Chapter 55: From Bad to Worse

Thursday found me in the library as usual, flipping absentmindedly through more archives from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I was exhausted. I had been to eight classes – the most I ever had to attend in one day. Though my homework load was no lighter than normal, I chose to relax a bit for the night, as I had the whole weekend ahead of me.

As I flipped through the archives from 1916, I heard a commotion ensue a short distance away and looked up in curiosity. A sixth year Hufflepuff couple were arguing, and from what I could hear, it appeared that the boy had cheated on the girl and she had just found out. When she began throwing library books at the boy, Madam Pince began to march towards them, glowering, and I lowered my head back down to my work, not wanting to get involved.

As my hand turned the next page over, I almost missed it, but I stopped myself and flipped back to the previous page.

October 14th, 1916. Elliott Winterton provoked a wild Hippogriff. Hippogriff attacked and Winterton spent two weeks in St. Mungo's. Injuries included one broken arm, two broken ribs, multiple scratches and cuts as well as lasting psychological trauma causing memory loss. Wife, Emilia Winterton filed a lawsuit against said Hippogriff pleading for the Hippogriff's termination. Verdict: the Hippogriff would be transported to America and an American donor would cover all hospital and judicial costs.

In my excitement to show Hagrid, I grabbed the book I had been flipping through and ran to the exit, completely forgetting that I was holding a library book. I came to an abrupt halt at the door, wondering why I felt like I had forgotten something, and it took a moment or two before I realized I ought to find Madam Pince and have her check out of the book for me.

Once I had checked out the book, I raced through the school and across the grounds. When I finally arrived at Hagrid's I pounded on the door, demanding entrance.

"Hagrid! Let me in! Hagrid! I found something! Hagrid!" I cried.

Suddenly, the door swung open and I stumbled.

"Hermione! Come in, come in," Hagrid said merrily, directing me to a chair at the table and getting me a mug filled with some unidentifiable beverage and a plate on which sat one of his famous rock cakes. "Where're Harry an' Ron?" Hagrid asked, sitting down across from me, dropping his own tankard down on the table.

"Oh, they, um, they're not with me," I said evasively, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. I had hopes that Hagrid wouldn't bring this up.

"Why not?" Hagrid asked, unwilling to let the subject go.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Busy I suppose."

"What d'yeh mean, 'suppose'?" Hagrid asked. "Thought yeh lot were thick as thieves."

"We used to be," I said bitterly.

"Now what's that s'pposed ter mean?" Hagrid demanded.

"It's nothing really," I said airily. "Harry and Ron are just a little angry with me right now."

"Why?" Hagrid asked. "Seemed fine jus' before Christmas."

"Yes, I suppose it was around Christmas that they got upset with me," I said guardedly.

"What's upsettin' 'em?" Hagrid asked, taking a large gulp from his tankard.

I looked down and began playing with my rock cake, trying to avoid answering the question, but when Hagrid continued to insist, I gave in.

"Harry received a Firebolt for Christmas, but there was no note, so I thought it was probably cursed or something by Sirius Black, and that it was meant to kill Harry, so I told Professor McGonagall and she took the Firebolt away to be stripped down," I said, finding that it actually felt good to finally talk about it. "Harry and Ron were really upset with me, because it was a great broom and he might not get it back now."

"But you were jus' lookin' out for 'em," Hagrid replied. "They'll come 'round."

"I don't think so," I said sullenly, looking out the window at the sloping grounds. If I continued talking about this, I knew I was going to end up breaking down the wall I had managed to build up around myself, and I couldn't have that. "That's not why I came down here though, Hagrid," I said. "I think I've found something we can use in the case for Buckbeak."

Once I began telling Hagrid about the case and how it might be used in our favor, the topic of Harry and Ron was completely forgotten. When I left a few hours later, my stomach grumbling and my bag stuffed with rock cakes Hagrid thought I had eaten, thoughts of Harry and Ron had been once again banished from my mind.

The next month became a cycle of mundane activities. I woke every morning and ate with Neville. Then I had classes, and I would spend all my free time in the library, either doing homework or working on building Hagrid's case. At dinner, I sometimes ate with Neville, and sometimes I ate on my own. After dinner, I would return to the library to get more work done, finally retiring to the common room right before curfew, where I would pile a stack of books up as high as I could in front of me to shield my view of the common room. I was careful to avoid thoughts of Harry and Ron, and even more careful to avoid Harry and Ron themselves.

And so, I was in the common room, buried beneath piles of books and parchment, when the uproar began.

"Woah!" someone cried, causing everyone to look up and rush over to the portrait hole.

I tried to see what was going on, but the crowd surrounding whoever had just entered was too thick.

"Can I touch it?" someone asked.

"Can I hold it?" requested another.

"Where'd you get it?" somebody inquired.

"Ravenclaw's got no chance now!" someone exclaimed.

