Hermione sat alone in the corner of the prefects' compartment, listening idly to Ernie McMillan talk about the best way to enlarge... something. Perhaps a plant of some sort? She wasn't sure. She didn't care. He mind floated back to Harry and Ginny. She pulled Hogwarts, A History from her bag and propped it up in front of her face and began to cry.
Harry wandered the corridors of the train, pretending simultaneously to be looking for an unoccupied loo, the witch with the food cart, or both. Really, he was thinking of Hermione, standing in the door of the compartment with tears in her eyes. He sat down on the floor of the corridor and wondered how he could have gotten into this mess in the first place, and how he could possibly set this straight.
Ron seethed. No simpler way to put it. He sat in righteous anger, his ears beet red, and freckles paled on his face. He just couldn't put it right in his head. How could Harry have done something like this? He was too angry to consider it being a misunderstanding. He was too angry to consider anything. He glanced at Ginny, who was staring intently at her feet, making sobbing noises every now and then. He realized he must look extremely upset, and perhaps that was upsetting her. He turned to glare out the window.
Ginny, who Ron thought was looking at her feet, was actually waiting for Ron to turn away, so she could wipe her eyes. She was so furious with herself. She hadn't meant to cry. She hadn't meant for it to turn out like this. Actually, she hadn't meant to do anything at all. Out of the utter inability to do anything else, she began to light her duplicate Chocolate Frog cards on fire. Ron didn't protest.
Draco still sat on the cushion by the window, his forehead resting on the cool glass. He wondered what had gotten Hermione so worked up. He's never seen her at a loss for words. I should be glad for the silence. But somehow he wasn't. It just detracted from his otherwise good day. He'd told off three first years, and frightened a tiny fourth year into addressing him as 'Sir'. It should have been a good day.
Harry wandered the corridors of the train, pretending simultaneously to be looking for an unoccupied loo, the witch with the food cart, or both. Really, he was thinking of Hermione, standing in the door of the compartment with tears in her eyes. He sat down on the floor of the corridor and wondered how he could have gotten into this mess in the first place, and how he could possibly set this straight.
Ron seethed. No simpler way to put it. He sat in righteous anger, his ears beet red, and freckles paled on his face. He just couldn't put it right in his head. How could Harry have done something like this? He was too angry to consider it being a misunderstanding. He was too angry to consider anything. He glanced at Ginny, who was staring intently at her feet, making sobbing noises every now and then. He realized he must look extremely upset, and perhaps that was upsetting her. He turned to glare out the window.
Ginny, who Ron thought was looking at her feet, was actually waiting for Ron to turn away, so she could wipe her eyes. She was so furious with herself. She hadn't meant to cry. She hadn't meant for it to turn out like this. Actually, she hadn't meant to do anything at all. Out of the utter inability to do anything else, she began to light her duplicate Chocolate Frog cards on fire. Ron didn't protest.
Draco still sat on the cushion by the window, his forehead resting on the cool glass. He wondered what had gotten Hermione so worked up. He's never seen her at a loss for words. I should be glad for the silence. But somehow he wasn't. It just detracted from his otherwise good day. He'd told off three first years, and frightened a tiny fourth year into addressing him as 'Sir'. It should have been a good day.