DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I also don't own Full House or any of its characters. Heck, I don't own anything except for the clothes I'm wearing, so I'm begging you, please don't sue me.

A/N: It took longer than expected but it's because I had to revise Chapter 1 (thanks to firefirefly2 for the constructive criticism). Enough chat, on with the show!

Chapter 2: The Beginning

On the way home from the pet shop, Hermione couldn't help herself from crying. She sobbed from the moment she sat on the plastic chair of the subway train up to when she finally reached her house and closed the sliding door behind her. She felt so betrayed. She had always treated Sheila and Ned nicely, treated them as the only family she had. She could not fathom their reason for doing this. The horrible thing they have done to her so occupied her train of thought that she did not notice that the entire house's furniture was gone. She only came to the realization when she decided to rest on the couch she sorely missed and found out that the couch was not there. Nor were the side table and the lamp standing on it. She could not also find her favorite arm chair, the small Berber carpet, the beige curtains, and her study table by the window. Running as fast as her legs could carry her, she sprinted to kitchen, only to find that there was no kitchen. No bathroom either. She dashed up the stairs, hoping against hope that she would find at least her bed but alas, her bedroom was as empty as all the other rooms in the house. All the furniture, paintings, glassware, and pictures were gone. Hermione was so stunned that all she could do was fall on her knees and resume her crying. She cried and cried and cried, not even able to think about her current situation. She just sobbed as long as her lungs could support it. Finally, after what felt like forever, she stopped, unable to cry anymore, exhausted, alone and poor. Crookshanks merely watched her, unable to soothe his owner's heart with comforting words.

She could not think of another explanation as to why her house was empty: she made the conclusion that, unfortunately, she was robbed. At that point, Hermione thought that she couldn't be in a worse situation. No money, no furniture. She was good as dead. Wiping the remnants of her tears, she tried to make her mind work. She had to think of something. She refused to die of starvation. She was too young and too clever to just give up and let self-pity swallow her up. She considered some options.

Well, she still had some clothes. She was also able to save her parents' pictures (she brought them with her wherever she went) and most importantly, she still had her laptop, with all her works in it. She could print them out and have them published; that would take care of her basic expenses. As for the furniture, she could live without them, for now, at least. She had some shawls to serve as blankets for the night. And since the stove was installed in the kitchen, she had no problem as to where to cook her food. Hermione sighed. She was grateful for her quick mind. But her quick mind wouldn't do for long. She had to find work. She pondered more on this, concentrating very hard that she did not notice that night had fallen. Tired and hungry, she rummaged her bag for some left over chocolate. Finding a slightly mushed Mars Bar, she tore open the wrapper and broke the chocolate in half. She put the other half on the floor in front of Crookshanks. The cat merely looked at it, as if to say "And what am I supposed to do with that?"

"Eat it, Crookshanks, this is no time to be picky," said Hermione. "Tomorrow, we'll get something more but for now, this should do." She stuffed her half of the chocolate into her mouth eagerly. She got a bottle of water from her bag and took a swig. She poured some of the liquid in Crookshanks water dish. The cat meowed, probably asking for milk. Hermione shook her head.

"Tomorrow, Crookshanks,"

Hermione felt like all her limbs had turned into lead due to fatigue. Yawning, she got her shawls from out of her bag and arranged them on the floor. Pulling Crookshanks to her side, she laid on her makeshift bed, staring at the simple chandelier overhead. She felt the hot tears flow down her cheeks once again, but she wiped them away. Tomorrow, she was going to find work. And then, she was going to track down Sheila and Ned. Tomorrow...

She was up early the next morning. Not wasting any time, she took a shower, brushed her teeth and set off with Crookshanks, stopping only to buy a small can of cat food for Crookshanks and a cup of coffee for herself. It was not breakfast, but that was the only thing she could afford. At once, Hermione started invading the publishing companies, forcing her written works under their noses and not leaving until the secretary completely assured her that they would get back to her as soon as possible. Hermione was pretty sure that her works would get published mainly because she was Hermione Granger and she never did anything just 'good'. When she was not roaming the streets and relentlessly advertising her writings, she sat on park benches, busily punching buttons on her calculator, trying to make the meager funds she had fit until she got more. She spent the entire day doing all these things, only stopping to get lunch.

