Chapter One
It had been exactly two years since the tragedy that happened during the Triwizard Tournament.
Candlelight vigils were held all over the campus for the first few weeks after Cedric's death. Many students attended them even if they hadn't really known him. Nearly everyone felt impacted by the grief that came with his absence. He had been such a bright student, person, lighting up the days of others without even realizing it.
Eventually, the only ones that continued to lament their woes were the Hufflepuffs, as was their duty as his Hogwarts housemates, and Cho Chang and her friends.
Hermione's grieving, on the other hand, was a more private affair. Every night, her dreams were haunted with those daunting, lifeless gray eyes that were void of all the emotion that they used to hold and she would wake up every night after one of those nightmares and weep well into the early hours of the morning.
The morning after such a night, Hermione sought out the undisturbed peace of the library, nestling into her favorite little nook. It was hidden amidst the stacks, dusty and forgotten. Above her stretched one of the many beautiful, arched windows that Hogwarts had to offer. Grey, gloomy clouds loomed in the sky as the wintry breeze tore across the grounds.
Hermione's head was bent down over a large dusty tome with a threadbare spine, her usually unruly mess of curls twisted into a knot atop her head. Her wand was stuck through the middle of the bun for safekeeping, a few stubborn tendrils of hair tickling her cheeks.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something lingering in the shadow of a nearby bookcase. She turned and squinted towards it. Tentatively, she called out, "Hello?"
Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she set her book aside and strode over to peer down the aisle. It was empty.
She shook her head and returned to her seat, retrieving her book and breathing a deep sigh of contentment. No one besides Harry and Ron knew about her secret haven, she thought, settling more comfortably into the uncomfortable wooden chair that had been transfigured into a large yellow beanbag. The boys were currently in Hogsmeade, buying a few new additions to aid Quidditch practices.
All too soon, the library doors banged open.
"Oi! Hermione!"
The unmistakable voice of Ginny Weasley rang loudly through the otherwise silent room. An embarrassed flush rose in Hermione's cheeks as Madam Pince looked up from her paperwork with narrowed eyes. She slid down in her beanbag, hoping that Ginny would soon lose interest and leave.
"Hermione Jean Granger, I know you're in here somewhere!" Ginny shouted. "I'm not leaving until you show yourself!"
Hermione groaned and slid a torn piece of parchment into the book as a makeshift place marker before setting it aside and standing. "Sorry, Madam Pince," she offered apologetically as she passed by the librarian's desk.
As Hermione stalked her way to the entrance of the library, her earlier embarrassment dissolved into irritation. She gave Ginny a withering look and hissed, "Are you trying to get us both kicked out of here—permanently?"
"Another day, perhaps." Ginny merely shrugged in response, unbothered. "No, what I'm trying to do is solve your boy problems!"
Hermione floundered about as she struggled to form a coherent sentence. "Ginevra Weasley—"
"Oh, save it," Ginny giggled, tossing some of her hair over her shoulder. "Now, c'mon!"
Before Hermione had the chance to bite out an indignant reply, Ginny grabbed her arm and proceeded to drag her through the library doors and down the hall.
"Where are we going?" Hermione demanded, nearly tripping over her own feet trying to keep up with her friend. Ginny only offered a wink in response.
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. Honestly.
Ginny released her arm once she pulled Hermione into an alcove in the entrance hall. When she turned, she held a small, neatly folded square of parchment.
Hermione glanced from it to Ginny's growing smirk, raising a questioning eyebrow.
"Parchment."
Ginny shook her head. "Not just any parchment. A letter."
Hermione's irritation grew as Ginny began slowly unfolding the letter. All she wanted was to enjoy some private time in the library. Was that really too much to ask?
Unable to stand Ginny's theatrics any longer, Hermione snatched the parchment away. It was probably just some insipid love letter from one of Ginny's many admirers. She proceeded to read it aloud.
"'Dear Hermione,'" she began, then stopped to re-read it again.
Yes, that was definitely her name.
"Who wrote this, Gin? And where in the world did you get it?"
Ginny folded her arms across her chest and nodded to the letter. "Just keep reading."
Hermione shook her head and continued to read the neat, slanted handwriting. She'd never seen this person's print in her life.
Dear Hermione,
I saw you in the library today. Not surprisingly, you were surrounded by books of all sorts. Eventually, though, I noticed that you were alone. Even you, it seems, need some time alone every now and then; I understand that.
Did you enjoy your book, at least? You picked a good day to go, I must say; everyone else is in Hogsmeade. Of course, I feel a bit hypocritical, as I am getting ready to head over there myself.
Usually I prefer to stay in the castle on days like this when the weather is as horrible as it is, but I suppose grabbing a butterbeer with my mates wouldn't hurt. Really, I don't think they would notice one way or another if I wasn't there, but it's too late to change my mind now.
However, I do regret that I couldn't stop by and hold this conversation with you in person. Eventually, I would like to do that. Let's make plans to do it sometime in the near future…
Perhaps it could wait until another dreadful day like today—we could skip the Hogsmeade trip together to discuss that book you were reading, if you'd like.
