AN: So, I don't really have much of an excuse for how long I've made everyone wait. All I have to say is that being a senior at University is obnoxiously time consuming and this past semester I spent all of my time working on my senior thesis… WHICH WAS ON HARRY POTTER! Sorry, still kind of excited about it. Now that the thesis is done, however, I once again have free time on my hands to work on this. Yay!

(I ended up getting a B on my thesis, which is awesome, if anyone wants to read it just let me know.)

I hope everyone has had a wonderful holiday and I hope you appreciate this long chapter as a bit of a late Christmas present. Oh! I have news!

'The Sorting' is currently being translated into French and posted here on ! The wonderful Chupeechan contacted me to translate it and already has the first chapter up! I am so honored that she thinks it's worth translating and wanted to share!

I'm hoping to update more often now, but we shall see. Now, ONWARD! (Also my laptop is missing the 'a' key, so if there are any A's missing in this chapter I am sorry. I try to go back in and fix all of them but I do miss them from time to time.

Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure if I owned Harry Potter the series would never have been completed.

November 1st (still)

Hermione:

She had woken up feeling amazing, better than she could remember feeling in such a long time, and with a clearer head than normal. The events of the last night were a bit fuzzy towards the end- she had no idea why it was that she had gone to bed wearing her torn dress robes from the night before and her anger towards Ron was filed away into an iron box that she locked in the darkest corners of her mind.

If she pretended like the vile things said didn't matter, then they wouldn't. Simple as. As far as Hermione was concerned she would never again allow herself to be made to feel like a victim.

Besides, she thought with a smile, she had homework that needed doing.

Hermione was sore as she climbed out of bed and there was a strange scent in the air that she recognized but couldn't place. It was clean, and flavored with vanilla and peppermint. Smelling it made the small smile on her face grow even more. It was comforting, like the smell of her mother's rosebushes. Hermione shook her head at her own folly and began to undress, humming a little tune as she went. It sounded as though Draco was in the shower so she would have to wait, but-

Draco.

There was something there; niggling at the back of her mind, but it kept eluding her so it must not have been that important anyway. Though she did suppose that she ought to apologize for disappearing and getting attacked before she had the chance to dance with him, it was only polite, right?

When she had changed into a comfortable pair of sweats, the pants in a brilliant emerald green that ore with a vicious kind of satisfaction, Hermione turned round to notice that Ginny was standing in her doorway with an inscrutable look on her face. Hermione rushed to speak in order to put off the lecture about wandering the castle alone she was sure to receive.

"Ginny! Oh Gin, last night was just awful but I really don't want to talk about it, alright? I woke up this morning feeling so much better than I have, it's as though I've gotten the first proper night's rest since before the War," Hermione paused for breath before Ginny's raised eyebrow encouraged her to continue. "D'you know what I realized? I've been focused on so much other than what I should be, the only time I've truly spent in the library has been to work on that stupid bit of revenge, and I miss it. I miss my books, Ginny. I hardly feel myself without them. And now, just thinking about going to the library and spending the day doing homework and studying… well, I'm excited for the first time in ages!"

And it was true. Something had been off, these past months, and it wasn't that she was living in the dungeons. Her studies had taken a backseat to everything else and that just wasn't like her at all. Well, several things had not been like her, if she was going to be thinking honestly. Not paying as much attention to her studies, how she was drawing away from her old friends and becoming closer with those within Slytherin, and how some strange darkness kept trying to tell her that because Ginny and Harry were in different a different House everything was different and they couldn't be trusted, though that last could be down to all the other strangeness, she supposed.

"As lovely as all of that sounds…" Ginny began as she moved to recline against Hermione's bed, "I am curious as to how much you remember from last night. Do you remember having any dreams, at all?"

Dreams? After all that happened after the Masque Ginny was here asking about dreams?

