When they left to retrieve Hermione's belongings, her in her pyjamas and Minerva in her green tartan robes, she forced herself to remain calm. Every step closer to the room where she had almost lost everything made it harder to breathe. One hand was curled into a fist and the other loosely gripped on to the long sleeve of McGonagall's robe like a child might hold onto their mother's skirt. She could feel her friend cast furtive glances her way but she kept her face as neutral as possible. This shouldn't be difficult, but somehow she was more afraid to see the broken mirror than she had been while searching for horcruxes. She wished Harry were there. Despite struggling to keep her breaths slow and measured, she made it. She paced back and forward and like always the door appeared.

Minerva had known about the Room of Requirement since Hermione and presumably others from Dumbledore's Army had told her, but the surprised look on her face betrayed that she had never seen it for herself. Everyone was in class so there was no one about to see Hermione hesitate, pulling away from the door until Minerva wrapped their hands together.

The mirror was in one piece and the room seemed completely undisturbed, her trunk and book bag sitting on the end of the bed waiting for her. Still, her palm was sweaty against the other woman's hand.

"Is this all there is?" McGonagall asked, motioning towards the trunk.

Hermione nodded, her throat obstructed with fear.

A wave of her wand and the utterance of a spell and the trunk, the books and the small beaded bag were airborne.

"I could have done this myself," Hermione said when they were back in the hallway, although she knew she couldn't have.

"I know, my dear. I was curious, though."

Hermione knew this was also a lie, or at least an excuse.

"Thank you," she said with her eyes cast down. Their hands dropped to their sides again as they could walk, bags trailing behind them.

Hermione was free to spend the day in the Headmistress' office, but it felt like trespassing with Minerva away in classes. Though she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch and wither away like she had spent last week that would take her nowhere. Besides, she had so much to do. She was behind in all her classes, had to study for her N.E. (which were only five months away) and she needed to write to Harry. The worry was compounding and she knew if she didn't start today she would never get anything done.

Her mind rallied against her with unhelpful thoughts (What's the point? I'm a failure anyway), but Hermione made it to the library where she laid out the work she had to complete and worked out a time table so that she could catch up on her school work efficiently. By separating her days into smaller study sessions between and after classes she figured she would be able to get on top of her readings within two weeks. Having this done she felt a sense of achievement lighten her fears. Maybe I can do this. It was a small accomplishment but once she had finished this she felt like she could manage.

Books set aside, she began composing a letter to Harry. After Minerva's insistence she wanted to tell him how she was (how she really was) without making him worry and without admitting the truth about the cat. It was difficult to put everything on parchment and soon she had a small pile of incomplete drafts building on her desk. Everything she wrote either came out emotionlessly distant or overly sappy and reeking of desperation. She persisted for an hour or so until her frustration swelled into anger and then faded into apathy. She reread the final draft, the library beginning to fill with students, and read it. It wasn't up to par and still read like an essay on some other person, but her mind was tired. If she carried on in the frenzy she had worked herself into it would drive her mad. Not quite satisfied, but no longer caring, she folded it into an envelope and addressed it to Grimauld Place before she could change her mind.

The owlery smelt of its avian occupants and their waste. Rodent bones crunched underfoot as she persuaded a pepper coloured bird from its perch with a treat and tied the letter to its ankle. It pecked at her robe until she fed it a treat usually reserved for Harry's owl and then took flight from the window.

Looking down on the grounds she could see the students playing in the snow which reflected the sun's light so that her eyes hurt. As she watched them she remembered being eleven and relishing snowball fights and bringing snowmen to life. Eight years seemed like a lifetime. Clinging to the stone ledge of the window from which she could easily throw herself if the urge came, Hermione felt almost nothing.

It was quiet up here. Not so much outside (the owls were scuffling and the wind was howling), but in her mind her thoughts had settled. The worrying was still there, about school and Minerva, Harry's reaction to the letter, but they were either things that had no control over or things she now knew she could deal with. The only persistent worry that followed her from the tower was what she would say to Ron. In time she wanted to fix their relationship. They had gone through so much together and even if she no longer wanted to be romantically involved with him she didn't want to throw away a decade of friendship. He hadn't trusted her when he should have, but neither had she. He'd had evidence to support his paranoia and she had ignored it completely. Still, he should have known she would never intentionally hurt him.

