It took Hermione ages to find them. She finally found the boys slumped on a rock by the lake. Harry's tufts of brown hair were swept in all different directions. She didn't know if the messy brown mop was due to the wind or his anxious hands. Ron had his chin resting on his fist. It looked like a vampire came and sucked the life out of the usually energetic boys.

She'd been so anxious to find them but now she wasn't sure what to say. Judging from their defected posture and forlorn looks, whatever punishment Umbridge gave wasn't merciful.

Just leave, they don't want you to comfort them. They went to the lake without finding you first because they don't need you.

No, that wasn't right. Five years had proved that Harry and Ron were impulsive when they were emotional. They didn't think about how she would be worried about them.

"Hermione?" Ron lifted his head and looked at her.

She swallowed her insecurities and said, "Hey, what happened back there?" Harry patted the spot on the boulder next to him.

They sat and watched the sunset over the trees. Rays of gold sunshine that had once reflected on the blue lake disappeared, an inky black sheen took its place. The air had a frosty chill to it, Hermione's limbs felt heavy with the weight of the cold.

"Malfoy was being a foul prick as usual," Harry said, his serene face shifting into a scowl. His features, once neutral, pinched into an angry frown.

"Malfoy was talking about mum and Harry's parents. Y'know, his usual shit but worse today." Ron mumbled angrily, kicking at the mixture of wet dirt and sand surrounding the boulder below.

Hermione thought of the way Malfoy smirked at her from his broom, like they schemed this cruel joke together.

She must've misinterpreted his look, he would have to be as daft as a bag of Goosegrass to think she'd find this funny. He was probably looking at someone else in the crowd.

Nevertheless, she still felt a traitorous flush creep along her skin. She tried to quell it by focusing on braiding her hair back, only to realize the cold left her fingers too slow and clumsy.

"Um-bitch took Harry and my brother's brooms, she said they can't play ever again."

Hermione's heart dropped to the ground next to three sets of shoes.

"Professor McGonagall wouldn't allow that, Harry. She'llー"

"Hermione! She can't do anything! Alright? Umbridge is going to make my life hell and she's going to get away with it." Hermione's face flushed in embarrassment.

You obviously don't know how to comfort your friends. You should just go before you make it worse. You don't want to go back to how it was before they helped you.

"Harry… she's just trying to help." Ron side-eyed him. The usual twinkle of light in his blue eyes was gone, an aged weariness took its place. It was clear that in Hermione's frequent absence, Ron had become well acquainted with Harry's outbursts and mood swings. Not to say she would've been very helpful in comforting Harry if she were there, judging by Harry's latest reaction.

She really sucked as a friend.

"Well she's bloody not, is she!" Harry glowered at the lake, not looking at either of them. "You know what, maybe it's better if you leave me alone right now. I'm not in the right state of mind." When neither of them moved right away, Harry stalked off towards the castle.

After a few moments of grim silence, Ron said, "You know, it wasn't about you. He's been snapping at me since school started."

"I know," she spoke with a neutral face. And she did know. But she also felt a crippling sting of rejection every time it happened. It was like Harry stepped on her toes, he didn't mean to, but the pain persisted. And she couldn't help but be wary of walking near him again. She and Ron were under-equipped to help Harry with the trauma of Cedric's death and Voldemort's return, but they were all he had.

And you're failing at helping him. You're not even trying, instead, you're out frolicking in the forest with his nemesis, watching unicorns and talking about Muggle things.

"Hey, Hermione… you're a good friend," Ron said. "Sometimes," he looked at her, "...sometimes, I feel like you take in too much. I mean, me and Harry don't think twice about this kind of thing. But you, I see your face drop and— whatever the point is, don't let him get to you. He's going to apologize in a day." He smiled at her, the last drops of sunlight trickling down his face.

"Thanks, Ron," she murmured, keeping her face towards the pond so he couldn't see her eye's water. He always freaked out when she cried.


A week before Harry saved Hermione from the troll their first year, Hermione experienced her first heartbreak.

A heartbreak, in this context, is something that shatters your spirit in a way that needs repair. It rattles your bones, and dread drips red from the open wound on your chest. And you think, "Oh God, is this it?" You wonder, is this something I can come back from, and if I do, what will there be left of me?