"Well… they were strange…" Hermione said cautiously. "It started like they always do but then, well, actually now that I think about it it's absolutely ridiculous and-"

"That wouldn't be because it involves a certain pale gentleman who looks entirely too delicious wearing only a towel nearly breaking down your door to run in to your rescue, now does it?"

Hermione paused in her efforts to force her hair into a giant messy bun that was actually deserving of the name. She turned wide eyed to stare at Ginny in horror, because how had she known?! Ginny's voice was deadly sweet as she continued,

"And then you ended up crying yourself to sleep in his arms and he stayed over the whole night to ensure that you didn't wake up to screams again? That wouldn't have anything to do with your dream, now did it?"

Hermione was sure that she should try to force some sound out of her mouth, but no matter that she felt her jaw working because her brain was too far drowned in panic to form a sentence. Ginny was grinning now, and twirling Harry's Invisibility cloak around in her hands, looking the picture of mischief.

"You know, hearing how wonderful you felt after waking up this morning makes me feel as though you truly don't need me to come down at night anymore… no, you know I think I'll get some rest in my own tower and, well, you can manage on your own, don't you think?"

"But-"

"And, of course, if something were to happen you could always repeat whatever steps were taken last night, excepting the whole fight in the hallways, of course. Or if you're desperate you could take a dreamless sleep…. Hm. D'you know that you smell quite lovely this morning? Like vanilla and peppermint… I wonder why that is?"

Ginny's eyes were shining with mirth and Hermione could tell that it was taking everything she had not to burst into laughter right then and there. She tried to will her brain to protest but she was too busy dealing with the realization that her dream was reality. Her breathing quickened and it felt as though her eyes may well pop out of her skull.

"I think this term is going to be quite interesting, don't you?" Ginny asked, before wiggling her fingers farewell and disappearing under the Cloak.

The water had long since stopped inside the bathroom, but Hermione couldn't move herself to go into it. Nothing made sense, she had so many questions, and right now she really just needed a cup of tea.

"Winky?" Hermione croaked.

With a loud pop the little elf appeared before her, seemingly overjoyed to have been called. "Is there something Winky can be doing for you Miss?"

"Winky, if you please I need a giant cup of tea, an update on my parents, and for you to deliver a missive to Ms. Parkinson."

"Miss? Of course I is helping you, but is my Mistress being alright?" Winky squeaked, her tiny little hands trembling.

"Yes, I'm alright. Though I really need to sit or I might fall down…."

Winky raced to pull a chair to Hermione and then vanished to make a fresh cup of tea. While she was gone, Hermione remembered that when Malfoy had asked her to dance last night, he had smelled like vanilla and peppermint.

Pansy, Noon:

Under absolutely no circumstances did Pansy want to get up from her bed. She simply wasn't going to do it. Last night had been going brilliantly before the Pratil twins and that thrice-cursed ginger monstrosity had gone and ruined everything. Dancing with Dean had been bliss; he had this way of smiling at her with such… warmth. And light. And it was the first time Pansy had truly felt any peace in her mind since what had happened with her parents. That hadn't done anything other than share a few kisses and dances, which was completely fin by her. For the first time in ages Pansy was eager to take things slowly and explore- to ensure that their relationship was more than just being thrilled about doing something that before had been strictly forbidden.

Not that Pansy had any doubts, the fact that Dean had captivated her in the first place was nothing short of a miracle, but she knew that Dean worried about it. If time was what it would take to make him comfortable, well, time was something they had now, didn't they? So long as people kept their noses out of their business and Salazar help any who tried to come between them. Pansy may have confided to Blaise that she was tired of fighting, but that would not prevent her from raining fire upon any who crossed her.

Pansy shoved her head farther into her silky down pillow and groaned with frustration. Dressing Hermione up like a peacock had been a stroke of brilliance on her part, she wouldn't deny. Draco's fascination with the creatures was legend among their circle of friends. From her spot with Dean she had been able to see the whole interaction between the two at the Masque, and she knew that Draco hadn't been able to resist. It would have been perfect, and might have finally gotten the two stubborn pair to actually realize what could be theirs for the taking- as long as they could get over the past.

