Hogwarts was alive. The breathing in and out of its magic spoke to that. Now it had been brought to my attention, though, I could close my eyes and just barely feel the tinge of pride and satisfaction. The castle seemed… glad that I was happy with my new workspace. That would be something to work around. For a myriad of reasons, I didn't want anyone save for Harry, Ron, and maybe Luna to have access to Hogswatch. Even beyond the probably-illegal books I would most definitely be storing here, I had come to value my privacy.

Before, I'd always simply described what needed to happen and willed it to be so. With this, though, I needed to convince a rudimentary intelligence that allowing and even maintaining the spells were a good idea. Certainly, I would need to dive deep into my various runic texts. Most of the runes I knew already dealt in cold, hard facts—not abstract ideas and justifications. I wasn't even sure where I would start. It was an entirely new sort of challenge.

Truthfully, I was more than a bit excited.

It was late, but I hadn't the luxury of going to sleep. I doubted I'd be able to either, not with the buzzing excitement of a new venture into the unknown and the eager flush of pride from the magic all around me. The sooner I got the wards set up, the sooner I'd be able to move my more sensitive materials over, and the sooner I'd be able to get to work on saving my life. I knew for a fact that the answers were out there waiting to be found. I just had to find them. Thus resolved, I put quill to parchment and got to work.

Concern and Critique

"Good morning, everyone. I'm Professor Babbling, and welcome to the Study of Ancient Runes! Rubbish name if you care for my opinion, and given that I'm the one teaching the class, I'm forced to assume that you do!" Professor Babbling was a tall woman, though didn't seem to look all that much older than the seventh years I'd seen. She paced as she talked, bouncing with every step and gesticulating wildly. The classroom itself was arranged oddly, with desks set in a semicircle. Watching the professor speak, I could only assume this was so she had more space to pace about. She'd also assigned seats, insisting on making sure the Gryffindors and the Slytherins we took the class with were mixed up thoroughly.

"While Study of Ancient Runes is technically correct as a term," she continued, "it doesn't truly encapsulate what all we're going to be learning about here. Personally, I'd rename this class to 'Metamagic', but that term is new enough that the board didn't want to go for it.

"In Charms, you learn charms, yes, but you also learn how to wave your wand and what different wand motions mean, and later on you learn why they're like that. You know, the basics of wizardry." She glanced around the classroom. "I suppose you might not, actually. Quills out! Our lecture's starting now. Right, then. As you might recall, this is the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. There are some old biases about what genders use what sort of magic—and I'll leave the breakdown of that to the illustrious Professor Binns—but that's bunk. Really, they're just two very broad categories of magic. In simplest terms, wizardry is magic that focuses on wandwork, witchcraft is magic that doesn't. Potions, arithmancy, divination, and runes are all examples of witchcraft. There's obviously things that fall outside of those neat boxes because life laughs at petty human attempts at categorization, but that's the gist of it.

"So if Charms boils down to the study of magic from the perspective of a wizard, then this class is the study of magic from the perspective of a witch. Runes—" Professor Babbling flicked her wand, and a series of runes which I was reasonably sure translated to 'Study of Magic' appeared on the chalkboard, "—are the language with which we write magic out. Any language whose sole purpose is to describe magic is thus known as a 'Runic Language'. We use these for enchanting, rituals, spellcrafting, and all sorts of other fun things. There are those who would tell you that runes have some inherent magic for some reason or other. It's a common idea. It's also incredibly wrong.

"Runes have power not because they're some inherently correct way of describing magic, but because they've been used to describe magic for so long that they've ground a rut into magic itself. Every culture has their own way of doing it, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. On the more advanced side, there's also the fact that magic comes from willpower and intent. Using a special mystical language helps focus our intent. It's the same as spell incantations. They do have some power due to the strength of their Legacy, but once that's been carved into your core then it becomes largely about intent. That's why wordless wizardry is possible."