It was late afternoon when she arrived at her house. She was only a few houses away when she noticed that a huge truck was parked in front of it and men were unloading furniture from it, apparently moving it inside the house.

Hermione's heart jumped. She could not believe her luck. She started running, unable to contain her excitement at the sight of the furniture. She skidded in front of her house, smiling at the working men who regarded her with weird looks. She went straightly inside the house and marveled at the classy furniture already in place. But something hit her. These were not her furniture. So why were they there?

"Excuse me, miss?" a voice disturbed her thoughts.

She turned around and saw a small, mustached man in his thirties, in a crisp business suit, looking at her strangely. The man vaguely resembled the late Barty Crouch Sr., only smaller and with a thicker moustache.

Hermione smiled at the man. "Good day, sir,"

The man merely raised an eyebrow. "May I help you, miss?"

"Are you... are you the man who...erm...who are you?" Hermione asked, rather confused.

"I beg your pardon, miss, but I think I should be the one asking you that question," answered the man curtly. "May I ask why you are here?"

Hermione became even more baffled. "I own this house," she stated, "and you?"

The man gave a short laugh. "I am sorry, but did you just say you owned this house?"

"Yes, what's so funny about that?"

"I am sure you are mistaken," answered the man, coming up to her and offering his hand. Hermione hesitatingly took it. "I am Mr. Cuthbert Dingle, and I am sure that you do not own this house,"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Excuse me? And why do you say that?"

"Because my client just bought it."

Hermione felt her heart stop. "Bought?" she asked incredulously. "But this house is not for sale!"

Mr. Dingle looked just as confused as she was. "Not for sale? But as I said, my client just bought it---"

"I told you, this house is not for sale! Who are you?" Hermione felt her temper rise.

Mr. Dingle extracted some papers from his inside coat pocket and handed the papers to Hermione. "This house is now in the ownership of my client, as you could see in those papers. And I assure you, the sale was completely legal,"

"This can't be," said Hermione, as she skimmed over the papers. "I never put the house up for sale! How could this sale be legal?"

But as she examined the papers, to her dismay, the papers did show that the sale was legal. Hermione's head began spinning.

"No... no..."

Mr. Dingle observed her. "As you can see Miss---"

"Granger, Hermione Granger,"

"Miss Granger, that those papers show that this house is not yours."

Hermione's tears threatened to spill at that moment. "No, this house is mine. Who sold this house to you?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Bartleby, the persons who held the deed in their hands," replied Mr. Dingle.

At these words, Hermione's anger rushed forth and reddened her face.

"Are you pertaining to Sheila and Ned Bartleby?" she yelled, grabbing Mr. Dingle by the shoulders and shaking him.

Mr. Dingle tried to pry Hermione's fingers off of him. "Yes, Miss Granger. Do take your hands off me!"

"Where are they? Do you know where they are?"

"No! I do not! I met with them when my master took interest in their advertisement. We made the deal and that was it! I have not heard from them since---"

"Where is all my furniture?" demanded Hermione, shaking Mr. Dingle more violently.

"I asked them to take all the furniture out of the house, I do not know what they did with it, I swear! For the love of God, Miss Granger, loosen your grip!"

Hermione let go of Mr. Dingle, breathing heavily with suppressed rage.

"I own this house, Mr. Dingle, and I will not get out of it," she declared.

Mr. Dingle straightened out his suit. "How can you prove that you own this house?"

Hermione was taken aback by the question. She remembered that she left the deed of the house and all the papers in her secret drawer in the house; only she and Sheila knew about it. From Mr. Dingle's account, she knew that Sheila had already taken all the papers and so, all the proof that she had is with her. That means if she found Sheila, she could get all the papers back. But then again, even if she did get the evidence she needed to reclaim the house, she would have to buy it back. And she did not have the money for that.

This conclusion brought out a scream of ire and frustration from Hermione. Mr. Dingle looked at her as though she had gone insane.

