MY DARLINGS.

The reaction to the last chapter was SPLENDID. SPLENDID I SAY! Thank you all so much for all of your reviews *hearts*

Hopefully the muse continues to like me so I can reach where I want in FTT by the end of the year *fingers crossed*

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.

Chaos.

OWLs panic slammed into all of the Fifth Years at once, steamrolling its way over all of them and cruelly flattening them against the earth.

Exams were approaching all too rapidly, and some students were not coping well. Not coping well at all.

Their Professors didn't help any since they only added to the Fifth Year's load, tacking on reading assignment after reading assignment, shoving practical spellwork down their throats, calling out tip after tip—even Slughorn was being harsher than normal when assessing their Potions as of late. It was utter chaos.

"I hate everything," Lily mumbled, dropping another Ancient Runes text onto the medium sized table that her and Hermione were sharing—right underneath one of the larger windows in the library—desperately trying to ensure that they utilised all of the natural light that they could for as long as they could.

Hermione glared at the book, tightening her grip on the parchment in her hands, "I can't do this. I need a break."

Lily hummed in agreement as she dropped into her chair, her head falling forward into her hands. "I want chocolate."

"Remus will have some," Hermione muttered: lazily she turned her gaze to a table not too far away where Remus and the other boys (including Frank) were all trying to study—books were floating around, parchment was being handed back and forth with swishes of their wands, and quills were furiously scratching as they wrote notes whilst passionately discussing something or another.

A flash of gold caught her eye and she saw James catch Draco's snitch—the bespectacled boy was frowning profusely down at a scrap of parchment as he lowly grumbled about all the bloody work they have.

With a heavy sigh she turned her attention back to her own table: at all of the notes, at her ink stained fingers, the quill Lily had broken accidentally in frustration sometime that morning, the yellowed and thin pages of the textbook open in front of her—suddenly feeling extremely overwhelmed.

"Godric. I need some air or I'm going to go bloody insane," Hermione said, jumping out of her seat.

"Please bring back chocolate," Lily pleaded.

"No guarantees," Hermione said, she rapped her knuckles against the hard surface of the table once before heading for the exit—a smile touching her features as she heard a soft, "traitor," fall from Lily's lips.

On her way out Hermione caught her boyfriend's eye and shot him a tired smile, he nods in understanding but raises his eyebrows questioningly.

Do I? Hermione mused, but quickly dismissed the notion—she was devastatingly exhausted—so she simply shook her head and left the library, alone.

She wandered aimlessly for a bit before she found herself on the Covered Bridge: she didn't know why she always felt at peace on the seemingly derelict bridge—with its sagging and slightly tarred roof.

Hermione rested her forearms on the wooden guardrail, breathing in the crisp air—the weather was once again changing, the colder days languidly melting into warmer ones, but Nature is still clutching comforting summer breezes and radiant sunny days close to her chest.

The wooden boards creaking as someone approached made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention, and her guard snapped up as her gaze sought out the owner of the footsteps: Fabian Prewett, whose focus was enraptured by a letter, his brow puckered harshly.

"Wotcher, Professor Prewett," Hermione said.

Fabian jumped in surprise, looking around in a stunned daze until he properly honed in on Hermione.

"Blimey, Hermione. You startled me," Fabian said with wide eyes, hands on his hips as he caught his breath.

"Though I'm not in the least bit surprised that you're out here and not holed in the library like the rest of the Fifth and Seventh years," Fabian said as he saddled up beside her.

"Actually, I haven't left the library since five this morning," Hermione said, but upon noticing how curt and dismissive it sounded, she sighed and added, "plus too much studying isn't good for you, Professor."

Hermione tapped her foot against the wooden floorboards once, her hazel eyes properly meeting her Professor's.

"Yes, too much studying isn't good for you," Fabian said wryly.

Hermione scrutinised the perturbed look on her Professor's face and raised an eyebrow as she asked, "what's worrying you, Professor? What inner turmoil is plaguing your soul?"

A short bark of a laugh erupted from his lips, and mirth burst forth from his blue eyes, "for starter's...I'm not going to be your Professor next year."

Tom Riddle's curse. She knew it was coming, but that didn't mean she wasn't sad that one of her favourite teachers in this time was leaving.

"I don't mean to pry...but why not?"

Fabian held up the letter in his hand with a tight smile, "originally it was because I got a job offer in Romania to train as a Dragonologist."

Hermione's eyes widened, pardon? She asked herself internally.

Fabian took in the change in her facial expression and shrugged, "I know, who would leaves a perfectly stable job to go off gallivanting and frolicking with Dragons?"

Your Nephew...maybe Fabian is where Charlie's love of Dragons originated, Hermione thought.

"So you're going to be a Dragonologist then?" Hermione asked casually.

"Not exactly. Maybe. I don't know," Fabian responded, conflicting emotions battling across his face as he reached up to scratch his long, slightly curved nose.

Hermione remained silent, and when he glanced at her he took that as a sign to elaborate, "my Father—" Fabian cleared his throat and once more gestured to the letter now partially crumpled in his hand, "—has taken ill and my Mother has just written to let me know."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione said solemnly, reaching out to squeeze his forearm.

"Nothing much I can do about it, my older sister will of course help Mum out when she can...but she's got her hands full with her flock of children."

Molly, Hermione thought fondly, briefly wondering what it would be like to meet her in this time.

"What about Gideon?"

"Course he'll be around when he can, but he's been back and forth between America and England for the past year because of his job—he loves it, I can't force him to give that up," Fabian said morosely.

"So no Romania," Hermione said reticently.

"No Romania," Fabian confirmed.

A breath of cold air glided across them, pinching at Hermione's cheeks and nipping at her nose, and a comfortable silence laid across them.

Hermione is the first to break it, "I will miss you though, Professor Prewett," Hermione smiled softly. "You're probably the best Defense teacher we've had."

Fabian chuckled softly, shifting to fully face her now, and with a free hand he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "and I will miss the student I could never quite figure out."

His comment drew an an arrogant smirk across her face—reminiscent of Draco's signature one—and with an airiness to her tone she said, "everyone needs a little mystery in their life, Fabian."

With that, she removed her hand from his arm and began the trek back to the castle: leaving Fabian Prewett alone, a small smile etched onto his features and with the last fingers of pale light reaching towards the sky—which were soon swallowed by the encroaching darkness.