As she walked, Hermione ran through some scenarios in her head of how she would tell him the truth about the year. The cold usually helped to clear her mind so while she thought she headed for the entrance hall. She knew she wanted to talk to Ron in person and that the easiest time would be while he was visiting Ginny and Fred. She pictured them sitting in the Three Broomsticks. If Ron would sit with her long enough she could rely on his stony silence to allow her to talk.

Hermione felt the change from warm indoors to freezing temperature like a cleansing splash of water. She shoved her hands into her pockets and continued to wander. The snow was beginning to melt, mixing with dirt leaving a brown mush that clung to her shoes. She followed the path that led down to the herbology greenhouses and turned towards the lake. Benches situated around the water's edge were inviting and she chose one far enough away from other people so that she was alone with her thoughts.

The crisp air cleared her head and the chill in her gloveless fingers gave her something to focus on. Something to feel. She relaxed into the seat, the wood cold against her back and let her mind wander. Her thoughts absently slipped from Ron to Harry's reaction to her letter and onto what her parents were doing at that moment, and she felt a lurch of sadness. The numbness threatened to give way to pain. Like summoning a patronus, she thought of the thing that made her happy. She envisioned Minerva, her strength and beauty, her lips on Hermione's forehead, her lips on Hermione's lips… A warmth filled her chest when she thought how their lives had intertwined, how she wanted them to intertwine further.

"You're smiling again. That's a relief."

Startled out of her reverie, Hermione turned towards the voice, her fingers pressed to her upturned lips. She hadn't noticed her expression, but now she felt it sliding off.

Ginny had her red hair tied back and a hand on her hip. She was grinning that lopsided Weasley grin that reminded Hermione of the twins. They hadn't spoken much outside of their shared classes during this very trialling week but she knew she couldn't run from her forever.

"You seemed down in the dumps for a while there. Good to see you're back to normal."

Hermione stayed silent. She couldn't tell her that she far from better or how just how 'down in the dumps' she had been. To make up for the lack of an answer she asked, "How did you know I was here?"

"I saw you walking this way earlier. Just thought I'd see how you're doing." Hermione had moved so her friend could sit beside her, but the Weasley girl walked closer to the water and picked up a fistful of rocks. "I heard you and Ron really got into it when he was here. He's pretty pissed at you."

Clasping her cold hands between her thighs, Hermione watched as the first stone whizzed through the air and hit the water with a satisfying splash. "What did Harry tell you?"

"Nothing. He was pretty hush-hush about the whole thing but Ron's been writing me and told George a bunch of stuff who passed on more info."

She braced herself. "What exactly did he say?"

"Not a lot that made sense. I think he's still upset about you leaving more than anything."

"I didn't leave him. He left me. By owl, remember?" Everything Hermione had been thinking about Ron before was being replaced by annoyance at him and his big mouth.

Another whiz and splash. "But you did come back to school without him."

"He could have come too if it really mattered that much to him."

"I know." Ginny turned and shrugged apologetically, "He was kind of a jerk about the whole thing." She paused until she didn't get a response, "Do you think the two of you will kiss and make up?"

Hermione thought for a second as the other girl went back to hurling rocks. "No. Not like that. I'd like to go back to being friends, though."

There was a minute of silence filled with the rattle of stones and the plunk of them hitting the water before Ginny spoke again. "So is it true what he said about you and McGonagall?"

She groaned. If Ron kept shooting his mouth off it would eventually end up in the Daily Prophet. "No, it's not."

"You two have been pretty close with Christmas and everything. Don't get me wrong. I won't judge you. You're my friend and you deserve to be with someone who isn't a dick. Even if they are like a hundred years old." Ginny tossed the last of her rocks into the water and turned around, sticking her hands in her robe pockets. "I mean if she makes you happy then that's pretty much all that matters, right?"

Hermione paused. "Right."

More silence followed as Ginny picked up another blue-grey pebble from the shore and sent it spinning.

"It's still not true, though," Hermione said, more as a reminder to herself. Minerva did make her happy, but it was also an impossible dream. Right?

Ginny dropped into the seat beside Hermione and slung one arm around her shoulders. She was warm and comfortable. "So are you coming to see us hand Hufflepuff their asses on the pitch this week? It'll be fun."

Hermione forced herself out of deep thought and slipped on a placating smile. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

A/N: I'm very sorry about taking so long. This chapter was a pain in the ass to write. I had four versions saved on my computer and ended up gluing them all together. I also had a serious breakdown a couple of weeks ago and had to take a week-long sabbatical from pretty much everything to put my head in order. Hopefully I'll be back to a posting more often. Thanks for everything.