"I hate you, Sheila!" Hermione bellowed.

All the workers stopped momentarily, surprised by Hermione's scream.

Mr. Dingle cautiously stepped back from her.

"If you do own this house, Miss Granger, I am sorry that you have to evacuate from it. It is not my fault that you have treacherous acquaintances. So I beg you, leave the premises at once."

"No!"

"Miss Granger, do be reasonable---"

Hermione silenced him with another piercing shriek.

"I will not leave this house! I have nowhere to go, do you understand that?"

Mr. Dingle seemed to reconsider for a moment. And then he spoke, "All right, then. I will allow you to occupy the house temporarily, until my client comes here. And he will be here two days from now. So I suggest that you look for another place of residence before your time is up,"

Hermione covered her face with her hands, thinking about the option given her. Two days was not a long time, but it was enough for her to find Sheila and Ned. She could ask to live with them; after all, it's their fault she was now homeless. At last, she nodded.

Mr. Dingle breathed a sigh of relief. "Very well. You can take your things upstairs and probably get yourself a glass of water. I daresay you seem like you need it."

Hermione wordlessly carried her luggage up to her room, with Crookshanks at her heels. As she opened the door, she spotted the new furniture brought in. It seemed that her room was to be converted into a guest room. She looked at the mahogany king size bed with white covers and sighed. When she thought that things couldn't get worse, they did. Now, Hermione was left with absolutely nothing. She set her bags by the door and sat down on the newly carpeted floor. Crookshanks automatically jumped on her lap. She absentmindedly stroked her pet's fur.

In two days, she would lose her only prized possession aside from Crookshanks. She tried to stop her tears from flowing but she was unsuccessful. She cried at the thought of losing her home, and with it, the happy memories of her childhood and her family. It was like a part of her was cruelly ripped out from her. Up to that moment, she cannot understand why her so-called friends made her put up with all this suffering. She had lost everything because of them.

She leaned back on the wall and stared into nothingness. It only took a few minutes before Hermione Granger was fast asleep on the floor of the room that used to be hers, inside the house that used to be her home.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Oh Blaise, you are truly delightful!"

Draco fought the urge to gag.

Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were having lunch at the expensive restaurant, Currer, that day, trying to catch up with one another's lives. Pansy, who now owned a boutique and was often busy, proposed this get together, demanding that she already misses her best friends. Blaise, who now managed his family's publishing company, though not as close to Draco as Pansy was, is a frequent companion of the two and was soon named by Pansy as her 'other' best friend. Draco thought that Pansy treated Blaise as more than that.

Just now, Pansy's attention was all focused on Blaise and his witty remarks. Pansy laughed at his every jest and Draco was getting more annoyed by the moment. He would not deny that he was jealous: he was not used to having to share Pansy's attention and though he would not admit it loudly, Blaise's dark good looks insecured him. Blaise was handsome, sure, but he, Draco, was gorgeous, and it infuriates him when he is treated like he and Blaise were equals.

Blaise smiled politely at Pansy's compliments, bringing a blush to her cheeks.

Draco watched the exchange and cleared his throat.

"Pansy, how's business?" he interrupted, eager to divert the girl's attention to him.

Pansy finally took notice. "Oh, everything's fine. My customers are very rich, famous people and I like pleasing them. I simply love my job!"

"Good for you," said Draco, raising his glass of wine to Pansy. "MWC's not doing too badly, either. Our profits are steadily increasing. In fact, we have just merged with a Muggle company in London,"

"Really? A Muggle company? And you are going to handle it, I suppose?"

"Yes, I am going to manage it. I'll have to settle as a Muggle, of course, but I'm thoroughly excited by the prospect of living as one. It would be a good change to the monotony of Wizarding luxury,"

Blaise smirked. "You, excited to live as a Muggle? Now that is new to me,"

Draco smiled at him coolly.

Pansy put her hand over Draco's. "Well, you see Blaise, we have changed our ways. And besides, it's business, isn't it Draco? As businessmen and women, as you know, we do everything we are supposed to do, regardless if it is against our whims,"

Draco grinned triumphantly at Blaise. "Quite correct, dear Pansy,"

Blaise nodded. "Well I suppose the change would do you good. Where are you going to stay then? At a hotel?"

