In what felt like no time at all after Neville woke up, Madam Pomfrey cleared all three friends and sent them back to Gryffindor Tower. There had only been one hiccup—the night before they were released, Harry woke up clutching his scar in agony, talking about a dream in which You-Know-Who and Pettigrew read Rita Skeeter's article about Crouch's death.
Harry didn't know where they were or what they were planning—but he could tell that You-Know-Who was angry.
"Was he angry because Crouch is dead or because he can't possibly go through with his plans for you now?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"I don't know," Harry said, running his hands through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I can't remember much more than how he felt."
He told Dumbledore about it the next morning. Dumbledore told them he thought the dream was probably true—he had a theory that Harry's scar hurt when You-Know-Who was nearby or feeling particularly angry. That scared Hermione more than anything at all.
Whatever it meant was nothing good. And she couldn't get that vision out of her head—waking up to find Harry writhing around, screaming, hand clamped to his scar. She had felt frightened and helpless and wished more than anything that there was something she could do besides wake him up and talk to him—some way she could push You-Know-Who out.
For his part, Neville turned particularly white after that incident, and Hermione realized that Harry's jerky movements and screams right before he woke had been reminiscent of someone under the Cruciatus Curse—a watered-down version of the spell to be sure, but there was a similarity nonetheless.
Though Madam Pomfrey clucked about keeping them a bit longer, Dumbledore assured her that Harry was ready to be released.
Fred and George had a party ready for when they returned, which was probably the best thing for Neville, as it distracted everyone from asking him too many questions, and he got to pretend like no one knew anything about his parents at all. For her part, Hermione launched herself at both twins to thank them for their help with Crouch—something they were both a bit surprised by, as they didn't usually behave in ways that earned Hermione's admiration.
"It's all right, Hermione," George said, awkwardly patting the top of her head.
"Yeah," Fred added, "the worst bit is the ridiculous amount of house points Dumbledore gave us—it'll take us forever to come up with enough jokes to lose all of them."
And then Ginny practically tackled Hermione, and Fred and George took that as their opportunity to escape.
"McGonagall wouldn't let us into the hospital wing to see you at all," Ginny complained. "She was being a daft old cow about it, honestly. But you're okay!"
She looked Hermione over in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley.
"I'm fine," Hermione confirmed, smiling brightly at her. It wasn't exactly true. She still saw Crouch's face in her nightmares sometimes, Harry's dream had terrified her, and she still didn't know how to feel about Harry and what his protecting her from the Killing Curse meant. But being back here in Gryffindor Tower, she was starting to feel like herself again.
But then, the next day, they had to face the rest of the school. There were whispers, of course. Everyone had heard the rumors and everyone had read Rita Skeeter's article. Harry and Hermione were used to it by now, though Hermione did have a bit of a shock when she caught a little of what a passing Hufflepuff was whispering to her friend and she heard Quirrell's name—did these nitwits really think that Harry had some sort of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher running body count?
For Neville, the attention was something entirely new and different. A lot of people went out of their way to be nice to him—which was its own brand of awkward—though there were a few unfortunate incidents, the worst of which was Malfoy at the beginning of their Care of Magical Creatures lesson.
"Personally," he whispered loudly to Crabbe and Goyle when Hagrid was busy on the other side of the paddock, helping Lavender and Parvati with their niffler, "I don't know what the big deal is. You'd think Longbottom would be happy that his parents were in St. Mungo's, too addle-brained to know what a disappointment he is."
Harry was ready to fight, automatically raising his wand. Hermione seized his arm, quickly pulling him away from Malfoy and his goons.
But then she'd caught sight of Neville's murderous face—he was partnered with Dean, who was shaking his head in disgust at Malfoy, his own arm clamped on Neville's, heatedly whispering something. The usually amiable Neville looked tortured and ready to kill—and fury ripped through her in a way it hadn't since Malfoy had laughed about Buckbeak's then-impending execution.
With a quick swish and flick of her wrist, she levitated some of the coins their niffler had already retrieved from the ground, and stealthily snuck them into Malfoy's pocket.
As Malfoy tried and failed to swat his niffler away—it raced around and up and down him like a squirrel on a tree—Harry turned to her questioningly—she had just stopped him from acting after all. She smiled sheepishly at him. He laughed, his mouth upturned in a satisfied grin.