Suddenly, a small gap appeared amongst the students and I got a clear view of Harry standing in the center of the crowd, the Firebolt clutched in his hand. My heart leapt unexpectedly and I lowered my head hastily, trying unsuccessfully to center my thoughts on ancient runes or arithmancy, anything to ignore the commotion.

After everything I had been through in the past five weeks, Harry had the Firebolt back. Obviously there had been nothing wrong with it after all, and I had sacrificed my friendship for nothing. Well, not nothing, there could have been something wrong with the broom. Unfortunately, that didn't make me feel any better.

The crowd began to disperse, and I focused all my energy on appearing to be working. I could feel Harry and Ron getting closer, but I pretended not to notice. When they stopped right in front of my table, I reluctantly raised my eyes to meet theirs.

At first, I thought they were here to gloat. I defended myself when they pointed out that it hadn't been cursed at all, saying that it was always best to be safe, especially when we knew there was someone out there intent on killing Harry. But then Ron went upstairs to give Scabbers his rat tonic and Harry sat down and started making conversation about my arithmancy homework.

I wondered if this was his way of patching things up and moving forward. It was too much to hope we could be friends again after everything, yet I found I very much hoped we could. It seemed like it was what Harry wanted.

Just as I was starting to feel like it was old times again, we were interrupted by a loud yell from the direction of the boys' dormitories.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

I froze mid-sentence. The cry was unmistakable. As footsteps pounded down the stairs, I prepared myself for the worst. Whatever had happened, I was ready to offer any form of comfort, support, or sympathy that I could, despite the strain of the past five weeks. When Ron emerged from the doorway, he strode over to me, waving a bed sheet in my face, demanding that I look at it.

I was confused to say the least. What could be so horrifying about a sheet? But then Ron made his thoughts clear as day. He screamed that the blood belonged to Scabbers and then threw a handful of hairs that were unmistakably Crookshanks' onto the table in front of me.

I looked up pleadingly at Ron once more, but was met with an icy stare.

"You can't think that Crookshanks would..." I couldn't even finish the sentence, bile rising in my throat even at the thought of my cat eating Ron's rat.

"What else am I supposed to think?" Ron screamed at me. "It's not like you've ever cared enough about Scabbers to bother keeping a watch on that demon cat!"

I felt tears threatening to escape, tears that had been safely locked away for weeks forcing their way out of my eyes. "You can't mean that Ron," I said weakly.

"You let that cat roam around wherever it wants!" Ron cried. "You probably even wanted that menace to kill Scabbers!"

A wave of determination washed over me and I pushed away from the table, rising from my chair to meet Ron on my feet. I swallowed my tears and felt my resolve harden.

"I can't even believe you would say that!" I cried.

"Well it's true!" Ron retorted. "Your cat killed Scabbers and you didn't even bother to stop it!

"You don't even know that Crookshanks killed Scabbers!" I cried, now screaming right back at Ron. I realized that the entire common room was staring at us, but then I decided that I didn't even care. "The only evidence you have is those hairs! For all you know, they could have been there since Christmas!"

"Crookshanks has been trying to kill Scabbers ever since that day in Diagon Alley!" Ron roared. "And you never cared! You just let Crookshanks into our dormitory on Christmas and then he figured out where I was keeping Scabbers, and now he's gone back and finished him off!"

"You've hated Crookhanks since he jumped on you in the Magical Menagerie!" I shouted back.

"Because he's been after Scabbers this whole time!" Ron cried. "What has Scabbers ever done other than be a good rat?"

"You don't even know that Scabbers is dead!" I replied. "It's just a spot of blood, maybe you got a paper cut and Scabbers is really upstairs hiding somewhere!"

"Scabbers is dead and it's all your fault!" Ron screamed with finality, tossing the sheet in my face and stalking away.

"You know Hermione, Crookshanks does seem to roam around here a lot, and he has been attacking Scabbers ever since we met him," Harry pointed out when Ron was gone.

"Fine, side with Ron, I knew you would!" I cried. "First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything's my fault, isn't it? Just leave me alone, Harry, I've got a lot of work to do."

When Harry reluctantly left, I sunk down into my chair, all the anger that had been building throughout the argument with Ron seeping out of me, being replaced by a hollow emptiness. For a minute, one glorious minute, I thought things could go back to the way they were, that Harry, Ron and I could be friends again. I had hope. But that hope was gone now, destroyed forever.

When I looked up again, it was to find that everyone in the common room was still staring at me in shock. I supposed I had given them quite a show. I contemplated packing my bags and running up to the confines of my bed, but I could see Lavender and Parvati gawking at me from the fireside, and I knew they would soon be telling Sally-Anne and Lily of my outburst.

Not even caring that it was late and certainly past curfew, I swept my things into my bag and ran to the portrait hole. I clambered through the hole and, completely ignoring the cries and threats being thrown at me by Sir Cadogan for being out after hours, flew down the stairs, the only thought in my mind being to get away.