It's not like me to have trouble sleeping. At least, that's how it's always been before. I speculate that having nightmares like the one I had last night will become more and more frequent.
None of us sleep quite as peacefully as we used to. I think that Harry must barely sleep at all. He certainly looks it, even though he tried to hide it.
"C'mon, Hermione. Go get ready or we'll miss breakfast," Ron says irritably. Breakfast sounds good. Now that I think about it, I am awfully hungry. I race up the stairs to my dormitory and am back down in the common room five minutes later. I'm dressed in a robe, carrying my cloak at my side.
Harry and Ron are both waiting for me. I join them and we climb out of the portrait hole into the corridor. We walk briskly on our way to the Great Hall, chatting happily about Hogsmeade. Since it's early December, Harry and Ron still have Christmas presents to buy. I have already finished my shopping, of course. We decide that Harry and I will wait for Ron in The Three Broomsticks while he shops. Then Harry and Ron will switch. They both promise not to take too long so we can all walk around together for the rest of the day.
We reach the Great Hall with its familiar chatter. We're late, but not terribly. As we sit down at the Gryffindor table and begin eating, the owls come.
"I have a letter from Mum," Ron mentions, turning an envelope over to break the seal. "She wants to know if you two want to spend Christmas with us…and the Order." Ron's face brightens up, "so, what do you think?" He looks hopefully at Harry and me.
During this time I have been skimming over a letter, too. "My mom and dad want me to come home for Christmas, as well," I say and then, a little more quietly, "I don't think I want to be away for so long."
Harry, understanding that I don't want to miss any news, chimes in, "Hermione, maybe you should spend half of vacation with your parents and half with us." I slowly nod my head, the same idea having occurred to me just as Harry began speaking. I mull over the details for a moment and finally decide, "I'll spend the first half with my parents, then."
"Right. I'll send an owl to Mum when we get back from Hogsmeade. Remind me about it, Hermione," Ron says. I shoot him a customary glare for his lack of manners in assuming my assent. I really don't mind, anymore; in fact, I almost kind of like the way Ron is so nonchalant. I like to be at the head of the class, I really do like the endless struggle for perfection, but I also crave Ron's relative peace and carelessness.
We finish our breakfasts and join a growing line of students at the huge front doors. I remember a time, in years before, when the group preparing for a Hogsmeade visit was deafeningly loud. Now, the students are still noisy, but they are considerably more subdued. The castle has become steadily less cheerful ever since my fourth year. I am now in my seventh and final year at Hogwarts, where the laughs are far too few. The departure of Fred and George left gaiety for only the rest of the school year, but at the Ministry's acknowledgement of Voldemort's return, so much joy died. Students' parents began dying, too.