Which was, admittedly, potentially problematic. The only two people at the school who may have had more history were Draco and Potter, and absolutely none of it, before this year, had ever been good. But if there was anything that Pansy could appreciate, it was a challenge.

…so long as it didn't require ever leaving her bed.

Just as Pansy was contemplating bribing someone to bring her some food, there was an unmistakable pop from the end of the bed.

"Excuse Winky Miss, but my Mistress is sending me to bring you a message," Winky squeaked.

Pansy grumbled but stuck out her hand for the missive, heard the elf disappear, and when she read it gasped aloud,

"Oh bloody buggering hell."

Goyle, Noon:

Weasley had refused to leave their dormitory after he'd heard what happened to Granger after she left the Masque. He went to the lavatory, of course, but other than that he'd refused to leave his blankets at all.

Not that Greg could blame him; of course, quite frankly he was impressed that the bloke hadn't decided to drown himself in the toilet. Hoping that it would help, Greg had sent Millie to the Hospital Wing to check and make sure that everyone was alright- though the knowledge that Longbottom, Potter, and Granger had been injured didn't seem to help much. In an attempt to coax the ginger out from his four-poster, Greg had grabbed a few extra things from the Great Hall and brought them back.

"You can' avoid going out there forever, you know, "Greg grunted in Weasley's direction. "But until you do, I've brought you some food. Unless you've decided to starve yourself, that is."

A muffled string of symbols came from Weasley's four-poster that was impossible to decipher.

"Sorry, but I never learned how to speak hermit. You'll have to pop your head out."

A mass of glaring ginger finally appeared from betwixt the curtains, bedraggled and looking like utter shite. "Have you always been this snarky or is it a new development?"

It was Weasley's voice, but Greg didn't think he'd ever heard it this desolate or bleak.

"Yes," he replied. "Now eat something."

Greg levitated the tray over to Weasley and sat back on his bed to wait. When the other lad was finished eating, he fully emerged from his four-poster and sat holding his head in his hands.

"Thanks for that, though I can't say I know why you did it," Weasley murmured in a way that was half statement, half question.

"Because you needed it, because I wanted to. That good enough?"

"S'pose."

Greg watched, and waited. The eerie blue shine that seemed to consume Weasley's eyes didn't seem to be there today like it had been last night, and every other time the man had acted out against his friends. There was nothing there but despair, now, and while Greg felt for him he was quite glad that he was no longer looking into eyes of glass.

The eyes had been popping up everywhere lately, though he didn't suspect that anyone else had noticed. Other people spoke too much, moved too quickly, didn't take any time to truly observe and understand others. Except for maybe Lovegood, but since Greg didn't understand over half of what she said, he wasn't going to confront her about the glass shine that seemed to be spreading though Hogwarts like a virus.

Just the other day, Greg had seen two people who he knew to be best friends engage in what looked very much like a fight to the death over such a simple matter as the fact that they were now in different Houses. Just before the fists had begun flying their eyes were coated in glass, and afterwards, when they were apologetic and confused, the glassiness had gone.

It was odd. Greg had heard about things that the muggles would call "battle fever" and it was said that violence could change the look of a person's eyes, but Greg wasn't so sure that was what was happening.

So gone was he in his own thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that he was being spoken to.

"I don't understand myself. It just doesn't make sense. How could I say those things?! Bloody hell it's not like I actually mean them, and I don't want to hurt anyone, and I swear I thought that I was getting better! I got over the fact that she's a Slytherin, I did, and I was trying to apologize but then the stupid sodding Malfoy had asked her to dance and… and I felt like I was out of control!"

A surge of alarm raced through him once Greg discovered that Weasley was actually sobbing right in front of him. What was he supposed to do in this situation? It's not like he ever had experience trying to comfort someone, especially no someone who quite seemed to deserve the grief he was feeling. His face contorted in confused, Greg crossed the room and sat a foot away from Weasley on his bed. Greg wasn't good with words, but he hoped that he could communicate silent solidarity well enough.