She stopped herself short, seemingly having realised something suddenly. "I suppose that's a bit of a digression though, isn't it? Ah, well. Someone would have taught you that eventually. Back to this class. While you're here, we're going to be learning about the various runic alphabets that you might run into. We're also going to be asking and answering questions such as 'How does magic work?', 'What is magic?', and if you continue on with this class through your NEWTs, 'Why does magic work the way it does?'. For this year, we're going to be focusing primarily on the 'How' by way of the runic languages of the British Isles. Everyone please open your copy of Spellman's Syllabary to page 4…"

The rest of the class went along accordingly as Professor Babbling lectured, leading herself off on tangents before stopping herself and returning to topic. It quickly became clear that the rest of the class was playing catch-up compared to me. At least, more than was normal in my classes. She asked questions, and I answered, and she seemed to take that as a sign to go on to more advanced tangents until one of the other Gryffindors raised their hand to say that they were completely lost. Professor Babbling looked sheepish at that, and had stopped calling on me entirely.

"Ah, that's time, then," she mused as the bell rang out. "Your homework is a foot on what sort of things in your life use runes, and how they might do so. Granger, if you could stay back?" Dutifully, I stayed seated at my desk as everyone pushed their way out the door to head to lunch. Professor Babbling picked up a glass of water and took a drink before leaning against her desk. "Oh, don't be a stranger, come up here."

I picked up my bag and approached. "Professor?"

"Oh, none of that." She sighed. "It's my first year as a full teacher, you know. Been a student teacher up 'til now. Not quite used to the formality yet. Just call me 'Babbling' outside of class, yeah?"

I blinked. That was strange, and I wasn't quite sure if I cared for it. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes!" she said. "So I'm given to understand that you've got a condition that bars you from wizardry entirely, and that Dumbledore's set you up with a primer for ritual? Based on what McGonagall's been saying, I've no doubt you've already been making up for lost time in that avenue, yeah?"

"I've been studying over the summer," I allowed. There was no chance that I told her the full extent of what I'd gotten up to.

A genuine smile spread across her face. "Excellent! And you stayed with a magical family? No doubt you've already figured out the limits on the Trace, yeah?" I flushed slightly, unable to contain the reaction. "Brilliant. Five points to Gryffindor."

"Ma'am?" I sputtered.

"Between you and me," she said, "The Trace was put in place by You-Know-Who's lackeys back in the first war, and they've managed to keep it going ever since by yelling to 'think of the children!' whenever anyone brings up repealing it. Getting around that's something to be commended, far as I'm concerned."

"Er, Pro—" she stopped me with a look. "Babbling?"

"Right, right. Sorry about that. Name's appropriate, don't you think? I come by it honestly. Just excited to be teaching a properly studious ritualist. In my first year as a real teacher, even! I must've done something particularly good in a past life to earn that." I blinked at her. "Right," she said. "The reason I held you behind. So, you've got a disability, and it means you can't muck about with your wand. Simply put, Hogwarts really isn't built for people like you. Charms is mandatory, after all, and that's a class on a highly fundamental field of magic packed up in a way that's mostly useless to you. Dumbledore's taken some steps, but probably not enough. It means that you're going to need to get very good very quickly if you want to keep up. Far as I'm concerned, that means two things. First is that I'm opening my office hours up to you anytime I'm not teaching a class, not just the listed times. No doubt you're going to need somebody as a resource, and I'm happy to be that person. The second thing it means is that you are quite literally always going to be ahead in my class. If it weren't for the massive workload you'll already have, the opportunity cost of certain foundational things you might miss, and the sheer impracticality of scheduling, I'd move you right up to my fourth year classes and call it a day."

Babbling finally stopped to take a breath. "That does mean classes are going to be a bit strange for you. Way I see this working is you following along with classes as normal, but I'll assign you homework separately after everyone else has left. No doubt it will be more project based than essays. Designing and executing new rituals or what have you. If you have a different idea, though, I'm all ears."

"No, that's…" I trailed off, lost in thought. "None of the other professors have really put this much thought into how to help, except maybe Dumbledore."

She gave me a sympathetic smile. "I can sympathise. I've got dyscalculia, you know? Number blindness. It means I can't do maths for the most part. Had to go to a muggle doctor to figure out a name for it. Makes arithmancy a right nightmare—I send any I need done to Vector nowadays. Snape in particular was the poster boy of unhelpfulness when he taught me. Point is, the magic world really doesn't know what to do with people who don't fit within their narrow views of normal. Being crippled, or traumatised, or having difficulty reading or doing maths or using a wand—those are all personal issues. We just aren't 'trying hard enough'. Rubbish, that. So when Dumbledore told me about you, I had a pretty good idea of what you were gonna be going through, and I'm here to help." I reeled slightly as Babbling gave voice to the vague ideas that had been floating around in the back of my head, only to be knocked out of it when she clapped her hands. "So, what are your thoughts on that separate homework track plan?"

