Disclaimer: Two roads diverged in a wood, and JK Rowling took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.

A/N: First off, I made some changes to the previous chapter, so please be aware. After reading the reviews, I decided that I was being too harsh on Fred, George, and Ginny, so I tweaked their parts to make them nicer to Hermione. I'd advise rereading the fight and the aftermath, but know that it is now mostly Harry and Ron with whom she fought. Thank you to the reviewers who brought up this problem, and thanks especially to Endgames and Pahan for helping me find my way again.

Second, a lot of reviewers complained that Hermione is too weak, is too much of a pushover, and needs to make a change to fix this. I will say that this was deliberate, and it will change, starting in this very chapter. This has been my plan since the beginning of third year. Hermione will become a brilliant and powerful witch, but I had to put her through a lot of trials and tribulations to get her to the point where she will pursue that goal to the best of her abilities. She's already learnt valuing diversity, appropriate scepticism of authority, standing up for her friends, and not running away from her problems (although she's getting a refresher course in that). Now, she needs to learn the final lesson: taking control of her life. Yes, I know it's been a hard road for her so far, but she couldn't really make the changes she needs to make in her life until she hit rock bottom, which is right where she is now. Now, there's nowhere to go but up.

And third, I am officially announcing that I am no longer planning a Hermione/Ron pairing for this story. While I think it could still work in theory, Hermione is just not going to wait that long for Ron to grow up. I apologise to anyone this offends, and to those who approve, you're welcome, but this story has taken on a life of its own. All I can do is follow where it leads, and where it's leading is a different and I think better match for Hermione. Who? Keep reading to find out.

(P.S. It's not Harry. He and Ginny are still getting on fine. Apologies to the Harmony fans.)

Chapter 54

Harry sat off to the side of the Common Room working on his Defence homework alone. Defence was his favourite subject, so that wasn't too bad, but he seemed to be doing that a lot lately—working alone. Ron and Hermione were still so mad at each other that he wasn't sure if they would ever speak to each other again. Certainly, he had no idea how to make it up between them. Come to think of it, he had no idea where Hermione was right now.

He'd tried to talk to Ron about it, but he wouldn't listen. Harry didn't want to push too hard about it, either. As much as he liked Hermione (though he was still ticked about their own fight), he still felt a special loyalty to Ron for being his first ever friend, well, besides Hagrid, and he really didn't want to alienate another friend right now.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

Harry snapped out of his musings and saw a flash of long, red hair as Ginny sat in the chair next to him. Embarrassed, he realised he must have been staring off into space for a couple of minutes.

"Oh, hi, Ginny," he said. "I was just, er…homework."

"That's nice…" she replied. She tried to think of the right words to express what she wanted to say. Even after months of effort on her part, she still found it hard to talk to Harry about serious matters. "Say, Harry, have you seen Hermione lately?" she said casually. "I'm getting kind of worried about her."

Harry suddenly looked uncomfortable, and she guessed she was right that he was thinking along the same lines. "No, not really. Why?" he said.

"Well, no one's really seen her outside of class. She hasn't been talking to me, and her roommates say she hasn't come to bed since Black broke in."

"But where else could she be?" Harry said, confused.

"I don't know. Even Fred and George don't know, and they always seem to know everything. I was hoping you could tell me."

"No, sorry. I haven't really seen her, and Ron doesn't wanna talk to her."

"Tsk. Ron's being a real git."

"Well, it was Scabbers—"

"Yes, but he's still being a git, Harry. I mean, that's Ron," Ginny insisted. She hesitated again, but she plucked up her Gryffindor courage and said, "Hermione didn't mean to upset you, you know."

Harry just shrugged: "I guess."

"You saw how upset she was about dementors, even before. She just overreacted. I…I don't exactly understand what she means myself—talking about a deal with the devil and stuff. I think I get basically what it means, but it must be a muggle thing. Did it make any more sense to you?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "My aunt and uncle didn't let me watch TV shows with stuff like that. I guess it means if you make a bargain with something evil it always turns out bad for you because it turns on you."

"Huh. I guess that makes sense with the dementors," Ginny admitted. "They're pretty dark. But the Ministry's kept them in line for three hundred years, so it's probably not that bad. But you know Hermione; it's always the principle of the thing for her."