"I swear I'm going mad, that's the only explanation. Half of my thoughts don't feel like mine anymore, my sister had threatened to disown me, I keep hurting the people I care about, everyone hates me and… and I…. I just- I miss my friends…" Weasley finished with a strangled gasp that slowly turned into sobs that wrecked his entire frame.

He didn't know why Weasley was acting the way he was, or how to fix it, or even how to begin to explain to everyone that he had hurt that he was quite obvious regretting it. Greg didn't understand what he should do, or what could possibly be behind all of this. He didn't understand a great many things.

But one thing he thought, while squeezing Weasley's shoulder a bit in comfort, one thing I understand, is what it feels like to be alone.

Seamus, 8pm:

It seemed to Seamus Finnegan that the only place to escape the all-encompassing mass of stupid gits in Hogwarts was the library. Everywhere else was full of people fluttering about, whispering about what had happened between Ron, the twins, and Hermione at the Masque.

If he had to hear about how Harry had punched Ron one more time he was going to sacrifice himself to the Giant Squid.

Because of this he should probably go off and find Dean, just to check in and make sure everything was going alright down in the dungeons, but he figured that Dean would be glued next to Parkinson and didn't really want to interrupt. It wasn't that he was jealous, per se, though Merlin knows he wanted more than anything to have gotten more time with Lavender. Seamus was thrilled that Dean was happy, and he would do all that he could in order to protect that happiness, but he couldn't bear to be around happy couples at the moment. Not while Lavender's scent still clung to every fiber of his being.

So he wandered, listening, silently fuming. It wasn't until he reached the astronomy section of the stacks that he realized he could have been with Dean this whole time since Parkinson was obviously otherwise occupied by Hermione. He allowed his curiosity to guide him and snuck up closer to hear their conversation.

"I'm not picking up another book until you explain to me why you've been keeping me captive in this dusty old library. We can study just as well from the common room, you know."

Hermione put down her book and sighed, "I just don't feel like going back there, alright? Besides, look at all we've gotten done!"

"That was the most pathetic distraction attempt I've ever seen. Come on girl, you can do better than that!"

Seamus couldn't see what it was that Hermione did in response, but whatever it was caused Parkinson to help and level an icy glare in her direction.

"I got out of bed for you! On a Saturday! After such an inhuman sacrifice I demand that you explain to me why!"

Silence.

"Has Draco done something?"

"What?! No, no of course not? Why in Merlin's name would you say such a thing, what could he have done anyway? It's not as though he's been anything other than weirdly helpful lately, always there, always watching, always interfering when really I am perfectly able-"

"Hermione."

"Shut up and finish your essay."

Why did that conversation sound eerily familiar? The way Hermione was acting... she'd been that way before, but when?

Seamus shook his head and moved away to give the ladies their privacy; somehow he doubted that Dean would be pleased to hear that Seamus had been spying on his girlfriend. But as Seamus made his way back through the stacks he glimpsed a sight of Anthony Goldstein skulking near the restricted section with a group of students that Seamus didn't quite recognize, and however odd a sight that may have seemed it had nothing on the fact that in the next aisle were Peeves and the ghost of Fred Weasley, watching the secret little meeting with avid interest.

Convinced that wherever Peeves was trouble was sure to follow, Seamus began to move more quickly. Though he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd never seen Peeves ever look quite that serious before.

Draco, 11pm:

Granger had ten more minutes before he said bugger it all and went up to his bedroom for the night. He'd been down in their private little common room sitting in the squashy green couch by the fire for quite some while now, waiting.

For what, exactly, he wasn't quite sure. Perhaps to see if Little Red would make good on her threat not to come down at nights anymore? None of it made sense to Draco anyway, but quite frankly the tiny ginger witch terrified him enough that he wasn't going to risk crossing her. This was why he was sitting in his soft Acromantula silk shirt and sleep trousers, allowing the image of dancing flames to burn into his vision for all eternity.