Whispers and taunts aside, most everything else got back to normal. During their first breakfast in the Great Hall, Hermione had seen Ron hovering nearby—though he made a hasty exit when Viktor and Fleur both approached, clearly planning to resume their breakfasts together. Apparently, the thought of apologizing in front of his two idols was too much for Ron. Hermione sighed, and she had to refrain from rolling her eyes.
No one talked of the incident during breakfast, though at the end of the meal Harry pulled Fleur and Viktor—and Cedric—aside, and told them what he knew of Crouch's plans for the tournament.
It wasn't much—just that Crouch said he'd put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire for some sort of plan for You-Know-Who, and that it seemed like there was something important about the third task. Harry, Hermione and Neville had discussed it at length and felt like it was the only right thing to do. The ministry refused to cancel the tournament and the other champions had a right to know.
Though Fleur no longer looked at Harry like he was a little boy, she still seemed the most skeptical of the three.
"How do we know zis man is not just a madman who thinks he's acting on You-Know-Who's orders?" Fleur asked.
It was a reasonable question, and since no one thought it was prudent to announce to the world that Harry had psychic dreams of You-Know-Who, they didn't have much of an answer for her besides "Dumbledore has reason to believe it's true."
This was enough for most wizards in Great Britain, but Fleur was from France, and the most time she'd spent with Dumbledore had been at the Yule Ball dinner when he'd spent a not insignificant portion of the meal discussing chamberpots—and so she did not find him quite as impressive as most witches and wizards did.
Cedric, who confessed to Harry that Crouch had been the one to tell him how to work out the egg, looked pensive.
"But with Crouch gone, it's not like there's much he can do," Cedric reasoned, though he had an unsettled look on his face. "It's not like he could apparate into Hogwarts and mess with the task—there are all sorts of protective enchantments keeping him out."
It seems Hermione was not the only one who had read Hogwarts, A History.
Viktor, who went to a school that taught the dark arts, looked most troubled of them all, easily accepting what Harry said as true. "Ve must all be on our guard then," he said with a nod at Harry.
It made Hermione feel a bit better to know that if You-Know-Who did have something planned for the task—which she was sure would be some sort of obstacle course and so all the champions would be together—that Harry would not be completely alone.
As soon as they could they began training for the third task, spending their evenings in Flitwick's empty classroom so Harry could learn the Stunning Spell. Neville and Hermione took turns being Harry's target. She'd told Neville that she could do it herself—though they used the cushions Flitwick had used when they practiced the banishing charm to break their falls, it still hurt and Neville was still recovering from his stint in the hospital wing—but he steadfastly refused.
"I'm going to help, Hermione," he repeatedly told her, his jaw set and his expression resolute, and so she had relented. Apparently, Neville could be just as stubborn as any other Gryffindor when he wanted.
They trudged back from the Charms corridor late one night—bruised and sore, but exceedingly pleased with themselves, as Harry had seemed to get the hang of it well enough for Hermione to cross it off her list—and Hermione was more than ready for sleep. She bade her friends good night and watched them head up to their dorm. She was about to do the same when Ron rose up from his spot in the armchair near the girls dormitory and approached her.
His ears were red and his motions hesitant. Hermione felt her stomach drop. Harry had told her about their talk, of course. As soon as he returned to the hospital wing, he'd told them all about Sirius, Moody and Pettigrew—they kept waiting to hear something from Amelia Bones, but Neville warned them the ministry could be as slow as a flobberworm sometimes—and then Harry had told them about Ron.
Hermione hadn't known how to feel. After their fight at the Yule Ball, she'd been angry and hurt and undeniably sad; she didn't always make friends easily—though she had to admit, lately it seemed she had a bit of a knack for it—and she'd considered Ron one of her very best friends for a very long time.
And yet…when she looked back on her life the past few months, she hadn't missed the constant drama at all. She hadn't missed the petty fights, the belittling, the raised voices and nasty insults. It had been refreshing to have intellectual debates with Luna and Neville about house elves, to share butterbeers with Angelina and Alicia, to discuss advanced magic with Viktor—and yes, conceited as she might be, even Fleur—without anyone calling anyone else a know-it-all. And, through all those changes, Harry had been Harry, as he always was, a perfect constant in her life.