"That sounds…" I thought for a moment, trying to weigh the benefits of having someone help me versus the risks of trusting someone else to look at my work. The things she was saying made sense, and most of it were ideas I'd already loosely had, but hadn't it been the same with the Diary? Still, there was nothing saying that I had to ask her specifically for help with curing me, or anything actually important. I could ask around the problem. "I think that I would like that."

"Splendid! So before we do anything, I'll need to get a good sense of exactly how advanced you already are. If you could gather up copies of the rituals you've already done and any that you've modified at all, we'll call that your first homework assignment. Due next class." I nodded. "Good! Now, we should probably get going. We're both missing lunch."

Feeling thoroughly off-centre, I made my way out of the classroom, already compiling a list of which of my projects I was willing to show her.

Professor Lupin, it seemed, was a good teacher. The first good Defence teacher that we'd ever had. He hadn't let Harry or I have a turn with the boggart that first class, but that made a sort of sense. I couldn't quite cast on command—my wand was quickly becoming relegated to the sole role of stirring potions when needed—and the sorts of things that scared Harry weren't the type one wanted popping up in a classroom. A Gryffindor's Gryffindor, him. Despite that, though, I left the class with a few strange thoughts I didn't quite know what to do with.

I knew I recognised his boggart from somewhere, but I couldn't quite place it. Everyone else's had been easy—spiders, mummies, rats, and the like. His was the only one I couldn't place. As always, not knowing irritated me. On that subject, Neville's boggart had been Professor Snape. It was in the wake of the man almost forcing Neville to poison his pet toad—something avoided by my instructions whispered behind the professor's back—but it pushed my respect for Neville up a notch. Neville was nervous, yes, and easily scared, but he walked in to the den of his worst fear in the world at least once a week. His sorting made an uncomfortable amount of sense painted in that light.

Frankly, I didn't quite know how to place Professor Snape. He was a bully as surely as Malfoy was, biased towards Slytherins and willfully cruel. He made a point of making me cast any and all spells that might come up in the making of a potion, never allowing me to defer it to the partner who could actually use a wand. When that delayed the potion, he seemed to delight in making an example of me. Him being Neville's worst fear was no coincidence. The man was awful.

At the same time, he'd saved me. He'd saved Harry all the way back in first year, too.

The whole thing was uncomfortable to think about, which just made me focus on it even more. It begged endless questions. There was a 'why' that I was missing, and it meant I couldn't even begin to predict him. Why would he save my life one day only to belittle me the next? The question went unanswered, and god did I hate questions without answers.

That thought of unanswerable questions brought my mind to Luna. She'd been a good friend when I needed it, and Black Manor was just as dangerous as anything that I'd done with Harry and Ron…

"Hey, guys?" I asked, looking across the table to Harry and Ron. We'd situated ourselves in Hogswatch for the evening. Ron was practising a spell for Charms with a frown, and Harry was thumbing through his Defence textbook and writing down any good duelling spells he could find. It seemed like Professor Lupin had really piqued his interest in the subject. That, combined with his and Ron's self stated goal of making up for my physical inability to duel, and I had been happy to point out where in the book he should be looking. It was nice to see them taking their studies seriously for once, even if it wasn't strictly classwork.

Ron jumped at the distraction eagerly. "What's up?"

"I think that I'll be able to try warding up the room soon," I said, "but I want to show Hogswatch to Luna first."

Harry perked up. "That girl from the train? Why?"

"Because I trust her. She's a friend, and she helped me get into Black Manor. It would've been much harder to do without her."

"You could've brought me." Ron crossed his arms. "You didn't need Loony for that."

I was mostly sure that he wasn't serious, but I really couldn't let that awful name stand. "Luna, Ron. Her name is Luna. And like I said then, unless you wanted to join me in a week of trawling through every book in a dusty old library right after doing literal blood magic to get in—" My tone was light, but the response was immediate.