Draco was bored. Bored, and a bit nervous. No, not nervous. Nervous made him seem weak, but… well. Granger had reacted to the events of the previous night by, according to Dean and Blaise, kidnapping Pansy and hiding deep within the library. Was that a good sign or a bad? Draco bit his lip and absent mindedly drew small circles over his legs while he wondered if it would even be worth it to stay down there much longer. What was he even supposed to say?

Little Red threatened to abandon you to your nightmares, so would you like to come to bed with me?

Bloody hell, how had his life come to this? Draco blamed the damned Sorting Hat.

At long last the portrait swung open and in stepped his witch, laden down with books and with her tired brown eyes flitting all over the room until she caught sight of him. When she did her eyes widened and she all but flew up the stairs, dropping a book s she went.

Well.

Draco sat there listening to the small noises coming from the Head Girl's room and eventually decided that the bumps were books flying into places and that there was plenty of muffled cursing. Bemused, he watched as Granger apparently tried to summon the book she had dropped through the wall. After the book knocked on her door several times, it finally opened and allowed the book to fly straight into Hermione's face.

He smothered a chuckle at the squeak she made and resumed staring into the flames. Either Granger would come back down the stairs and talk to him, or she would fall asleep and he would come racing in once again to shake her awake. But as the silence began to spread, Draco wondered if she would instead take a third option. What if she took Dreamless Sleep? He was aware that she disliked the potion immensely but it would certainly be preferable to being forced to sleep near him? The more that Draco thought about this the more he disliked it, and the more he felt certain that it was what she would choose.

So long passed that Draco felt certain she had taken the drink, and as he prepared to get up and return to his own rooms, Draco received the shock of his life in the form of Granger leaving her bedroom in plaid trousers and an oversized shirt.

For a moment it felt as though Draco had swallowed his tongue, for he had nothing at all to say. Hermione marched down the stairs, crossed the room, and sat on his couch, though at the far end of it. Once seated, she pulled up her legs and held them close to her chest in as defensive a maneuver as Draco had ever seen. He was too petrified to move, any motion could either make her attack or run away and he wasn't keen to find out which setting she would be on tonight. The air as grown so thick that it could be sliced when she finally spoke up.

"Ginny won't come," she said.

Draco cleared his throat before he could speak, "I see."

"I don't want to talk about it."

What in Merlin's name was that supposed to mean? Draco wasn't a bloody mind reader! But as the silence grew it seemed that was all she had planned to say. He blinked at her for several minutes before realizes that she intended to settle in and sleep right there in front of the fire place.

Draco gave one last longing looked towards his bedroom before summoning a few pillows and a very large blanket for them both. Hermione didn't speak, but she did settle into a slightly more comfortable looking position curled up against her arm rest. Draco attempted to manage the same but ended up simply staring into the fire place and resigning himself to a very long night.

Minerva, Midnight:

Just before she had planned to change into her dressing gown and attempt to sleep several owls had pecked at her window, though looking back on it Minerva wished very deeply that she had turned them away. The messages in their beaks contained several very disturbing things, things that Minerva had wanted to put off for longer or perhaps entirely.

The first contained a copy of the Daily Prophet which would go out the next morning, with the blaring headline that 5 Ministry Officials had died during the attacks the past few days and that villages containing the families of notable persons from both sides of the War were still being targeted.

The other three, however, were all letters begging Minerva to send those who were capable and experienced, those who had served in similar missions during the summer, to the Ministry's aide. The procedure would be the same, using medallions that would turn into port keys and send the individual to the scene of whatever battle was taking place, but this was no comfort. Not to the woman who would have to make the decision to endanger her students even further or to withhold help to those who sorely needed it.

The headline of the Daily Prophet seemed to draw all of her attention, as those judging her for her hesitation. Very well.

Once again, Minerva McGonagall would send her students off to war.