She felt guilty thinking it, but even with Harry stuck in this blasted murder tournament, even with them dueling an actual Death Eater to the death, her life had felt a lot less stressful lately.
And she couldn't even entirely blame Ron. Yes, he said dumb things, but she wasn't exactly her best self around him either. She didn't like being the sort of person who laughed at her friend's biggest fear or was too stubborn to tell him that she hoped his rat wasn't dead—though she still maintained that even if Crookshanks had killed Scabbers, it wouldn't exactly have been his fault as everyone knows that's just what cats do.
But, regardless, something about Ron brought out the very worst in her and she didn't exactly relish becoming that person ever again.
But what was she supposed to do? Ron had been their friend and Harry didn't have a lot of people in his life—she didn't want to be the reason he lost someone else, too.
And here she was, standing in front of Ron, his hands shoved in the pockets of his robes, looking absolutely everywhere but at her face. She knew what he was about to say, and she was panicking, her mind blank, with no idea what she was going to say in return—no idea what she wanted to say.
"Er, Hermione?" Ron said, clearing his throat, staring at the fireplace just beyond her head.
"Yes?" she asked.
He paused, and they both stared at each other for a few minutes, Ron's eyes dodging hers, as the silence spread out awkwardly between them. "Er…had a good day?" Ron asked, clearly wishing they could get past the apology bit and back to the "being friends" part.
"Thrilling," Hermione responded, frowning and crossing her arms.
Ron looked down sheepishly. "Er, right," he said, taking a deep breath, his hands still firmly clenched in the pockets of his robes. "I'm sorry about the Yule Ball. It wasn't well done of me, and I reckon you would've been well within your rights to hex me that night if you wanted."
"According to the Daily Prophet, I did," Hermione replied.
Ron shook his head in half-amazement, half-remorse. "I can't believe I ever believed anything that barmy woman wrote about Harry," he said. "You lot must've thought I was a nutter."
"Did you actually believe her?" Hermione asked, sitting down in a nearby armchair. She had always just assumed that deep down, Ron knew he was wrong and it had just been his jealousy that had gotten in the way.
Seeing her sitting, asking questions, seemed to energize Ron, and he quickly took a seat too, eager to keep her from stalking off.
"Not really," Ron said. "I suppose I always knew… but it was easier just to… I don't know."
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, clearly confused by his own motivations—Hermione had never met a teenage boy who was good at self-reflection, and Ron clearly wasn't the one who was going to break the mold.
"Look, obviously I was a git—to both of you," Ron said, shaking his head. "And I was obviously wrong that night—clearly, we both know who's been the better friend to Harry this year."
There was self-recrimination in his voice, tinged with a bit of bitterness.
"I am sorry," he said forcefully, finally managing to look her in the eyes, and she could see the sincerity in them.
It was the first time she could ever remember him apologizing for any of the hurtful things he'd said to her over the years. Maybe it was possible he could change. Maybe, if he did, he wouldn't bring out the worst in her. Maybe Harry could have all of his friends back—it had felt good when he'd put her first, but what sort of friend would she be if she made him choose?
Maybe this all could work out.
"All right," Hermione said, nodding at Ron, and he offered her a timid smile.
The reintegration of Ron did not go exactly as planned.
He joined them for lunch the next day, sitting next to Harry and across from Neville and Hermione. Harry looked to Hermione and saw she had accepted Ron's apology, and nodded, seeming to accept this fact. Neville, however, was quiet.
Granted, he was usually quiet these days. He no longer seemed to be blaming himself for not doing more when Crouch attacked, but Hermione often caught him either in reveries, his mind clearly someplace far away, or glaring at his wand.
But now Neville was looking at Ron warily, his body frozen in an oddly formal posture. He and Ron had always gotten on—they'd even fought Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle together once—but she remembered the steely glint in Neville's eye the night Fred and George had told them about the cat flap and she was suddenly nervous.
Could Neville and Ron still get on?
The meal started off okay, with Ron complaining about their History of Magic lesson earlier that day. Hermione didn't entirely approve of the topic—magical history was really interesting—but she knew that was a losing battle as Binns really did seem to try his best to make it all sound as boring as possible.
