Author's Note: I wrote this for the Fan Fiction Library's New Year's Challenge. The theme was to make a story based on a given title, and then to write something different than what you normally write. Differences between my normal work and this story are that this is gen, takes place when they are all kids, and it's chock full of introspection.

It starts with a mirror. Hermione creeps down a hallway, crouched low to the ground, holding Penelope's hand. Her other hand holds the prefect's mirror, behind it is the page she tore out describing the basilisk. Their linked hands slip and slide with sweat and nerves. The mirror shakes as Hermione slowly, carefully tilts it to see around the corner. Penelope moves up next to her to also see.

"All clear," the older girl whispers, sounding close to tears as she tugs her mirror back. She pulls Hermione after her and they continue their agonizingly slow way forward. Hermione clenches her hand around the precious page.

Logically, they both know there is a good chance that the basilisk won't be there. It's not always out, and it can't be everywhere at all times. But they can feel it. They can feel the dread pooling in their hearts. They can feel the absolute certainty that today, today it will come for them. Because they know. Because they are dangerous.

So they huddle together, close enough that they often trip, and walk so quietly, so carefully down the hall. Ahead of them there is a soft rasping noise. They freeze; looking between each other, the known safety of the library they just left, and the unknown, potentially dangerous, corner just a few feet away.

Hermione takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and then opens them to nod at Penelope. She nods back and together they look around the corner. The mirror cracks, and the last thing Hermione remembers is enormous, yellow eyes and the feeling of Penelope's hand falling from her grasp.

Hermione doesn't really wake, per se. She gains consciousness, of a sort, in her mind. There's no sight, no sounds, no smells. She feels nothing. She is nothing. Nebulous thoughts leave trails for her to follow in the void.

Is she dead or petrified? What about Penelope? Will anyone notice the paper clenched in her fingers? The questions buzz in an endless loop with no answers available. The most important question almost drives her insane. Are Harry and Ron ok?

This time it starts with a book. Hermione is in the library, zooming through a stack of books in the hopes of finding what she needs before the Quidditch match starts. She knows what the cover looks like. This one is black, that one is red, this one is thin, that one is thick, this one is tattered and torn, that one is pristine. The one she wants is brown, tattered, and thick with water stains on the back cover.

Hermione knows this book. She remembers it. There was a page that had obviously been torn out and then another one reparo'ed in. The paper didn't match, nor did the style of writing. It had been left behind one day instead of being turned in for Madam Pince to properly repair. She's grateful for her forgetfulness now, though she'll be more grateful if she can find it.

"Miss Granger?"

She whips her head around to look at the Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater.

"It's almost time for the match," the older girl says slowly, obviously not sure what to do with the resident bookworm and teacher's pet. "Let me escort you to the pitch. It's not safe to be alone."

"I know it's not safe!" Hermione exclaims, tugging frantic hands through her extra frazzled hair. She resumes sorting through the diminished pile. "There's a book I need to find. It has the answers!"

"I don't think-"

"Ha!" Hermione cheers as she pulls the book out from the bottom of the pile. She doesn't even look at the title, just starts skimming until she gets to the odd page. It's brand new, pristine, surrounded by browning pages and faded text.

"A basilisk?" Penelope whispers, reading over Hermione's shoulder. "Why would you-"

"I've got to get to Harry!"

Penelope scrambles out of the way as the younger girl suddenly leaps to her feet. She cries out when Hermione tears the page out.

"It doesn't belong there," Hermione reassures, "I'll tell Madam Pince later. Do you have a mirror?"

Time goes on and she starts wondering how she would feel if one boy was ok and the other wasn't. Would one being petrified be worse than the other? What if one died? Over and over Hermione weighs their comparative worth. Who is more important to her? To the world? Are these answers different or the same? Does favoring one over the other make her realistic or a bad person?

Harry. Harry with the forest green eyes and the ridiculous black hair. Harry who was kind to her first. Harry who grew up with so little, and gives so much now that he has something to offer.

Ron. Ron with the ocean blue eyes and the Weasley red hair. Ron who was unkind at first. Ron who made her cry. Ron who has so little and wants so much.

Now there's a boy. Malfoy leans against her table in the library. Harry and Ron are avoiding studying, again, so Hermione is alone. He's peaky, but flushed and sweating, slicked back blonde hair ruffled like fingers have been running through it.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione asks, scanning the text of her book before nonchalantly turning the page. With a tidge of regret, she folds the bottom edge of the page so she can find it again later.

Normally she wouldn't dog-ear a book, but seeming unaffected enough to continue reading with him lounging there is imperative. Hermione knows that she will retain nothing of what she's skimming now.