Scott
Hermione heard a girlish giggle and turned to see Ginny looming right over her shoulder. "What?"
Ginny took a step back and squealed. Squealed. "Isn't it romantic?"
Hermione scoffed at the word and folded up the letter. "Honestly, Ginny, he was just being friendly."
"Friendly?" Ginny balked. " It's all about implications with boys, Hermione."
Although she was secretly flattered at the mere thought of a boy showing any sort of genuine affection towards her, Hermione shook her head and stuffed the letter into a pocket deep in her robes, pursing her lips. "There are absolutely no trace of implications," she said the word in an imitation of her friend's voice, "anywhere in it. Besides, we don't even know who this 'Scott' person is."
She knew from Ginny's momentary silence that she had finally knocked some sense into her.
"Bloody hell!" Ginny exclaimed, pacing in front of Hermione. "I hadn't thought of—well, there's no bloody last name on the letter…"
Hermione waited patiently for Ginny to give up when she froze mid-step.
"I know who it is."
"Come again?"
Ginny turned on her heel and walked – more like stalked, Hermione added mentally, slightly perturbed – toward her friend quickly. There was a sparkle of excitement in her eyes that, to Hermione, appeared to be more like a gleam of madness. She was seriously beginning to consider admitting her friend to St. Mungo's.
"He's a Hufflepuff," Ginny said slowly, nodding in approval at her connection. "Scott Logan."
"Scott Logan?" Hermione repeated. She shook her head. "No way."
Ginny continued as if she hadn't heard Hermione's interjection.
"As Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, Scott's out getting Quidditch gear with his team today. Which, as he so eloquently put it, is the perfect opportunity to grab a butterbeer with friends." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "And, well, the weather really is quite dreary today."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Okay, for starters, what do his observations about the weather have to do with anything? Anyone could look outside and see that the weather is awful."
Ginny stomped an impatient foot. "Would you stop being a know-it-all for one minute, Hermione?"
Hermione's lips upturned slightly at the corners of their own accord.
Just then, the large doors at the school entrance opened and let in a chilling wind. Her teeth chattered as another bitter blast of wind tore through the entrance hall.
"I think I see them!" Ginny said brightly.
"Harry and Ron?" Hermione asked, standing on her tiptoes to see over the sea of heads bursting through the doors.
"No, no!" Ginny playfully pushed her friend. "Your lover-boy and his friends."
Hermione's watchful look soured and she rocked back her heels. "For the hundredth time, Scott is not my lover-boy, Ginny."
"He sent you a bloody letter."
"A lot of people send me letters, Gin," Hermione pointed out. "It doesn't mean anything."
"What doesn't mean anything?"
Hermione turned quickly to see the other two thirds of the Golden Trio walking up. Ron was rubbing his right cheek with a gloved hand as a red spot bloomed across his pale complexion.
"What's wrong with Ron's face?" Hermione asked, completely avoiding Harry's question.
Ginny snickered. "Besides, well, everything?"
Ron shot her a half-hearted glare at the unappreciated comment.
Harry's eyes, however, didn't leave Hermione's face. "What doesn't mean anything?"
Hermione huffed and placed her hands on her hips, trying to keep her blush from creeping all the way up her neck and blooming across her cheeks. "Nothing, Harry. Just forget it!" She turned her attention back to Ron. "What happened?"
Ron grinned sheepishly. "Snowball fight."
"Ronald!" Hermione scolded, recalling one particular episode when Harry and Ron had been engaged in an all-out war and their snowballs were mostly ice instead of actual snow.
"No one got hurt!" His earlier smile spread into a devilish grin. "Besides, I got him back for this."
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Boys and their competitiveness. The group began walking toward the Gryffindor common room so the boys could change before dinner.
Hermione looked at Ron, returning to their earlier conversation. "Who did you get back at?"
"Scott Logan and his mates," Harry cut in.
Hermione barely resisted the urge to say, Of course.
Ron nodded approvingly. "A right good group, they are."
"See, Hermione?" Ginny piped up, not missing a beat. "Even Ron thinks he's nice."
Hermione glowered at her.
"What's all this about?" Harry asked, his eyes shifting between the two girls.
"Yeah," Ron broke in, one eyebrow quirked in suspicion. "Did we miss something?"
"Scott Logan sent Hermione a romantic letter," Ginny cut in with a smirk before Hermione could say anything.
Hermione could have strangled her.
"He what?" Ron and Harry asked at the same time.
"Oh, stuff it, would you?" Ginny sighed dramatically. "Hermione is allowed to have some male attention from people besides you two, you know."
"Ginny!" Hermione squeaked, desperate for a change of subject. The other three ignored her.
"What did it say?" Harry pressed. Ron looked on with a peculiar expression on his face.
"Not much, actually," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Just that he saw her in the library today and wondered why she was all alone. Oh, and how he would very much appreciate a good shag—"
"He did no such thing!" Hermione cried indignantly, her face lighting on fire.