And Harry fell into the usual rhythms, joking with Ron about Binns, and for a surreal moment it all felt like it had before, a completely natural return to normal.
"Honestly," Ron said, shaking his head, once he'd exhausted the topic of Binns, "McGonagall must've had it in for us when she made up our schedule—Binns and Snape, both on Friday? Evil is what it is."
Ron looked down to spear a piece of chicken on his fork, so he missed the three-way glance Neville, Hermione and Harry shared. This would be their first class with Snape since Harry and Hermione found out about his past and none of them were feeling particularly happy about it.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, filling the silence.
"At least you lot have gotten a break from him," Ron muttered, raising his fork to his mouth, but he paused, open-mouthed, when he saw the three of them looking at him askance, not particularly pleased with the thoughtless joke.
"Er—I didn't mean in like that," he mumbled. "Sorry."
Hermione cleared her throat, searching for a new subject. "I think we can start on some other spells tonight—maybe one of the ones that Si—Snuffles suggested?"
"Yeah, all right. I feel pretty good about the Stunning Spell," Harry agreed. He turned to Ron and explained, "I've been practicing spells for the third task. Hermione and Neville have sort of been my guinea pigs."
"I can help," Ron offered, perking up a bit, and Harry smiled at him.
They were in the middle of discussing which spell they should focus on next—Ron thought the Reductor Curse sounded useful but Hermione preferred the Shield Charm—when Luna floated over to their table.
"Hello," she said airily, giving them all a genuine smile.
"Hey Luna," Neville said brightly, the first real smile they'd seen from him all morning. "Sit down."
He scooted over so there was room between him and Hermione, and Luna slid in. She turned to face Hermione, her silvery-gray eyes looking quite serious.
"I've been thinking about the origin issue," she said, referencing their discussion about how house elves came to be enslaved. "And how it's very possible the answer isn't written down anywhere."
"Yes?" Hermione asked, curious. With everything that had gone on, she hadn't had much time to ruminate on the topic.
"I think what we need is someone who was around when it happened," Luna said.
"When what happened?" Ron asked, at the same time Hermione said, "But we don't know when it happened. It could've been thousands of years ago—it likely was."
And then she saw Nearly Headless Nick float by and grinned.
Luna followed Hermione's gaze. "Exactly," she said.
"Ghosts," Hermione whispered, slapping her head to her hand. "Of course! Are any of the ones at Hogwarts that old?" Moaning Myrtle died 50 years ago and Nearly Headless Nick only 500 years ago—but she had no idea about any of the others.
"I don't know," Luna said.
"But someone, somewhere must be that old," Harry offered. "It's not like ghosts only started existing 500 years ago."
"And they should be able to tell us something about house elves," Hermione added happily.
"Hang on," Ron said, befuddled. "Are you still on about that house elf stuff, Hermione?"
"Yes," she replied coolly. "Luna's been very helpful."
Luna beamed at Hermione, but Ron was looking at the blonde skeptically, like he didn't exactly think having Loony Lovegood on your side was a point for the merit of your case.
"Don't," Harry said warningly to Ron.
"But house elves are happy—"
Hermione rolled her eyes, and just as Harry had, she too fell into old rhythms. "Don't give me that rubbish," she snapped.
"You're obsessed with these house elves," Ron insisted, clearly missing the dark look Harry was shooting him, "and—"
"How many house elves have you talked to?" Luna interrupted.
"What?" Ron asked.
Neville, who had caught on to Luna's line of questioning, asked, "You seem to like to tell Hermione what house elves think, so we're curious how many you've talked to?"
Ron's ears went red. "Well, just Winky," he said. "But everyone knows—"
"Oh, everyone knows," Neville snorted incredulously. "Well, if everyone knows, then…"
"What's your problem?" Ron asked, looking between Neville and Luna.
"Hermione and I have done a lot of research on this topic," Luna said. "And we've all been down to the kitchens to talk with the house elves here."
"And I actually live with a house elf, and have interacted with quite a few more, so maybe we know a bit more than someone who has talked to that one house elf that one time," Neville added coolly.
Hermione couldn't help but feel happy at how her friends were defending her, but she flinched a little at Neville's last remark. She knew it wasn't how Neville had intended it, but she also knew that all Ron heard was "I'm rich enough to have a house elf and you're not."