"No, I purchased a house. Small but comfortable. I'll be moving in in a few days,"

Pansy looked delighted and gave Draco's hand a squeeze. "That's great, Draco! I'm free to visit, am I not?"

"You're always welcome, Pansy,"

"So," said Blaise, straightening up on his chair, "your father told me about the banquet he's holding in four days. What's the occasion?"

Draco quickly glanced at Pansy. "Well, I have no idea, actually. You know father, he just likes to spend money. You're going aren't you, Pansy?"

"Of course," answered Pansy, taking a sip of wine. "But what kind of banquet is it? Tell me so I could dress accordingly,"

Draco grinned. "Just wear something formal. White, preferably. But it is of no matter. Wear whatever you like, you'll look good in anything,"

Pansy laughed. "Don't flatter me, Draco,"

Draco felt like gloating but then, Blaise once again interrupted and Pansy's attention was switched back to him. The two of them talked nonstop for twenty minutes and only halted when Pansy excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Draco took the opportunity to have a talk with Blaise.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush here, Blaise," Draco began in a serious tone. "Tell me, do you like Pansy?"

Blaise looked him in the eye and said nothing at first. After some time, he spoke; "Of course I do. Pansy is such a lovely woman,"

Draco felt his temper rise but kept his composure. "So, are you planning to marry her?"

Blaise laughed. "Marry? I think you have mistaken my meaning. I said I liked Pansy, I didn't say I loved her. Pansy is just a little sister to me,"

"Don't play with me, Blaise,"

"I'm not playing with you, Draco. What I say is true. Pansy is an elegant, beautiful woman. But I do not have any romantic interest in her. Why do you ask me this, Draco? Do you have feelings for Pansy?"

Draco drank his wine. "None of your business, Blaise," he replied coldly.

Blaise shrugged. "Whatever you say, Draco. But just a tip," continued Blaise, lowering his voice, "better act fast. A lot of rich bachelors have their eye on Pansy. Tell her what you need to tell her while you have the chance,"

"I do not need advice on women, Blaise, especially if they come from you,"

"Ah yes, you still have that youthful arrogance, Draco. Contrary to what Pansy said, you haven't changed a bit,"

Draco grinned evilly. "Glad you noticed,"

By then, Pansy had returned and the talk remained pleasant until the end.

As he apparated back to the mansion, he went directly to his room to brood. He hated to admit it but Blaise was right, Pansy had become the apple of every wizard's eye. Though he knew that Pansy would not choose anyone unworthy, Blaise posed as threatening competition. Draco was a keen observer and he saw that Pansy had developed feelings for Blaise. And if what Blaise said was true, then Pansy would end up with her heart broken. Draco was not going to let that happen. He realized the importance of the proposal. But four days was a tad too long for him to wait. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

By the next morning, all the men were gone and the house looked magnificent, richly furnished with expensive-looking tables, chairs, vases and chandeliers. Hermione felt like a stranger in her home, and remembered with a pang that it was only natural, because she did not own it anymore.

She ventured into the kitchen and was rather thankful that the huge refrigerator was already stuffed with food. She took what she fancied, not even caring that the food was also not hers. After breakfast, she took off, leaving Crookshanks this time, and was bent on hunting down Sheila and Ned Bartleby, the banes of her existence.

Her first stop was their small apartment in the small town of Gleeson. She rapped at the door numerous times but no one opened it. She stood there, knocking until her knuckles were red, but no one seemed to hear her. Finally, a neighbor who was quite irritated by the din got out of her house and asked Hermione, rather angrily, what she wanted.

"I'm looking for Ned and Sheila Bartleby," answered Hermione, after apologizing for the noise she had created.

"They don't live here anymore," barked the old lady with rollers in her hair.

"What? Where did they go?"

"How should I know? They left a couple of days ago. Good riddance, I should say; those two were such a boisterous, annoying couple!" And with that, the old lady, retreated back to her house, banging the door behind her.