This first heartbreak did not come in the shape of a beautiful boy forgetting to fall in love with her.

It came in the form of a grave, and inside the coffin, six feet below, rested her childhood innocence.

On this day, Hermione learned that for girls of her blood status, the expiration date on childish fantasies was quite a bit sooner than it was for someone like Pansy Parkinson.

In her new magical world, Hermione had the same amount of friends that she'd always had: zero.

Whenever she complained, her mother would quote the great philosopher Aristotle and say, "Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit."

But a sour apple is still a meal when you're starving.

She'd been sitting in the library, in a hidden alcove. Someone would have to be seeking her out to find her. No one ever did.

Until today.

A fourth-year Ravenclaw appeared from behind a bookshelf and stumbled into her table. "Oh, hello there." She smiled at Hermione and said her name was Eleanor Middleton. She looked at the cover of the book Hermione was reading, it was about magical creatures in modern times.

Hermione had been delighted to learn that Unicorns were real and had wondered what other fairytale creatures had snuck off the pages and came to life.

Apparently, Eleanor Middleton had been wondering too, she said she "...loved that book. Unicorns are fascinating, aren't they?" And she giggled like she and Hermione were sharing a secret joke that only Eleanor understood. But Hermione laughed in agreement like she knew what was funny.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Eleanor Middleton asked. And Hermione said that she'd love nothing more.

A couple minutes later a few boys stumbled into the alcove in a way similar to Eleanor, one that made it seem accidental.

"Hey, guys! Come sit with me and Hermione." She waved them over and introduced them all. There was a fifth-year Ravenclaw boy whose name she didn't hear when Eleanor Middleton introduced them and she didn't want to ask again and accidentally offend them. There was a fourth-year Ravenclaw girl named Francis Montague, and a second-year Slytherin named Graham Montague.

They sat for some time, talking louder than what was admitted in their section of the library. It made Hermione anxious since she was on good terms with the librarian, Madam Pince.

Madam Pince walked by and shushed them. She did a double-take when she saw Hermione. Hermione was proud that she'd surprised Madam Pince. She showed her that despite all of the hours Hermione spent tucked away in this corner alone, she could make friends if she wanted to.

She wasn't a loser.

She did feel uncomfortable though when Eleanor Middleton and the fifth year Ravenclaw complained about Madam Pince. How she had an ugly nose, and how it was no wonder she hadn't been able to find a husband when she was a coldhearted bitch.

Hermione nodded in agreement when they looked at her. She pushed back memories of Madam Pince patting her shoulder as she walked by her empty table, or how she'd leave a chocolate chip cookie on top of her stacks of books.

"Hey Hermione," Eleanor Middleton whispered in a conspiratorial way, "Do you want to see where the secret library is?"

"Hogwarts doesn't have a secret library," she whispered back, thinking she might be impressed by her knowledge of Hogwarts architecture. She wasn't impressed.

"Yes it does," Eleanor Middleton said sharply, her friendly smile vanishing from her face. "But if you don't want to see it, we'll just be on our way." She said, all of them stood up.

"No! I'll come to, I guess my books didn't know about it," she'd stammered, a nervous smile flickering on her face. Eleanor Middleton's face was stern as she nodded, a stark contrast to the uncontrollable laughter she had during her entire interaction with Hermione this afternoon.

They led her to the east wing on the sixth floor. A Montague sibling walked on each side of her the entire way. At the time, it felt like a promise of friendship but in her nightmares, it felt like they were marching her towards an impending doom.

She stepped through the doorway first.

There were no bookcases that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, no plush sofas to read on, no reading lamps or tall windows.

Expelliarmus, someone shouted cheerfully.

Her wand, a dragon heartstring with golden vines wrapping it, flew out of her pocket and into the fifth year's hand. A symbolic object of her identity reduced to her only means of physical defense, stolen from her.

This "secret library" was a room covered in dust and debris. It was unfurnished and had a single porthole window near the ceiling. It was dark except for the light coming from each of their wands.

She'd tried to back away, but they formed a circle around her, closing in on her slowly. Her curls whipped her face as she frantically turned, trying to see all of them at once.

"What's going on!" She asked.

"Graham, what do you want us to do now?" His sister asked. "You made us track down the mudblood, now get on with it," she shoved Hermione towards him.