Ron's entire face was flushed and he was staring daggers at Neville.
"Look," Harry started to say, still looking quite angry, but Ron interrupted him.
"You're into this Spew rubbish now, too?" he asked disbelievingly.
"Yeah, I am," Harry said hotly, and Hermione felt her heart soar. "I don't see why you're so surprised—I'm the only one at this table who has actually freed a house elf, aren't I?"
Ron looked like he was grudgingly ready to concede that point.
"Is this actually something worth fighting over?" Harry asked Ron incredulously. "Did you think I was joking when I said you had to treat Hermione better? Insulting her drive to protect magical beings—that's a really brilliant way to start."
Ron's eyes widened in surprise, and Hermione had the sinking feeling that a part of him hadn't thought Harry was really serious when he gave Ron that ultimatum.
"Is it really so important to you to be right about house elves? I always got the impression you didn't care about the lot of them one way or the other," Harry said.
And Ron, amazingly, backed down. "Right," he said, tuning back to look at Hermione. "Sorry."
But it was an awkward mood as they all walked to Potions together, and Hermione was a bit relieved when Ron told them he'd promised Dean and Seamus he'd sit with them.
Hermione slipped into her seat between Neville and Harry and felt her stomach clench. Ron had been right about one thing—Double Potions with Snape was a terrible way to end the week.
Snape swept into the room, his robes flapping behind him, his face fixed in that ever-present look of disgust. Hermione tried to evaluate him dispassionately—his long hair, his hooked nose, his yellow teeth that you could only see when he bared them in a sneer—and then she looked in his eyes and wondered how many people had he killed? Or tortured? Or watched be killed and tortured by some of his Death Eater buddies?
With a wave of his arm, the instructions were on the board.
"Proceed," Snape said.
He weaved his way through the desks until he reached their table. Hermione could feel his eyes on them and, to her utter horror, her hand started to shake, messing up the root she had so painstakingly been cutting.
"Ah, yes," Snape said silkily, "I see you three have deigned to attend classes again."
"If you have a problem with our absence, I suggest you take it up with Madam Pomfrey," Harry retorted, "seeing as how she was the one who kept us out of class."
"Yes, well, the other members of the staff do have a way of indulging you, don't they, Potter?" Snape sneered as Harry glared openly at him. "God forbid poor, precious Potter get a hangnail."
Hermione's jaw dropped. She knew he hated Harry, but Snape wasn't an idiot—he had to know exactly the sort of spells Crouch had used against them.
"You can't be seri—" she started to say, but Harry put his hand on her arm to stop her.
"Don't, Hermione," Harry said, turning to look at her. There was a mischievous glint in his green eyes. "He's obviously just trying to bait us into losing points for Gryffindor. The points Dumbledore gave us for stopping Crouch have pretty much guaranteed a Gryffindor win."
Dumbledore had given them an obscene amount of points.
Snape looked like he had stepped in something particularly foul-smelling. He glanced down at Neville, who was stirring gnat heads into his potion.
"Longbottom," he barked, "you're supposed to add those after the Billywig wings. I know it's too much to ask, but do try to be a step above completely hopeless, will you? Even someone as gormless as you should be able to follow simple directions."
Neville flushed as Snape stalked off. Ron turned and gave Neville a sympathetic glance.
"Forget him, Neville," Harry muttered.
Hermione turned to look at Harry, trying to understand. He hated Snape as much as they did, and yet, he hadn't been phased by Snape at all. She'd been expecting to see a dangerous gleam in his eyes, and instead, he'd joked about house points.
"How are you so calm?" she whispered.
Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he whispered back. "But I've always thought Snape was evil—so it was less of a shock for me, wasn't it?"
Yes, Hermione thought, narrowing her eyes as she followed Snape's movements across the room. He was evil. Forget what happened 15 years ago: Snape regularly and systematically tried to tear his students down. He had to be stopped. All she needed was a plan.
The mood amongst Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ron was vastly improved during Harry's training session that night. A common enemy—Snape—always put boys in better spirits, and they approached the shield charm with gusto.
Ron volunteered to be Harry's opponent, eager to be helpful.
Hermione and Neville sat at a desk in the empty classroom, with Hermione checking her book occasionally to call out helpful notes for Harry. Neville was mostly quiet, watching Ron and Harry spar.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, watching Neville carefully.