Hermione's next destination was Sheila's house. Sheila's family was rich but when she married Ned, her father disowned her and left her and her husband to their own means. There was a slim possibility that the Bartleby's were there, but she took the gamble.

Unfortunately, as expected, the two weren't there and Hermione was forced to face the wrath of Sheila's father.

"I have no daughter named Sheila! She is dead to me!" said the balding Mr. Reed, before shutting the gates at Hermione's face.

Next, Hermione went to the insurance company were Ned was employed. But one of the employees there told her that Ned wasn't working there anymore, and he was fired three months ago. Hermione wasn't at all surprised. Ned was a person who couldn't keep to a job even if his life depended on it.

She walked out of the building with a heavy heart and aching feet. She stopped to rest at a bus stop, massaging her aching soles and cursing the elusive couple at the same time. Hermione had no idea as to where to look for them next. She was running out of money for transportation and it was getting late. She did not have lunch yet and was pretty sure Crookshanks was already angry with her for leaving him alone and with only a small serving of cat food. Hermione brushed away strands of hair from her face and reached inside her bag for a handkerchief. Instead, her hand felt the smoothness of paper. Intrigued, she looked into her bag and pulled out a red envelope: the letter Ned left her

She had forgotten about the letter, so now was eagerly ripping the envelope open, in the hope of finding a clue as to where the couple was. But the only thing she found inside was a picture of something. She looked at it closely and couldn't, for the life of her, deduce what it was. She looked at the other side of it and that's where she found Ned's handwriting.

Dear Hermione,

We're really sorry we had to put you through this. We promise, we're going to pay you back, if not next year, then next next year. Hope you're doing great!

Hugs and Kisses,

Ned and Sheila

PS: Sheila's a month pregnant, by the way. Here's a picture of our little one, enjoy!

Hermione turned the picture over again and realized that it was an ultrasound print-out. She closed her eyes and prayed for patience. The letter was worth nothing. Her questions were not answered. So what if Sheila was pregnant? She was about to tear the picture in half when she had an idea. Once again, she turned it over and looked closer. There, at the back of the print-out were monograms. Monograms that told her where the print-out was taken. Hermione instantly jumped to her feet and boarded the bus which stopped in front of her. As she took her seat, she smirked, and thanked God for Ned's stupidity.

Hermione entered St. Agnes Clinic and sprinted over to customer assistance.

"Hello, good afternoon, ma'am, may I help you?" said the receptionist with a cheery smile.

Hermione smiled back. "Yes, I would just like to ask if you have a patient named Sheila Bartleby,"

"One moment, ma'am," answered the receptionist, as she looked at the clinic's computer records. After a second, she nodded. "Yes, ma'am, we do have a patient by that name. She comes in for regular check-ups."

Hermione's heart soared. "Great. What day and time does she usually come here?" she asked eagerly.

"Well ma'am, Mrs. Bartleby comes here twice a week. In fact, she's here now with Doctor Hastings,"

Hermione stopped herself from shouting in triumph. "Thank you, miss. You've been a great help,"

"Do you want me to inform Mrs. Bartleby of your presence?"

"No, thank you. I'll just... I'll just wait here,"

After saying that, she took a seat near the clinic's entrance and with vengeful excitement, she waited. It was not long before she heard Ned's voice coming from the doctor's room.

"So, what did the doctor say? How's our little baby?" she heard Ned say.

"He said the baby's fine... I'm hungry, wisheart, can we get some food?" answered Sheila's voice.

"Sure, wisheart, what would you like?"

By then, they emerged from the room and were in Hermione's line of sight. Hermione stood up slowly and coolly, observing them carefully. The two didn't seem to notice her, however, until she blocked their way out.

Hermione would've laughed at the look on their faces if she wasn't so furious. Ned and Sheila both became pale and slightly started to tremble.

"Hello, Ned and Sheila," said Hermione with a wicked smile. "How are you?"

Sheila laughed nervously. "Her-hermione! Welcome back!"

What happened next, Hermione didn't expect. After that feeble greeting, Sheila quickly pulled her husband and pushing Hermione aside, ran out the door of the clinic.

Hermione was quick and ran after them both.