"Blood magic?" Ron asked. "You can't do that! Hermione, that stuff's evil!"

"I can, actually. It's just magic—"

"It's blood magic! Nothing good comes out of blood magic."

"Because you have such extensive experience with it, I'm sure," I drawled, but Ron was having none of it.

"Course I don't, 'cause I'm not a bloody dark wizard!"

"Sorry," Harry interrupted. "But what's blood magic? It doesn't sound good."

Ron spoke before I could. "Dark arts, Harry. It's nasty stuff. People who do blood magic get addicted, go proper mad, and go off and get themselves hurt. Charlie told me all about it once, told me a story that Dad had told him about what You-Know-Who's lot used to do with blood magic. Had nightmares for a week after." He looked vaguely green at the thought. "I reckon Black knows all about it."

"It's just magic. Magic that happens to use blood as a component. It's not addictive, just really useful. Besides, there's no way I would have gotten into Black Manor without it. It's not like I'm using any malefica."

Ron turned his attention back to me. "Why would you need blood magic to get into that place anyway? Alohomora still works, doesn't it?"

"Because, don't you think that literal centuries of dark mages might have figured out a way to stop a first year spell? There were wards, Ron. Blood wards. They would've torn me apart. You didn't feel it. The magic there, it was angry."

"Now you're sounding like Loony too!"

Harry stepped between us once again. "Hermione, what do you mean the magic was angry? How does that work?"

"You know how when you cast a really strong spell, you can sort of feel it in your arms as it comes out?" Harry nodded. "Well, there's a trick you can learn to detect the magic around you. I picked it up last year. I'm not as good at it as Luna is, but when I focus I can feel it. When the magic's really strong, it doesn't think, exactly, but it certainly seems to feel things. Hogwarts, for example. When we walked in the doors for the first time this year, I could feel it. Hogwarts was happy we were here. It missed us."

That seemed to floor Harry a bit. "Really?"

"Really." I smiled at him. "Once I get Hogswatch warded, I was going to try to teach you two. And Luna could help me with that."

"Did Luna do the blood magic too?" Ron asked.

"Seeing as I needed her to come with me into the Manor, yes, she did. Besides, a lot of blood magic's not harmful, or even illegal. You just need a licence."

"Do you have a licence?"

"Well no, but seeing as it is literally a life or death issue, I don't care. I didn't have a licence for brewing polyjuice potion either—which is restricted, by the way—but we still needed it, so I made it. Same thing here." I sighed. "I thought you wanted me to tell you things. Wasn't that the promise?"

"I would've thought that you'd tell us if you were planning to do the bloody dark arts! They're what put you here in the first place!"

"Ron," I hissed. "If I thought that the way to save my life would be legal, or even nice, don't you think I would have looked anywhere else but the home of the family known for producing the most dark wizards in history? I don't have the luxury of nice, though, do I? The nice books that the Healers have say I'm going to die. I can't—I refuse to accept that. So yes, I'm going to be learning some dark arts—like blood magic—and I'm going to do them without hurting people—like I've already proven I can." I stood suddenly, causing Harry to flinch. There was a pang of guilt at that, but I ignored it easily enough. "I'm going to invite Luna to Hogswatch. She's willing to help me do what it takes to not die. When you're done telling me to be scared of my own magic, then I will be happy to key you into the wards once I make them."

Gathering my things, I turned on my heel and left. Sir Fabeon swung aside to let me pass by without a word. Honestly, what was his problem? Magic was magic. I wasn't hurting anybody! Part of me wanted to show him some of the nastier hexes I'd been taught, some of the things I'd found in Black Manor. At least then he'd see my blood-mask for its actual innocence.

The problem was that he wouldn't, though, would he? Ron was too stubborn. Scared, even. Things just the tiniest bit outside of what he'd been taught were anathema. Something to be feared. It was absolutely mental. Magic was magic, and it wasn't like I had hurt anyone. I could, too, even without a wand. Potions that would force men to love or hate, enchantments that would flense skin and boil bone. They had been so easy to learn, too. The Diary had taught me so many ways to hurt people. It said that it was all to keep me safe, and I'd believed it, but I knew that it was only ever because I thought it understood me, and so I craved its praise.