Harry thought about that. Hermione always had been more committed to principle than he or Ron. She'd broken the rules quite a few times, sure but it was always for a good reason, and she was always the one to tell them to back off from a bad course of action. He still did appreciate what she had said about Black, but he could see where she was coming from. "I guess it kinda makes sense," he admitted.

"I think you should apologise to her," Ginny blurted. Harry looked up at her questioningly. "You did kinda go too far bringing her parents into it. I know we don't really have a right to talk to you about that, but Hermione was really upset after that, and she was sorry for pushing you too hard. And don't worry about Ron. Fred and George and I can keep him in line."

"Hmm…I guess I could've been nicer to her," he said slowly.

"I think she could use some help if we can find her," she agreed.

"Yeah, probably…" Harry said. He paused for a long minute, wrestling with the question that was now eating at him. "Ginny?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"You don't think I'm wrong, do you? About Black getting what he deserves?"

"Of course not, Harry. You were wronged, and you want payback. You have every right to that."

Harry gave her a small smile that made her stomach flip. "Thanks, Ginny," he said.

"I looked all over, George. Hermione wasn't on the Map last night."

"I don't think she'd be one to leave the castle, but…" George replied.

"So, it's gotta be the Room of Requirement," his twin said.

"I just want to be sure, Fred. Parvati said she always disappears right after dinner, so we should be seeing right about now…"

Sure enough, within a few minutes, a dot labelled Hermione Granger appeared on the seventh floor, stood before the entrance to Gryffindor Tower for a long minute, and then fled in the opposite direction, heading towards the East Wing.

"Well, that's it," George said as she disappeared through the wall on the Map. "She must be going there every night."

"Anyone else going in there?" Fred asked.

George's eyebrows shot up. "She's fourteen."

"It could happen."

However, no one else went near the corridor that evening, ruling out a secret tryst. "So she's either having a nervous breakdown or working on a secret project," George concluded.

"I'm hoping for the second one. That's a lot more fun."

"I have a bad feeling it's not, though. She's been acting odd for two weeks, now. And we haven't been that good to her this past week, ourselves."

"Well, whatever she's doing, it sounds like it's time to crash her party," Fred replied.

"I was thinking a Weasley wake-up call," George agreed.

Fred grinned.

Four more times Hermione had tried to face the security trolls, and four more times, she had run away. She kept pushing herself and made it a little closer each time, but that wasn't much progress. She would never have known if she'd never come face to face with one again, but she'd to have developed a real phobia of them. She could barely even look at the tapestry of the dancing trolls in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement. She could only hope that in a couple more weeks, her makeshift exposure therapy would let her get back into the tower. In the meantime, the isolation was wearing hard on her. She only took breakfast in the Room once more, on Wednesday after Astronomy, but even outside the Room, she barely talked to anyone more than she needed to for class.

After a week, she still found it hard to get moving in the morning and hard to get her homework done in the evening. In the back of her mind, she was starting to agree with Dobby that living alone wasn't good for her, but there still didn't seem to be much she could do about it. And that wasn't just the isolation. It was the nightmares. They were slightly more dementor-oriented again, rather than troll-oriented, but the main thing was that they were incessantly keeping her up at night. She considered asking Madam Pomfrey for a Dreamless Sleep Potion, but she knew that was no better for long-term use than Pepperup.

And so, every day, looking a little wearier and more frazzled, her temper a little shorter, and her hair a little more unkempt, she dragged herself to class, drawing worried stares from students and teachers alike. Some of her friends and teachers tried to approach her to help, but she continued to refuse to answer questions or socialise in general. And while Harry had cooled off some, Ron still seemed to be just fine with that.

To add yet another insult, Draco Malfoy and his goons had started taunting her about the whole thing: "Scared of some little trolls, mudblood? Maybe you should run away someplace safer if you can't take it with the real wizards here." At the same time, Rebecca Gamp's jealousy seemed to have finally got the better of her because she picked up the theme too. She was more passive-aggressive about it, confining herself to snide remarks like, "You know, Britain really isn't the best place for muggle-borns. There's a lot of pureblood prejudice here. I don't buy into that stuff, but a lot of people do. Beauxbatons is much more open to muggle-borns and students with mixed-species ancestry." In a way, that was even worse. It put the idea back in her head, and she couldn't get it out. With the state Hermione was in, transferring was starting to sound like a good idea again.

She could tell in a detached sort of way that she was near collapse. She didn't think she could take much more of this before she broke down completely and failed her classes and/or landed herself in the Hospital Wing. But she still had no idea what to do about it.

