Hermione swallowed a mouthful of toast as her cinnamon eyes flicked over the largest advertisements inserted in the Daily Prophet: Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes announced the re-opening of the store in Diagon Alley, along with a grand opening of a new location in Hogsmeade. A turn of the page revealed a massive full color photo of the village at night, lit by fairy lights strung in massive trees and magicked flames, announcing the schedule for holiday sleigh-rides through the cozy, quaint village.

She was pleased to see that at least some things were getting back to normal, particularly when her seventh year at Hogwarts had been anything but, so far. No Harry, no Ron, no-half-of-the-entire-Gryffindor-house, not to mention the rest of the school. Classes were quiet, but, if Hermione were being honest, much preferable to the classes in the past.

The witch was about to flip the page once more when her eyes caught on a line of a scrolling text in the lower right of the paper. There was no business information, no name, no address, nothing; just the words: "I need your help."

Hermione bit her lip and mulled over the implications.

Maybe someone charmed today's Daily Prophets as a prank- or something more sinister. I could take the paper up to the common room and check.

Or.

I could take the bait and try writing something below the text to see what happens.

She reached for her cup of lemon ginger tea, deeply inhaling the steam to center her focus, determined to come to a decision by the time she finished drinking it.

The message, however, changed.

"Please. I really must speak with you."

It's someone that can see me hesitating, she realized with a start. It wasn't just some prankster that had charmed every newspaper to mess with the reader.

Making up her mind, Hermione raised her index finger to the paper and drew her words carefully.

"Who are you?"

She waited for a reply, attempting to keep her focus on the paper, so as not to spook whomever was contacting her. As the minutes ticked by, however, Hermione couldn't keep her eyes from roaming.

Taking a quick scan of the Gryffindor table, she saw that absolutely none of her fellows had out parchment and quill; no big surprise there. A shaft of sunlight illuminated a handful of Ravenclaws, busy scribbling away, but were most likely working on homework like the dutiful little swots they were; not that she one to judge. An inspection of the Hufflepuff table revealed only one student with a quill, but from where she was seated, it appeared to be a lunar chart and the impact of the moon on certain carnivorous plant species; and certainly not a secret message.

Hermione held her breath and raised her eyes more carefully as she moved on with her investigation. While the students of Slytherin house that returned had been nothing but cordial, and some, even friendly, she still couldn't help her initial knee-jerk reaction any time she risked catching Draco's piercing gaze.

The air about her would grow heavy, clanging against her insides like the eerie calm before a thunderstorm. The urge to flee down the corridor, to jump from the window, to disillusion herself, to blast him into the wall, send him careening down the stairs, or crash him into a fire, was barely contained.

Seeing as how she didn't wish to murder anyone today, Hermione took a slow, deep breath before she looked up again. Her eyes landed on the easily identifiable head of silvery blonde hair first, only to find that Draco was speaking to Theo and Blaise. Both were clearly making fun of their pompous friend, whose face had turned a soft shade of pink; no one was holding paper or anything else that could possibly be written on.

Prat. Guess it isn't you, then.

She finished her bacon just as another message finally came through.

"Meet me in the library after lunch. Study room #9."

Hermione frowned. Sure, why not? What could possibly go wrong?

Hermione spent the time between breakfast and lunch preparing for whatever the mystery meeting had in store by completing her morning strength training in the room of requirement. After showering and heading back to her private dorm, Hermione packed far too many potions and charmed items that might come in handy if it came down to a duel into her beaded bag.

Am I paranoid? Absolutely. Is this overkill? Definitely. Is it better to be prepared for absolutely anything? Always.

Hermione entered the library and quickly found the study room- of course, she could easily find anything in the library, having spent more time in it than the Gryffindor common room. Casting a silent revelio,she noted a disillusioned presence in the room.

She murmured a quiet muffliato and notice-me-not charm before she entered the space, preparing for the worst.

"I know you're here- and so help me Gods, if you're Draco, I will hex you straight into the next life." At the sound of panicked breathing Hermione rolled her eyes and took a seat. "Well?"

A few moments later, a very pale, terrified witch stood before Hermione. She hardly recognized upon first glance, and it wasn't until the girl spoke that she was able to place her.

"I didn't know who else to turn to-."

"Astoria?"

"Yes," the younger witch whispered back. "I need your help." Her wide blue eyes filled with tears.

"My help?" Hermione asked archly. "Me, specifically?"

"Yes, you're the only muggleborn I know," the girl explained.

At least she didn't call me a mudblood.

Hermione examined the witch, her normally sparkling blue eyes and mirthful grin had been replaced with sunken, dark circles under her eyes, tense lines etched into her forehead, and a light sheen of sweat had broken out across her face. She was either quite ill or hadn't slept in many days.

"Sit," Hermione directed quietly, unable to keep from sympathizing. "Speak."

Astoria sat in the chair across from Hermione and rested her elbows on the worn oak table.

"Do you remember seeing me at the Yule Ball," she asked quietly.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "If I recall, you were with Theo Nott."

"Well, my body certainly was."

Hermione caught on quickly. "Polyjuice?"

"Yes," Astoria bit her lip. "One of your friends helped me so I could go with my real date."

"Who was your real date?" Hermione asked breathlessly, almost fearing her answer.

Astoria looked down at her hands and began to fidget nervously. "You have to understand, Hermione, he was seen as a blood-traitor and-," her tears finally fell. "My parents, the Dark Lord, I- no one could know. No one."

Hermione waited, her list of options narrowed to a select few. Only one truly gave her worry. "Not Ron?"

"Gods no!" Astoria answered her quickly. "Er- sorry, I know you-"

"I don't," Hermione cut her off quickly. "People just assumed, but he ruined any chances far earlier than the Yule Ball."

"It's Neville Longbottom," she breathed his name gently, as though the sound of his name were there, offering support.

Whomever Hermione had been expecting, it certainly wasn't Neville. "I don't understand-"

"It was Autumn in my third year," she began. "A sunny Sunday, so I took a walk around the grounds to clear my head. And I rounded the corner of some bushes and bumped into Neville-, quite literally-, and we ended up talking for hours on end. Every weekend after that, hours and hours. It just kind of happened; I didn't expect to fall in-"

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to process such ground-breaking information and her mind immediately tried to refute it. "Neville went to Yule with Luna-"

"Luna is a dear friend of mine and has been graciously donating her hair to me for years."

Realizing how very likely this behavior would be on Luna's part, Hermione's body finally relaxed, as though she were giving in. She closed her eyes and took a few moments to sort through the possibilities. "So, you need help?"

"Yes," Astoria answered, voice cracking, eyes wide with fear. "I'm pregnant."