For the first time in a long while Hermione was happy. She was tired and felt as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders, but whenever she looked over at her friend, she felt a glimmer of joy in her heart. At McGonagall Manor exams, Australia and Ron Bloody Weasley seemed forever away. After completing her essay, she spent the following two days reading the books she had been given for Christmas. Usually she sat beside Minerva on the couch or at the dining room table. During the day they'd walk into the village and talk to the friendly locals or to the fields neighbouring the Manor where Hermione could practice her seventh year spells at dead, leafless trees. At night they'd remain by the fire and read or play chess. Sometimes Zena let Hermione help cook and they'd discuss the laws surrounding magical creatures. The waves of sadness and fear only ever caught up to Hermione at night when everyone had gone to bed. When she woke screaming Minerva would be there to hold her and lead her downstairs to talk about her nightmares.

Although it would indicate the end of their stay they were anticipating the New Year fireworks display in the village. It would be conducted by a friend of McGonagall's who had always been particularly adept at elaborate charms. However, her years with Harry had taught Hermione that things rarely go her way and she wasn't so surprised when their New Year plans were dashed by a frantic owl.

It was the 28th and Hermione was in the kitchen folding pastries with Zena when the faun-feathered animal crashed into the window. After recovering from the fright, she quickly let it in and it flew erratically around the kitchen, knocking over a bowl of flour. She caught it before it managed to make a bigger mess and Zena called her mistress who came to take the letter from Hermione. As the house elf calmed the owl and fed it a treat, McGonagall read the note aloud, her brogue steady. Only the slight tremor in her hands let on that she was troubled.

"Headmistress, come immediately. Ghost has attacked again. Emergency. Filch."

Minerva folded the parchment carefully and slipped it into her pocket while turning to her young friend. She wore a familiar frown. "Hermione, get your things. Unfortunately we'll have to cut our stay short."

Hermione nodded. She was disappointed, but had known their return was inevitable. She packed hastily and felt the weight of dread growing in her stomach. They were going to have to deal with the ghost sooner or later, but she was still fearful of the possibility that it might be Voldemort or Bellatrix. Both of the dark wizards had died on school grounds and both had reason to haunt it. Even with her coat pulled over her thick jumper she was shivering as she made her way back downstairs. McGonagall was already waiting for her and saying good bye to Zena. The room was empty of all signs that it had been used less than five minutes ago. To Hermione it looked bare.

"Come home for Easter, Minny. I miss you when you're away." McGonagall's eyes were trained on the window while Zena said goodbye. Hermione realised how hard it must be for her to leave the last remnants of her family. The house elf turned to Hermione who was clutching her beaded bag with white fingers. She didn't want to leave. "And you come visit me too, Miss 'Mione."

"I will. Thank you for your hospitality."

Zena stood away from them as Hermione held the older witch's arm. They were both tense with trepidation.

"Be good, my girls." Was the last thing they heard before they apparated.

The main entrance where they appeared was large and quiet, eerie without the clamour of students. The portraits that hung on the walls began asking questions the moment they saw it was McGonagall and she hushed them all. The headmistress turned to Hermione, intentionally not touching her now they were back in the school where eyes watched them from the walls. To the younger woman it felt as if they were suddenly very far apart.

After a moment Minerva spoke. "Would you like to go to your room and wait there?"

Hermione shook her head swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. The last thing she wanted was to be alone in a castle where she no longer felt safe- a ghost could find her anywhere she went. Instead of admitting her fears she said, "I want to help."

McGonagall gave a curt nod and immediately turned at the sound of stone scraping followed by footsteps. Filch limped forward, his face red. He didn't seem surprised to see them.

"Headmistress. You have to get it under control. The ghost, assuming it really is a ghost," he glared suspiciously at Hermione, "is running amok."

McGonagall approached him, leaving Hermione standing by the doors. "Has anyone been hurt?" She asked.

Filch scowled. "Not yet. But it's getting stronger. It smashed the glass cabinets in the trophy room, upturned my office, set a swarm of Cornish pixies free on the second floor and filled the dungeons with dung." As he talked his voice became shrill until Hermione winced at the sound. "I haven't slept in two days. It's driving me insane." Despite how much she hated Filch she found she pitied his plight.

"Are you sure it hasn't just been Peeves?"

He shook his head and kneaded his temples. "The Bloody Baron has him scared stiff and the Fat Friar has been watching his every move."

"And where are the ghosts now?"

"Searching the castle, ma'am."