"What?" he asked, turning to her with a look of surprise on his face. "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You didn't seem pleased when Ron joined us at lunch," Hermione said quietly, glancing over at Harry and Ron to be sure they wouldn't overhear.
Neville stiffened, but seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I won't lie and say I'm his biggest fan," he finally said, shaking his head. "After what Fred and George told us about Harry's aunt and uncle—I don't know that I'll ever think of him the same way I did before."
He turned to look at Hermione. "And I don't like the way he talks to you," he said fiercely, lowering his voice to avert attention. "But if you and Harry want to be friends with him…" He trailed off, shrugging. "I've tolerated worse."
"We should've talked to you before—"
"Nah," Neville said, smiling at her. "You were friends with him for a long time. His fight was with you two, not me. I'd have to be a pretty big prat to make that all about me."
Hermione grinned. "You, Neville Longbottom, are no prat," she said.
"No," Neville replied, glancing down at the desk, which held her book and his wand. "Just hopeless with a wand. We're actually lucky Ron's here, or who knows what I'd do to Harry with that."
He looked down at his wand in disgust.
Hermione tucked some hair behind her ear, plowing ahead with her next question. "Have you… have you used your wand since… since Crouch did?" she asked.
Neville fidgeted in his seat. "Not exactly," he confessed, sighing. "Every time I hold it, it doesn't feel right. Granted, it's never felt right—it's not even mine, it's my dad's, but Gran… Well, she insisted on it. She gave it to me when I got my Hogwarts letter like it was the best present in the world. But none of that matters now because every time I hold that wand, it doesn't feel like my wand, or even my dad's wand—it feels like him."
His voice was low and there was a savage undertone to it, something Hermione had never heard from Neville before. She didn't like it.
"Would your Gran buy a new one?" she asked delicately.
Neville turned red. "She thinks it's an honor, being my dad's wand and all," he mumbled.
"But surely now, after everything that's happened, if you told her how you felt, she'd have to understand," Hermione argued.
Neville looked at her like she'd said the most mental thing in the world. "Gran doesn't talk about feelings," he practically laughed.
At the horrified look on her face, he added, "Oh, it's not as bad as all that. I know she loves me. She just doesn't talk about those things."
Hermione stared at him, amazed. How was it possible that Neville and Harry—the two most likable people she knew—had been saddled with such emotionally awful families?
"Yes!" Ron whooped, as Harry successfully defended against his Leg-Locker Curse, breaking Hermione and Neville's concentration. Harry was grinning from ear to ear—it had been a fairly feeble shield charm, but it had done the job well enough, and it was a good start.
Figuring that was a good place to end, they returned to the common room. Neville went up to the dorm and Ron joined his brothers for a game of exploding snap, which Harry and Hermione declined. Instead, they collapsed onto a sofa by the fire. They sat in companionable silence, while Hermione absentmindedly watched Cormac McLaggen trying—and failing—to talk to Katie Bell across the room.
"What were you and Neville talking about back there?" Harry asked curiously. Hermione turned to look at him. He was sprawled lazily on the couch, foot propped up on the coffee table, looking particularly relaxed, but his eyes were watching her intently.
She blushed. "I hoped you and Ron hadn't noticed," she said.
Harry shrugged. "Ron didn't," he replied.
Hermione felt a wave of relief.
"Good," she said, turning her body so she had her back against the arm of the sofa, one knee up on the cushions, so she was facing Harry more fully. "Neville's not…Ron's biggest fan. See, he was there when Fred and George told us about the Dursleys and the cat flap, so… he doesn't think a whole lot of Ron's friendship."
As soon as she mentioned the cat flap, Harry looked rather uncomfortable, and it only increased when he realized the entirety of what she said.
"So he doesn't like Ron?" Harry asked.
"I don't think that Neville hates him or anything—he just wouldn't be Neville's first choice to spend time with. He's not against us being friends with Ron, though," she assured him.
Harry considered that.
"Things were a bit weird though, weren't they?" Harry asked.
Hermione frowned. "Well, they're bound to be, aren't they?" she reasoned. "None of us are the same people we were last fall."
She certainly wasn't.