There was an ocean of things that Ron had never dreamt of, and he was terrified of the shallows.

It made sense. When had he ever had to step outside of his comfort zone? He'd known he'd been magic all his life, been raised by a big, loving family. The Burrow was many things I found uncomfortable, but it was unquestionably safe. I couldn't imagine anything bad ever having happened there—not in our lifetime at least. He'd never had professors out for his blood specifically, or been lonely—not really, or been used and thrown aside, or looked an oncoming death in the face.

My feet carried me to the Astronomy tower, empty for the evening. A near-forgotten part of my mind gave muffled warning about the oncoming curfew. I ignored it, opting to go to climb up to the top floor and lean out over the railing. Almost all of Hogwarts sprawled before me, the Headmaster's tower rising up against a background set by the Great Hall and the Scottish highlands cast in shadow. The Black Lake was true to its name, seeming as if a void in the world. Beyond even that laid the clear night sky.

Dad used to make a point of dragging Mum and I out to the country to stargaze every summer. He likely would have this past summer, too, were I not a liability to bring home. Looking out at the stars always brought those memories back. It soothed me some, and brought a pang of loneliness. I missed them. That first year, before Harry and Ron and I had become friends, I'd written to them every day and cried myself to sleep half the time. I hadn't thought about them much last year—the Memory in the Diary was charming; I wasn't shocked he had earned such loyal followers—but the ugly, cloying thought that I might not see them ever again if I didn't dive deep into any scrap of hidden magic I could get my hands on brought them back to mind to the point of distraction.

Mum would keep a stiff upper lip, I knew, even if it hurt. She had always been the strongest woman I'd ever met. Dad, though… The news would break him. It hurt to lie to them, to hide how little time I had left (and a year had never felt so short), but I knew that telling them would only hurt them worse. Mum would do something drastic, and Dad might start drinking again. It was better this way.

I looked out at the stars to distract myself from the thought. They were bright, the candles and torches of Hogwarts doing little to dim the sky. Truthfully, they were brighter than they should have been. I let myself muse that there must be an enchantment of sorts on the tower to make them more clear. Fond memories of Dad and Astronomy classes alike brought the names of stars and constellations readily to mind. There was Cancer (I'd always imagined it as a crooked lamp, not a crab), and the twins Gemini just next to it. I could see Taurus the bull with the twinkling light of Mars next to the horns. A dementor crossed across the sky, but I ignored it entirely. Orion the hunter was aiming for Taurus' legs, and his loyal hounds Canis Minor and Major were right behind. There, in Canis Major, was its brightest star—the brightest star in the sky, even—Sirius.

Sirius…

Harry ought to have understood. Probably did, really. His life was bloody awful. He'd watched his parents die as an infant, grown up in a house that hated him (even if he hated talking about it), had a professor try to kill him in his first year, had stood by Professor Snape as he faced down the Diary and its basilisk, and was now being hunted by a mad murderer. I knew that Harry understood that fear, the indecision. The feeling of having to do something, even if it ended up being wrong. He just hated confrontation. Sure, I knew in my heart that he'd have gladly faced down that basilisk on his lonesome for me, but that didn't count in his eyes. To him, telling Ron to stop being a prat would count as a terrifying confrontation.

Was it wrong of me to be mad at him, too?

Because if he really understood, then he should know how hard it was to not be able to count on anyone. The uncertainty hurt. If I found a way to survive, but I needed to spill a drop of blood to do so, would Ron stand by me? Would Harry? Even worse, if I needed to do something like sacrifice some poor goat—and I truly hoped I wouldn't have to—would they condemn me? At the Storytelling, Salem had said that Gyffes had sacrificed his wife. If something like that was the cost, would it be better to just let nature take its course?

A stabbing sensation ripped through my gut at the thought, pressing my fists into a white-knucle grip on the railing and gritting my teeth with a groan. My mind reeled for a moment, as I wondered if there were some symptoms I hadn't been told about before I realised. My Vows. My eternally binding Vows. Letting an honest opportunity to survive go, no matter how vile, would seal my fate. Thaumeal Inversion was supposed to be painless, but my Vows most certainly weren't. After all, corpses made for very poor students.