Minerva sighed. There hadn't been this much commotion in years. "Well is there any good news?"

"Hrrm. The thing is beginning to materialise. The paintings on the seventh floor claimed to have seen a human-shaped fog and the Weeping Woman saw legs on the fourth floor."

"Well it'll be easier to find once it's taken its shape."

"What should we do now?"

The headmistress thought for a moment before answering. "Keep looking. Hermione and I will talk to the Bloody Baron and if he deems it necessary I'll send owl for a professional."

As Filch skulked away McGonagall turned and strode towards the great staircase. Filch had told them that the Bloody Baron would be somewhere on the fourth floor where the spectre was last sighted. Hermione had to hurry to keep up. The professor didn't seem to be in the mood to talk so she kept her lips sealed and her thoughts to herself. Her mind was spinning from the sudden change of pace.

"Professor McGonagall!" They were on the staircase between the second and third floor when the cheery voice halted them. The witches stopped as Nearly Headless Nick emerged from the wall. He was smiling from ear to ear and waving excitedly. "Hermione, I have the most excellent news!"

"Have they caught it?" McGonagall asked, her body relaxing.

"Who is it?" Hermione added, her voice notably filled with dread.

"The poltergeist? No, he's still around somewhere. I'm talking about something much more important. See if you can guess what it is."

"We don't have time, Nicholas. Where is the Baron?" Minerva's expression hardened with annoyance.

"I think he's around the alchemy classroom. Don't you want to know my news?"

The headmistress was already walking away but Hermione paused to apologise. "Maybe later, Nick. We're kind of busy at the moment."

The ghost sniffed moodily while the young witch hurried after her teacher.

Around them the portraits gossiped amongst themselves and the voices made the air feel thicker. Hermione felt like she was drowning in it. Minerva was too distracted to pay her much mind and she felt alone, the comfort of McGonagall Manor already fading like a dream.

When they found the Bloody Baron he said very little. Hermione was thankful for this because the sound of his voice made the hair on her neck stand on end. The sum of it was that they had nothing to show for their search except an uncertain description of the ghost's lower half. The timing of its appearance suggested it had died during the Battle of Hogwarts. Considering the number of casualties it was impossible to determine which side it had been. The destructive behaviour was not encouraging. The Baron's advice was to wait. There was nothing they could do until it had fully manifested and even then the, living had no control over the dead. They could try to reason with it if it turned out to be good. If it was a wraith, or the soul of a death eater they'd have to request an exorcist from the Ministry.

Hermione was discouraged. There was nothing she could do and since Minerva had to alert the Ministry of Magic of a potential dark spirit, she was left to help Filch by cleaning the trophy room. Scourgify and repairo made it easy to return the trophy cases to their shining selves, but it was lonely and the time consuming work. Whenever she heard an echo of a sound she jumped, her nerves frayed from this sudden isolation. After putting things right there she hurried back towards her chamber. The distance seemed magnified and Hermione wished she was able to apparate inside the castle like the teachers and house elves could.

She was on the third floor when she saw Nearly Headless Nick talking to a painting of a pirate. He sounded excited. Hermione was just going to walk past him because she was exhausted, but he saw her and called her name.

"Hermione! How goes the good fight?"

"It's tiring. I'm off to bed at the moment."

"So presently you aren't busy?"

Hermione remembered Nick's excitement earlier and she put on the biggest smile she could muster. "I have time for you."

Nicholas nodded, his head threatening to fall off at the movement. "I have wonderful news. Spectacular news!"

"Out with it."

"For my bravery during last year's battle here at Hogwarts I've been offered…" he paused dramatically, "an invitation to be an honorary member of the Headless Hunters!"

Hermione clapped her hands together in faux-excitement. "That's fantastic." All she could think about was her bed waiting for her.

When he had floated away, having spotted another spirit who hadn't heard his news, Hermione rushed to her room. She didn't want to have to talk to anyone else.

The young witch's room felt large and empty, though most of her belongings were still there. Her books and potions equipment, suitcases and clothes seemed to belong to someone else. She wanted to go back to McGonagall Manor where Zena was baking and Minerva had time for her. When she dropped her beaded handbag on the floor there was the rattle and clamour of stuff rolling about. She had to unpack, but was weary from running about chasing phantoms. With an exhausted sigh she lay back onto her bed. She tired of fighting, of adventure but even with the war over she still wasn't given any rest. Closing her eyes she quickly slipped into a deep sleep.