What was wrong with her?

She couldn't do this anymore.

And then, on the morning after her sixth night in the Room, something happened. She was just lying in bed, not planning on doing anything until lunch. It was a Hogsmeade visit day, but she wasn't going. It would be no fun going alone—even less so than usual because it was the weekend before Valentine's Day, and all the couples would be out. But then, she heard the doorknob rattle, and her head snapped up just in time to see two tall redheads barge into the room.

"Wakey, wakey, Hermionekins!" they yelled.

"Ahh!" She grabbed her wand in a panic. "Everte—!" She stopped when she saw who it was. "Fred? George? What're you doing here?"

"Wondering what you've been up to," George answered.

"Pyjama party, is it?" Fred added with a grin.

Hermione glared at him: "You know I still have a wand trained on you, don't you?"

"Still as feisty as ever."

"We like that."

She didn't lower her wand, but did give them one more chance: "Do you have an actual reason to be here?"

"We've been worried about you, Hermione," George said. "Everybody has. Nobody's seen you outside of classes and meals. We're sorry we kinda ignored you last weekend. We've wanted to talk to you since Tuesday, but you've been really hard to find. We take it you've been…here?"

"What is this place, anyway?" asked Fred.

"It's the closest the Room could make to my bedroom at home."

"Ah. Nice place you got here."

"So spill," George ordered her. "Why've you been spending all your time here?"

"Why have I…" Hermione fumed. "Why? Hello?! Security trolls? I can't walk into my own tower without panicking. Do you remember that little incident I had in my first year?"

"Oh, that," Fred said in understanding. "I guess we hadn't really thought about it…But you can't go hiding in here all the time."

"It's worked pretty well so far."

"Oh, really?" he chided. "And I suppose rat's nest on your head is just the latest fashioned trend."

"I…" Her breath caught, and she self-consciously tried to smooth out her uncombed hair. That was just one symptom of her problem, but she couldn't very well deny it.

"Exactly."

"Come on, you need to cut loose for a while," George said. "Aren't you going to Hogsmeade?"

"No. No one to go with."

"Nonsense! You've got loads of friends."

She shook her head sadly. "Ron's still mad at me—"

"Ron's being a prat—"

"—as usual," the Twins replied.

"He was always complaining about Scabbers."

"How boring and useless he was."

"We'll knock him back into shape in a couple weeks."

"Don't you worry about him."

"Yes, but Harry—"

"I think he's more worried about you than mad, now," Fred told her.

"Yeah, Ginny's been working on him," George said.

"You should really talk to them again."

"And besides, you can always go with us."

"I…" she tried again. It was tempting, but then she thought of what she'd have to go through to get there. "I can't," she whispered, looking down at her feet.

"Why not?" George asked worriedly.

"I…I can't face the dementors again."

"Sure you can," Fred insisted. "You did it before."

"But that was before I knew…Do you know what those things do to people?"

"What the Dementor's Kiss? Yeah, Ron's been talking about it," Fred said. "But really, it's perfectly safe. The Aurors are keeping them in line."

"I'm sorry, guys," she whispered again. "I can't do it."

"Oh, no you don't, Hermione," George insisted. "What happened to not running away from your problems?"

She glared at him: "That was before they were actual phobias."

"Hmm, are we gonna let her get away with that, Freddie?"

"No, I think not, Georgie," Fred said. "We may be the class clowns, but we can tell you're about to completely collapse, and we're gonna put a stop to it. You've got ten minutes to get dressed and ready for Hogsmeade, or we're dragging you down there as you are."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "You wouldn't!"

Both of them grinned. "Is that a challenge?" they said in unison.

"But…but…I won't be able to do anything with my hair in that amount of time," she said lamely.

Fred grinned even wider. He grabbed the alarm clock from the dresser, spun the hands appropriately, and set it back down: "Nine and three-quarters."

Oh, yes, they were serious. She sprang into action, pointing her wand again: "Out! OUT!"

They just kept grinning as they walked out the door. "Nine and a half," Fred added as a parting shot.