"I imagine it'll take us awhile to figure it all out," Hermione added.
"It used to be so easy," he said, rather glumly.
"Well, how did it feel for you? Hanging out with Ron again?" she asked.
"There were moments when it felt right, when it felt like I had gotten my friend back," Harry answered honestly. "But then there were times when it just felt completely wrong. When he said you were obsessed with house elves, that felt like nothing had changed either. He insulted you and he insulted…"
"You?" Hermione supplied.
Harry grimaced, and when he spoke, his voice was low. "I told him he needed to change, and it's like he didn't believe me—again."
Hermione wasn't sure what to say to that. People thinking he was a liar was a hot button for Harry, and it's not like she could defend Ron on that front.
"It'll get easier," Hermione declared more confidently than she felt. Or, she thought, Ron would continue to act like a jerk and they'd know that it was time to move on.
Harry furrowed his brow, contemplating her words.
"Maybe I should write to Lupin," Harry said. "He sort of went through something similar with Sirius."
Hermione nodded slowly. "I think that's a good idea," she said.
"So that's all you two talked about—Ron?"
"No," Hermione admitted. "I think Neville's still really struggling with everything with Crouch—he doesn't even want to use his wand."
"He shouldn't be using that wand," Harry said darkly. "It's not even his. Ollivander told me that the wand chooses the wizard."
"I don't know if it's just the wand that's the problem though," Hermione said, drawing her knees up to reposition herself. "Don't get me wrong—I agree about that—but I think it's just going to take time to get past what Crouch did to him."
"And what, we're just supposed to sit idly by like nothing's wrong? What are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Harry asked, a bit impatiently.
Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Be his friend?" she said, feeling as though it was a bit obvious.
He gave her a look and she laughed a little. "Oh come on, Harry. No one knows what Neville feels like better than you do," she said. "If anyone's going to know what to say or do, it's you."
Harry looked a little disbelieving. "I'm not good with words like you are," he said.
"You do all right," she said. He always found a way to find the right words to say to her, whether it was pulling her out of an anxiety spiral or comforting her at the Yule Ball.
"Maybe he just needs a change of scenery," Harry suggested. "Somewhere people aren't constantly whispering about him—somewhere Draco Malfoy isn't."
"Break is coming up," Hermione suggested. "We really should be at Hogwarts—there's so much work to do and you've got to keep training—but maybe we could go to my house for it."
She frowned, thinking through her plan. "Though I doubt Dumbledore would let you with You-Know-Who out there," she added. Her parents wouldn't be much help against a Dark Lord.
But Harry looked at her like she was brilliant. "But maybe he would give me permission to go to Neville's," he said.
"It doesn't seem like that's exactly what we're looking for," Hermione frowned. "Neville's gran's not the warmest person."
"No," Harry agreed, but he looked excited nonetheless, "but he'd still have us. Plus, it would be far from the Slytherins, and I'd still be able to train—and we'd have two weeks to convince her to buy Neville a new wand."
Hermione considered that—the plan certainly had its merits.
And when they ran it past Neville, he was fully on board.
"We can use my parents' Auror Room," he said excitedly. "No one's been in it in ages, but I think all of the enchantments should still hold."
"What's an Auror Room?" Hermione asked.
"You know, like a practice room," Neville said. "It's soundproof and blastproof, and it's got everything you need to practice dueling and spells."
And so they decided to go to Neville's. It took some convincing—Dumbledore didn't think it was wise for Harry to leave Hogwarts, but Harry reminded him that You-Know-Who was just as dangerous last summer as he was now, and no one had a problem with him going to the Burrow. And then Augusta Longbottom pointed out that it wasn't exactly Dumbledore's decision—if he pushed back, she'd just ask the Dursleys to overrule him.
"I'd pay all the galleons in my vault to see a conversation between Neville's Gran and Uncle Vernon," Harry admitted, laughing at the thought.
Finally, Neville's Gran agreed that Dumbledore could put her house under the Fidelius Charm if he wanted—"Honestly, if it means I don't have to get any more visits from that awful Doris Macmillan, it'll be worth it," she said—and Dumbledore agreed to let them go.