Ron thought he could lecture me on the dangers of blood magic, as if I wasn't horribly, agonisingly aware. As if he knew better than me, who had been student to a fledgling Dark Lord. No I'd… I'd do what I had to to survive. Even if that meant hurting someone, though I'd hold back until the final moment to do it. I'd search as hard as I could to find some kinder option right up until then, but I knew that in the end I would do whatever it took, no matter the cost.

The pain lost its edge and began to ebb away.

There were still prickles around my stomach, but they would heal. Things tended to heal faster the more magic suffused them, I knew, and I radiated magic like a furnace. Still, it left me doubled over the edge of the tower and looking down to the long drop. I flinched back as I realised, vertigo overcoming me. As it passed, I let out a deep sigh and placed my forehead on the cool stone railing.

"Daddy used to sit on the edge of the roof to think, too." I jumped up and span around, looking for the voice, only to find Luna fixing me with a gentle smile. A few deep breaths started to calm my racing heart.

"Luna! You scared me half to death!"

"I'm sorry to hear that." She walked up and sat down, placing her back to the railing. "Though maybe it would be more like three quarters?" Her voice sounded as serious as ever, earning a shocked and guilty little giggle from me.

I spun and sat down next to her. "What were you saying, about your dad?"

She hummed. "After Mum left, Daddy would go up to the roof of the house and think whenever he got sad."

"Why the roof?" I pressed. I'd quickly learned that Luna talked around things before getting to them.

"He liked to look down. I asked him why once, and he said that looking at his options brought him peace. Then he hugged me and told me that he wasn't going anywhere. I don't think you're going anywhere either." Luna wobbled from side to side for a moment before looking at me. "Was that what you were doing?"

"No, I just…" I said, reeling from how easily Luna could talk about the most awful things I'd ever heard. "I don't know why I'm here. I just like to look at the stars. My Dad, he loves the stars too. We used to spend hours and hours looking up at night while he told me all about them." The sharing felt right, in the face of it. It made it a fair trade. She leaned in then, placing her head on my shoulder and filling me with an unexpected warmth. "How'd you find me?"

"Harry and Ron were looking for you, and thought you might be with me. They found Ginny in the library to ask her to find me, but I was sitting next to her, and then they asked me to find you. I just asked the derk sprites."

"Derk sprites?" I asked with no small amount of disbelief.

"They like to gossip about people who don't know what to do," she explained. "Daddy says they do it because they don't know what to do either. Did you know Professor Snape has a hard time choosing what robes to wear in the mornings?"

"Really?" I laughed.

"Apparently he likes to make sure they billow correctly."

That earned another fit of giggles from me. I wasn't quite sure about the derk sprites, but that idea sounded shockingly plausible. After a moment, though, laughter gave way to silence, and I realised something. "So is Ginny talking to you again?"

"She is," Luna hummed. "It's nice. She apologised, and I asked her what for because I thought apologies were for things you did and not what you didn't do, and she didn't know how to answer. She's very careful with me, I think, but she wants to be friends again. I do too." Then, more quietly: "I missed her."

"That's good. I talked to her during the Sorting, and she said she was 'done being stupid'. Her words, not mine," I assured. "I'm glad she actually did it."

Luna picked up my arm and started tracing little patterns on it with deft fingers. "Ron apologised too."

Annoyance filled me instantly. "That boy, I swear I'll— What did Ron do to you?"

"He interrupted my reading, but he wasn't sorry about that. I don't mind, though. The apology was for you."

The irritation filtered out of me much more slowly than it had come. "Well if he's really sorry, he ought to say so to my face."

"That's what Ginny said," Luna hummed. "He's waiting for you in your common room, I think."

"And he's done being thick?" I let out a sigh. "I just don't know what to do, Luna, and it's like he expects me to because knowing what to do is my thing, but only if I can wrap everything up in a pretty little bow. But I… nothing about this is pretty. I'm not pretty. I don't know how to do… pretty."

Luna seemed to weigh that in her mind for a moment, rocking her head back and forth on my shoulder like the thought had a physical weight. She was a very tactile person like that, I'd noticed. Expressive, even if her face stayed perpetually serene. "I think you're wrong," she finally said. My response was eaten up by the sound of the bells down below ringing out ten times. Curfew. "Do you think we should go?"