"I HATE YOU BOTH!" Hermione's violently hoarse voice followed the couple as they ran as fast as they could, past shops, stalls and people who looked on with surprise.

"You are not getting away from me! Come back here!" Hermione yelled at their quickly disappearing backs. If not for the fact that the couple did not know their friend was a Witch and that Hermione didn't think it fit to let them know, Hermione would've whipped out her wand and blasted the two into smithereens. But since she did not have that delightful option as of that moment, she ran after them, shrieking and growling all the way.

"How dare you! How dare you take all of my money and sell my house and my cat, you ungrateful cockroaches!" screamed Hermione as she gained on Sheila and Ned. "I though I could trust you!"

"We're sorry, Hermione!" yelled Sheila, who was desperately clutching at the sleeve of her husband sweater. "We just really needed it!"

"Pleas try to understand!" added Ned, as he started to feel a burning sensation in his legs.

"Understand? UNDERSTAND? You stole ALL my money and left me with nothing! How can I understand?"

"We're going to pay you back, I swear!" said Sheila, glancing back at Hermione as they turned a corner. "Just give us time!"

Hermione quickened her pace, overtaking an astounded biker she passed. "How can you pay me back when you two don't have jobs?"

"We'll get jobs! Hermione, please," pleaded Ned, "I feel like my legs are going to come off!"

"Let them! You deserve it, you lazy moron! And don't let me catch you!"

The chase took them around ten blocks three times. Ned's sleeve was already ripped off and now, Sheila was grabbing hold of his trousers, which were also sliding down his waist. Both were panting heavily but did not dare to stop, for fear of incuring Hermione's wrath; because instead of going slower after ten minutes of running after them, Hermione seemed more determined and by the looks of it, she could probably have beaten an Olympic sprinter with the rate she was going.

"Run faster, traitors!" Hermione screamed.

Sheila started sobbing softly, going slower and slower, much to Ned's dismay. To make sure that big bad Hermione wouldn't catch up on them, he resolved to carry his wife on his back and resumed running.

"Hermione, please," Ned pleaded again; "don't do this to us!"

Hermione snarled. "Why wouldn't I? You ruined my life! You run fast because if I catch you, I'm going to wring your neck!"

Ned felt like he had run miles. Every pore on his body was emitting sweat, his sweater was destroyed and his knickers were showing out. His breath was coming in short gasps, his eyesight cloudy. Sheila's weight on his back became increasingly difficult to bear. He still wanted to run, though, but before long, it became hard to focus on where he was going and finally, as they reached a dead end, he tripped on a pebble and fell face first on the ground.

With a triumphant "Ha!" Hermione finally caught on them and prying Sheila away from Ned, started to strangle her. Sheila was already sobbing by then and Ned, with his failing strength couldn't loosen Hermione's grip on his wife. They struggled for what seemed like a lifetime and Hermione, finally letting go of Sheila, ended up hitting Ned with her fists brutally.

"Stop! Stop!" sobbed Sheila, pulling Hermione off Ned.

But Hermione didn't stop. Instead, she stood up, holding Ned by the ear and roughly pulling him with her.

"You'll pay for everything, Ned, come with me and I'll take you to the police so I can have you imprisoned!" threatened Hermione.

Ned struggled but was still too weak.

"Run, Sheila, run! Save yourself!" he yelled to his wife, who was nailed to the spot, crying.

"No! I won't leave you, wisheart!" Sheila yelled back.

Hermione paid no attention to the din they were making and ignored the people who were watching the scene unfold. Hermione was already about to hail a cab when felt Ned struggle more fiercely from her grip, yelling hoarsely for his wife. She looked back and saw Sheila slumped unconscious on the ground. Her surprise made her loosen her grip on Ned, who quickly ran to his wife's side, shaking her gently. Hermione followed him.

"Sheila, Sheila, wake up! Wake up, wisheart!" said Ned to the unmoving form of Sheila. Hermione's pity took over.

"What happened?" she asked earnestly, kneeling beside the couple.

"I don't know! We should take her to the doctor!"