Beside her, Harry's brows twitched. Hermione could have sworn she heard Ron mutter something about killing Scott later.
"Alright, he didn't say that," Ginny laughed. Her eyes narrowed suggestively at Hermione as she added, "yet."
"Okay," Hermione interrupted primly. "I believe we've discussed my love life quite enough, don't you think, Ronald?" She shot him a warning look.
"As much as I'dlove to say no," Ron said, turning to his sister, "I can't say I'm much of a gossip myself. Right, Harry?"
"Uh…" Harry and Ron exchanged bewildered looks before he glanced between Ginny's pleading face and Hermione's scowl.
Suddenly, the loud rumble of his stomach answered for him.
The group burst into laughter and settled on lighter topics as they finished their walk to Gryffindor Tower. All thoughts of the letter subsided as they prepared for dinner.
O-O-O
Tap. Tap.
Hermione looked up from where she was crouched over her Potions homework in the Sixth Year girls' dormitory. A small, tawny colored owl sat on the small length of windowsill outside with a letter in its talons, the wintry breeze ruffling its fluffy feathers. Its wide, round gold-brown eyes were trained on Hermione, cocking its head to the side before pecking the window with its beak again.
She laughed, setting the homework on her bedside table. She walked over to the window to open it. "There you go."
The owl hooted its thanks and fluttered in through the small opening, dropping a small envelope into Hermione's lap. She shivered as the cold air invaded the warmth of the dormitory and quickly latched the window, turning her attention to the owl. It shook out its feathers, shaking a few flakes of frost onto the sill.
Hermione reached out and stroked its soft, smooth head. The owl closed its eyes and hooted softly in response. Hermione fetched a few owl treats from her bedside table, which the bird accepted graciously, then returned to her bed with the envelope in hand.
A look of surprise settled over her features as she saw the slanted cursive writing across the envelope, addressed to herself. The owl rubbed its tawny head against Hermione's arm as she peeled the envelope flap up. She pulled the parchment out of the envelope and unfolded it.
Dear Hermione,
Hello again! Ever since I sent that letter to you a few weeks ago, I've been waiting for a response from you that I fear might never come. Relieving me of this rather girlish fretting would be delightful. Maybe I should explain myself before you make any assumptions.
I wrote because I've been desperate for a friend. Oh, I know what you're thinking: how could I feel this way when I'm constantly surrounded by friends? Not everything is as it seems, I'm afraid.
Even so, I thought it was at least worth a try to write again—if only to explain myself.
—Scott
Hermione smiled down at the parchment, pleasantly surprised. She could sympathize with his feelings of confusion at never receiving a response. She had almost forgotten about his previous letter, swept up in a whirlwind of assignments and responsibilities.
Before she could change her mind, she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and retrieved her quill from where it had been laying atop her Potions homework. She tsked at herself briefly; she had been hoping to finish it tonight so she could turn it in to Slughorn a week early. Oh well.
She dipped the feather in ink and slowly wrote out her reply. After reading over it once, she blew on the black ink in satisfaction.
Dear Scott,
I appreciate the time you took to write me those letters. They were quite a delight for me to read. Of course, my friend Ginny got a hold of that first one before me—don't ask me how—but I promise you that it won't be happening again.
By the way, what prompted you to write to me in the first place? I am terribly sorry if I come across as rather crass, but I don't recall speaking with you prior to this. Regardless of your reasoning, I'd just like to thank you.
—Hermione
She nodded to herself and began to fold it to put into the envelope when a sudden thought occurred to her.
"'P.S.'," Hermione read aloud as she wrote the postscript. Her free hand drifted up to stroke the owl's head again. "'Is this your owl? It's very pretty. May I ask what its name is?'" She looked at the owl. "Good enough?"
The owl blinked, as if in agreement. Hermione smiled and put the letter into the envelope, carefully addressing it to Scott after it was sealed and laying the quill back on top of her unfinished essay.
"There you go!" Hermione said, tying the envelope to the owl's foot.
She walked over to the window and let the bird out, watching it fly off into the night after she had shut and locked it back. Her gaze followed it until it had flown out of her range of view, no doubt going somewhere else in the castle to find Scott.
Hermione sighed, turning away from the window and making her way back onto her bed. She fell back onto the comforter with her arms outstretched and stared at the ceiling.
"Why me?" She asked softly. She rolled over onto her stomach, grabbing one of her plump pillows and clutching it closely to her chest. "Why would Scott choose to owl me, of all people?"
Hermione immediately blushed, embarrassed that she'd even think that. She was nothing if not logical, and she was certain that there was something more that Scott was getting at.
I've been desperate for a friend.
He had written it, so vulnerable yet enigmatic.
But, if there was one thing Hermione was most definitely good at besides spell-casting, potion-making, reading, and, generally, being an insufferable know-it-all (because, yes, she could admit to herself that she was), it was solving mysteries.