"Wait outside," Graham Montague said, smirking in a way that sent chills down Hermione's back.

"Hurry up," his sister said.

Hermione made a move for the door as they left, only for it to be slammed in her face.

"What do you want from me? I don't even know you." She practically cried.

"You stupid little mudblood," he laughed, his eyes were wide. "You don't even —you don't even know what you did, do you?" It seemed to make him even more angry and irrational when she shook her head no.

She waited, trembling and wishing she had her wand… or her mother.

"You ignored me… you tried to act like you were better than me. You think, a dirty, impure thing like you, is better than me." He shouted the last part, aggressively combing a hand through his hair.

"When did I ignore you?" She stammered, unnerved by his behavior. He clearly wasn't well. And she was all alone with him, no one was going to come looking for her.

"Three days ago! I asked you if you liked the book you were reading, and you didn't answer me! I even repeated—"

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you! I get very focused—"

A teeth rattling sensation on her face cut off her frantic explanation. He had slapped her across the face.

"Don't. Interrupt. Me." He spit at her, practically foaming at the mouth with rage.

One would like to think a boy only a year older than her, somewhere between twelve and thirteen years old, would not be able to hit as hard as he did. Or that someone as young as Graham Montague could not be as mentally unwell as he was. Or that a group of teenagers would not enable his insanity.

One would like to think all of that, but it wasn't true.

Her cheek stung. Hermione had never been hit before. Her parents thought physical punishment was cruel and she'd never had a sibling to wrestle with. She suspected this hit might be very different than any she would've received in the previously mentioned categories.

And now she knew what it felt like. She was an ant beneath the shoe of the largest man alive. Hermione had only been in search of the ripe fruit her mother told her about, she hadn't meant to land herself under a boot.

She stood stunned, shoulders caving in like a protective shell and fingers pressing into her stinging cheek. Graham Montague knocked on the door and called for the fifth year to come back.

"Vanish them," was all he said to the fifth year. The boy looked at Montague in disbelief, "Graham, I know I agreed to-"

"Vanish them or else," a maniacal grin spread across his face.

She would wonder what threat he could possibly hold over a boy three years his senior. Hermione later suspected it might have something to do with his immensely powerful father.

The much older boy swallowed and whispered evanesco, without looking at her.

She'd wondered what they would need to "vanish". She knew the spell from reading the fifth-years textbooks.

Hermione realized the spell's purpose a second later she no longer wore clothes.

Hermione clutched at her chest and crossed her legs. She remembered her mother used to joke about having nightmares showing up to school naked when she was Hermione's age.

Graham Montague laughed. Hermione was frozen in shock and fear, her adrenaline begged her to run, but her mind knew there was nowhere to go.

She wondered how someone could hate her so much.

The fifth-year never looked at her, not even her eyes. He marched back out the door as soon as he finished the spell.

Later, Hermione would wonder if that made it easier on him. If he could forget his role in her nightmares if he never acknowledged it.

His amusement faded and, if possible, an even more frightening look took place, "And now you'll know humiliation as well. Think twice before you cross me in the future." Graham Montague eyed her and when he saw her shrink back, his pleased smile returned.

He walked out the door. She ran after it and yanked on the doorknob but it was locked.

Hermione had never felt more vulnerable in her life. There was nothing except a moth-eaten rag with oil stains on it to cover her naked body. The room hadn't been used in decades, dust and small broken metal bits covered the floor.

She pounded on the door for an hour before her arms gave out. Her cousin Jimmy used to tease her that she was too weak when he would visit for Christmas, and then he'd give her a piggyback ride to the dinner table.

If only he was here to break the door open for her.

Later, she'd learn that two days passed with her trapped in the abandoned room. Her stomach had never felt pain like it did. Her throat felt like it was closing in on itself. Her head throbbed from dehydration and hunger. On the first night, when she had to go to the bathroom in the corner, she cried harder than the first time she got a flu shot.

Curled up in the corner naked with tear tracks dried on her cheeks is how a Hufflepuff prefect found her. A purple bruise littered on the apple of her cheekbone and a disgusting rag laid over her chest.

That was when Hermione learned the real secret of magic: some people would rather kill you than have to share it with you. And the only protection she had from these people was herself.