Hermione stood up at once and assisted Ned into getting Sheila on his back. The three then ran up the street, Hermione in the lead.

"Hang on, Sheila! Please, hang on!" pleaded Ned.

Hermione already felt the guilt creeping up her heart and sincerely hoped nothing happened to Sheila and the baby.

She tried hailing all the vehicles that went past her: trucks, cars, minivans, she stopped them all. Finally, after standing in front of it, she was finally able to get a taxi. She opened the door of the passenger's side and asked for the driver to wait. Hermione beckoned at her back for Ned and Sheila. But no one came. She turned around and saw that the couple was gone.

She walked back to the alley they were in and paced the street, craning her neck for the couple. But they had vanished. It took Hermione a moment before she realized that Sheila had once again duped her. Hermione stomped her feet in frustration. Tears were already forming in her eyes. The cab driver was already becoming impatient and warned Hermione that he would leave if she didn't board the vehicle. Resigned to her bad luck, she got inside the taxi and went home.

That night, even though she was tired from crying and running, she was not able to sleep. She knew that she was not going to see Ned and Sheila anytime soon because of what happened that day. She was sure that they would never dare go to the clinic again, for fear of encountering her. She would find them, yes, but it would be too late.

What am I going to do next? thought Hermione. She doesn't have anywhere to go to. On the day after tomorrow, the new owner would arrive and she would be homeless. Perhaps if she pleaded with the new owner, she could rent her bedroom temporarily. But that would be absurd. It seemed to her that the new owner was a rich, snobby person, probably an arrogant businessman, judging from the furniture he had chosen. It was not likely that he would let her stay.

Thoughts of what would become of her disturbed her for the rest of the night and soon, it was daybreak. Hermione could hardly get up from her makeshift bed (she dared not sleep on the new one, for fear of being admonished by the new owner).

That day Hermione spent in musing. She went out into the garden and sat on the wooden bench overlooking the sea, saying a silent goodbye to this piece of earth that she called her home. She also took a tour of the house, trying to contrast the way it looked like now, newly furnished, to what it looked like in her memory. She touched the polished tables gently, admired the intricate carvings of the silver sculptures and antique vases. For the last time, she visited the master's bedroom, the room where her parents' slept and to her sadness, found out that not a remnant of her parents' memory was left in the room. It was richly decorated. A big four poster bed was at the middle, near the window was a handsome table made of oak. The curtains were a deep green, blocking most of the light from the large windows. The room felt strangely cold, devoid of any cheery element. The room reminded her of Slytherin. She shivered.

Night quickly arrived. Hermione situated herself in front of the huge glass windows, looking at the starry night from inside her house, for the last time. Crookshanks was curled up at her feet, apparently asleep. It was such a peaceful night, so serene that Hermione found it hard to remain sad. The stars twinkled above, a sign of hope for Hermione's troubled mind. All was quiet, except for the rumble of a car engine. Hermione breathed in the sweet, familiar smell of her surroundings and smiled.

The sound of a key sliding into the lock stirred Hermione from her solitude. Her heart thumped. The first thing that came to her mind was that she was being robbed. Again. Rapidly getting hold of a candlestick from one of the side tables, she carefully tiptoed towards the door, holding the candlestick over her head, ready to strike.

She heard the faint click of the door being opened and then closed. A silhouette appeared in front of the glazed sliding doors. Hermione's heart was in her throat and prepared herself.

The moment the stranger slid open the glass door, Hermione pounced and hit the robber in the head with a sound thump. The man (as Hermione could now tell that it was) was taken by surprise and was not able to protect himself. With a moan of pain, he fell to the floor, unconscious. Hermione sighed in relief and after making sure that the man was indeed knocked down, she kicked aside the arm covering his face and gasped.

Lying on the floor, with a bleeding cut on his forehead was the person she least expected to see: Draco Malfoy.

Next Chapter: Hermione gets sick.

A/N: So, did you like it? I worked hard on it, so I hope so. Just some notes to those who don't know:

Wisheart – term of endearment used by Ned and Sheila. Combination of the words 'wish' and 'heart' and is pronounced as 'wish-art'

So, folks, R&R!