Malfoy scoffs and shoves some of her books off the edge.

"Hey!"

He laughs as she bends down to gather them back up. "Where are Potty and Weasel, Mudblood? Who's going to take care of you now?"

"Flipendo!" Hermione says as loudly as she dares in the library. Malfoy stumbles off his perch and lands on the floor with a thump, eyes wide with shock.

"Did you just-"

She hurriedly shoves books into her bag during the precious moments that he spends flabbergasted on the ground.

Malfoy gets to his feet at the same time as she does, and he pushes her back into the table. His normally pale face is red and blotchy with outrage. "Did you just-"

"Hermione!" Ron's voice yells from the right.

Malfoy glances over, sees her two friends trying to get past an irritated Madam Pince, and leans down to whisper furiously at her. "You should take better care of your things, Granger."

With a quick diffindo her bag splits and he makes his escape. Swallowing her rage, Hermione fixes the rip and picks her books up yet again.

It's as she's cramming the last few books in that she notices one that wasn't there before. Idly flipping through the pages, an anomaly catches her attention. A brand new page is awkwardly reparo'ed into this very old book. Hermione doesn't get a chance to look too closely, however, because the boys rush her demanding answers. It's left behind during the fuss, and she doesn't think about it until several days later.

Both boys take her for granted, Hermione knows this. Both boys put as little effort into their studies as possible and tease her for trying so hard. But both boys defend her now. They are her best friends. She has never had best friends before.

To the world she knows there is a clear preference for who should live: Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. It saddens her to think about Ron being just another Weasley, completely disposable in the public mind.

And still she thinks. What determines worth? What makes a person worth more than another? Is there a clear way to decide this, or will it always be clouded by emotion?

Could she choose? Could she choose between two of the most important people in her life?

Hermione's eyes itch and her sinuses feel like someone has been sitting on them. There is a terrible taste in her mouth and she gags. Someone lifts her torso and leans her over a basin. She cries while she vomits. Her body twitches and spasms, nerves and muscles struggling to work together. She wishes she were dead.

Collapsing back into the bed, she feels someone turning her onto her side. Hermione sobs out her pain and distress. Frantic questions whisper out of her mouth but hold no meaning to anyone but her. Sleep claims her before the tears dry on her face.

The next time Hermione wakes, she doesn't vomit. So, that is an immediate improvement. She's lying on a different side than before, and doesn't know if she rolled over or if someone did it for her.

"Miss Granger?" A woman's voice comes from behind her.

Hermione tries to turn her head, to roll over, but finds it to be more effort than she expects. Her soft sound of dismay is answer enough, though, and Madam Pomfrey makes her way around the cot.

"You're awake!"

Hermione ignores the healer and rasps out, "Harry."

Madam Pomfrey continues talking while expertly casting spells and rolling her patient over. It's just an annoying buzzing noise in the background of Hermione's roaring thoughts.

"Harry, Harry, Harry, Harryharryharry," Hermione repeats, over and over again, trying to be loud enough, enunciate enough that the healer will understand her. She stops only when she's roughly shaken.

"Harry is fine, Hermione, he is asleep in bed by now, I'm sure."

"Ron?"

"Also asleep in bed."

"My parents?"

Madam Pomfrey pauses for several uncomfortable seconds. "They are worried about you, of course, but we told them the mandrake potion was complete and that you were making a fine recovery."

"Basilisk?"

"Dead. Now fret not. Let's get you better."

Hermione allows the healer to manipulate her body and cast the spells. She answers when spoken to, but otherwise ignores her.

The boys are fine. The monster is dead. In her head green and blue, Harry and Ron, slink into the corners of her mind and twine with her thoughts.

She won't let it happen, Hermione decides. She won't leave them to their own devices again, will never have to sit back and hope one or the other survives.

The conversation with Professor McGonagall comes to mind. Convincing her parents was a task left for Hermione, and she resolves, then and there, to persuade them. She will have the time turner, she will take the classes, she will learn everything she possibly can.

Last year, a simple chocolate card held the answers; this year, a book about magical creatures. Clearly, she needs to know more, and know a wider variety than what is taught in her classes.

They have been lucky, surviving what they have survived so far. It was a close thing for her this year, and Hermione knows that, however it happened, Harry and Ron had been in danger every moment without her.

She swears to learn more. She swears to always be there. Hermione will never be this helpless again.

End Note: While doing some basic research on Hermione's petrification, I came across the fan theory that Draco is the one who gave her the page on basilisks. I, personally, don't believe it, but I thought it would be fun to give it a nod in here. ;)