"Maybe," I said, looking down at the arm Luna was tracing patterns on. "But I don't think I want to go anywhere just yet."

She just hummed once more.

"Hermione!" Harry called out as soon as he saw me walk through the portrait hole. Ron jerked awake from his spot on his couch. The rest of the common room was empty, and the fireplace had burned its way down to coals.

"Hermione?" Ron rubbed his eyes. "Where were you? Harry and I looked everywhere!"

"Not everywhere, or you would have found me." I made my way to their couch and plopped down.

Ron sighed. "Right, but where were you?"

"Looking at the stars," I said. "I needed to think."

Harry cut in. "Did Luna find you?"

"Yes, she did." I crossed my arms. "And believe it or not, we managed to spend a whole hour together without doing any restricted magic." Ron winced.

"Er, right. Sorry," he mumbled. "Look, Harry and I talked, and I guess I'm just worried. That stuff—it's dangerous!"

"And sneaking dragons through the school and facing down a nest of acromantulas isn't?"

Ron shuddered at the memory. "Yeah, fair enough. Point made. Harry and I, we're behind you, right? I don't—I don't like that you're doing all that rot, but you're probably clever enough to sort it out. Just tell us about it, yeah?"

"I did tell you about it," I hissed, "and you called me evil!"

"No, I didn't! I called the magic evil!"

I let out a terse sigh. "There's no such thing as evil magic. That's like saying there are evil rocks, or evil candles. The rock doesn't throw itself, and you don't say it's the candles fault your house burned down. Magic, it's just—" Power, I didn't say, well aware of how that would sound. "It's just a tool. You can use it for good or evil, and I won't be scared of a tool."

"I never thought I'd miss the Hermione that was all about the rules," he said with audible frustration. "What happened to her?"

I rolled that around in my mouth for a moment. "She died," I finally said. "Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever." Harry and Ron both winced, and I didn't bother to push down my satisfaction at the sight. "Thanks to Harry and Snape, you've still got this Hermione though, and this Hermione is quite willing to do whatever she has to—even the dark arts—if it means she can keep herself and her friends safe."

Ron grit his teeth. "Well dark magic didn't bloody well keep my uncles safe, did they? Or Harry's parents, remember them?"

"Ron!" I hissed, but he continued on.

"So don't tell me it's harmless," he said. "'Cause it's not harmless. It's the opposite."

I took a look at his red face and the shine of unshed tears in his eyes and relented some, and something like guilt sunk down in my stomach before I suppressed it. "Look, not all dark magic's a dark art, and not all of the dark arts are harmful. 'Dark art' is just a term the Ministry uses for magic it doesn't like. There are spells and potions with very legitimate uses in things like farming and medicine that have been classified as dark arts because someone in the Ministry got scared of what they might be able to do. I mean, parselmouth is a dark art! I don't see Harry up and hexing people for fun. And the actually awful spells—the malefica? They're the sorts of thing I'm staying away from. Most of those would need a wand anyway. I know what I'm doing. Trust me," I assured. "The only person I even could hurt is myself."

"Yeah," Ron grumbled. "That's what I'm worried about. Harry and I, we can't keep you safe if you go blowing yourself up or whatever." He stood up. "I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow." With that, he trudged up the stairs to his dorm.

I looked to Harry, who seemed just as floored as I was. There was a long pause before he spoke up. "Ron's just scared. Honestly, I am too. Just… let us know? We want to help you."

"I did let you know, and here we are."

"Before you do it," Harry insisted. "Neither of us want you to die, Hermione."

"Would you even know what to look for? Or would you just panic because the spell has a scary word in the name? I won't be afraid of my magic—of myself. I refuse." I deflated with a sigh before reluctantly conceding the point. "But I guess I could at least warn you about the risks beforehand."

"That's…" Harry trailed off. "I guess that works."

"I'll be careful, I promise."

"I know you will, just…" He stood up. "Good night, Hermione."

"Good night," I echoed, and watched him disappear up the stairs. The embers in the fireplace gave little light to the room, casting everything behind the chairs in shadow. Crookshanks rounded the corner suddenly, making a beeline to me and planting himself in my lap. I scratched him dutifully, but it did little for my mood.

Had the castle always felt this lonely?