And that's how Hermione, Harry, Neville, Ron and Ginny ended up on platform nine and three-quarters for Easter break. It was much busier than it usually was during the break. Students usually stayed at school to revise, but after what happened with Crouch, a lot of magical parents decided they wanted their kids to come home for break—Molly Weasley had insisted on it—so the only people left at Hogwarts were mostly muggleborns; Slytherins, whose parents likely knew that they were safe from any Death Eaters; and free spirits like Luna.
The train ride was uneventful enough—there was no talk of house elves or anything else that could start a fight—and Harry seemed in particularly good spirits, playing a game of exploding snap with Ron and Ginny.
But now they were on the platform, craning their necks for the Weasleys and Augusta Longbottom. Ginny, the shortest of the group, wasn't bothering to look, so she was the first to notice when Crookshanks strayed too far from them.
"Hermione!" she warned, and Hermione chased after her cat. He liked to explore, and while he was a very smart cat and would always come back, this wasn't the time or place for it.
She pushed through a group of Hufflepuffs and found Crookshanks sniffing around near Cho Chang and her friends. Hermione gathered him in her arms and made her way back to her friends.
Fred, George and Mrs. Weasley were with them, and Mrs. Weasley had gathered Harry into a huge hug. "Oh, we didn't know you'd be here," Mrs. Weasley cried, looking reproachfully at Ron. "Ron never told us you were coming, too! But of course you're welcome at the Burrow, Harry!"
She smiled widely at him, and Harry smiled back at her, clearly relieved that she didn't fault him for the fight he'd had with Ron this year.
"Thanks," Harry said, "but actually, I'm going to Neville's this break."
Mrs. Weasley looked between the three boys, shock evident on her face. "Oh," she said, surprised. "That's nice then." She looked unsurely between Ron and Harry, trying to size up the situation.
As Hermione sidled her way back to the group and next to Harry, Mrs. Weasley saw her and narrowed her eyes, her expression frosting over immediately.
"Oh," she said. "Hello, Hermione." She said it entirely too formally.
Hermione faltered, instinctively clutching Crookshanks tighter to her. What had she ever done to Mrs. Weasley?
"Hi," Hermione said uncertainly.
Harry looked confused, Ron looked embarrassed and Ginny rolled her eyes at her mother. She gave Hermione a look that clearly meant "Don't worry about it," and Hermione knew she wasn't imagining it. Did Mrs. Weasley really believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter had written about her? She knew that she didn't know the woman well, but she had spent a month living in her house. Did she actually think Hermione was feeding Harry love potions and going around hexing Ron?
Harry had clearly come to the same conclusion Hermione had. "Mrs. Weasley," he said, "you know all that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote about Hermione was garbage, right? We never dated, and she's only friends with Viktor."
"Oh," Mrs. Weasley said, "well, of course, dear." But she smiled more warmly at Hermione after that.
Hermione frowned. Did Mrs. Weasley really think so little of her?
"And for the record," Ginny announced, "I'm the one who hexed Ron—because your son was being a prat."
At Ron's look of protest, Ginny rolled her eyes again. "Well, you were," she insisted, earning a snicker from the twins.
Mrs. Weasley eyed Ron carefully, and he tugged at his collar uncomfortably. It was clear he was going to have a very unpleasant conversation with his mother over break. She hustled her kids away, and with one last wave from Ginny, the Weasleys were gone.
Harry watched them go with a frown on his face.
"What is it?" Neville asked.
Harry turned to Hermione, and there was both anger and confusion in his eyes. "I can't believe she actually thought that of you," he said.
Hermione tried to put herself in Mrs. Weasley's shoes. "She was just being protective of you—and Ron, I suppose," she said.
But Harry wasn't buying it. "Still," he said. "She should've known better."
Hermione smiled at her friends. "Well, you two know better and that's all that matters," she said.
"Besides," she added dryly, turning to look back at where the Weasleys had just disappeared, "I have a feeling Ginny's going to disabuse her mum of any ridiculous notions she might have."
"There you three are!"
The trio turned to see Augusta Longbottom striding toward them, stray students still milling about jumping out of her way. Small as she was, she looked formidable, even in that ridiculous vulture hat.
"Come on then," she said, giving Neville a perfunctory kiss hello and nodding at Harry and Hermione.
Hermione turned to look at Harry. It was time to put their plan in motion and go to Neville's—wherever that might be.