Nine minutes and fifteen seconds later, in what was probably a personal record, Hermione was fully dressed in her weekend clothes, with her teeth brushed and wearing her winter coat. She still wasn't happy going out with her hair in a complete rat's nest, but she realised at the last moment that she had a spell to deal with that fast. Quickly, she gathered her hair into three bundles, holding them apart with her left hand, then took her up her wand, hoping her hand wouldn't shake too much, and cast, "Fasciculi Pilis Plectere." It didn't look great, but at least she wouldn't look like she'd just wandered in from a night in the Forbidden Forest. She got her hair braided and tied off just before the alarm sounded, and Fred and George charged back into the Room.

One twin grabbed her by each arm, and they lifted her up and carried her out of the Room, refusing to put her down until they reached the stairs, where she was afraid they'd all go tumbling down them.

"Okay, okay!" she said. "I can walk."

They laughed and set her on her feet, but didn't let go of her arms. The three of them walked arm in arm down to the doors. Filch, who was still on something like friendly terms with her, gave her a suspicious look, as if accusing her of consorting with the enemy when he checked them off the list. She tried to shrug her shoulders to suggest that she was being dragged into this. They grabbed a carriage, and then they were off.

All was not well, though. As she had feared, the dementors affected her worse now that she knew more about them. When the icy chill descended on her, she was reminded of all of the worst moments she had experienced over the past two weeks—throwing up in Vector's office, her fight with her friends, losing her grip in front of the trolls—and then she felt a flood of her dark thoughts obsessing over the philosophical horror of the Dementor's Kiss replayed before her. She saw her friends' faces fading into the darkness. She heard the high, cold laugh of Voldemort taunting her—

And then it was over. The feeling of cold faded. She realised she was crying. And she was also clinging to George for dear life. She pulled away from him, blushing furiously.

"Wow, Hermione, I didn't know you liked me that much," George said.

"I think I might be a little jealous," Fred quipped.

"I—I told you—dementors…" she said shakily.

"Yes, we saw," George said with concern. "It's got worse?"

"Uh huh…I just can't get it out of my head. Ever since Professor Vector told me—"

"Just try not to think about it for now," George said. "Come on, it's a lovely day."

"The air is clear; the birds are singing," Fred continued.

"You're out for a nice day on the town."

"And you have a handsome wizard on each arm."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she blushed again, but she couldn't get away. George laughed: "Yes, you'll be the envy of every girl in school."

"Fancy a cup of tea at Madam Puddifoot's, my dear?" Fred continued with a high-brow accent.

Hermione didn't like where this was going: "Um…what's Madam Puddifoot's?"

"Oh, that's brilliant, Fred," George said. "It's this really frilly tea shop where all the girls like to go on dates. They always go all-out for Valentine's Day—pink lace everywhere, cherubs flying around, the works."

"And you want me to go there?" she demanded.

"Sure, it'll be fun."

She didn't look convinced.

"You gotta admit, Hermione," Fred told her, "it'd be a great prank." George nodded in agreement.

Slowly, a smirk crossed her face: "Oh, very well."

Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop was even worse than the Twin had described. It was a tiny little shop with tables so cramped that the couples (and they were all couples) practically had to sit touching each other. It was warm and steamy, and practically everything was decorated with lace, frills, or bows. Golden cherubs were flying through the air, throwing pink confetti on the patrons. "That can't be sanitary," she whispered. The Twins shrugged their shoulders.

Fred walked up to the witch waiting on the door and loudly said, "Table for three, please."

Everyone in the shop looked up and stared at them.

"No, really," he added.

"Oookayyy…let me find an extra chair," the witch said, and she seated them at one of the small tables. Even this early, the shop was pretty full, and with the pink frills and the soft, romantic music playing in the background, many of the couples were already kissing in one of the largest mass public displays of affection Hermione had witnessed.

Madam Puddifoot, a stout woman with a black bun, squeezed between the tables and said, "So what can I get for you, dears?" Hermione got the feeling she was trying to sound non-judgemental.

"Builder's tea sounds good," Fred suggested.

"Same for me," George said.

"Erm…lavender, extra strong," Hermione said. She could use something for her nerves.

"Coming right up, dears."

As soon as Madam Puddifoot walked away, Hermione whispered to the Twins. "If people start to talk about the three of us," she warned, "I will hex you until they're talking about that instead."

The Twins looked at each other and said, "Worth it."

"Hermione?" a female voice said in surprise. Roger Davies and Rebecca Gamp were sitting just a few feet away. "What are you doing here…with those two?"

Hermione thought fast. She smiled and glanced at Fred and George in turn. "Oh, you know," she said, "just…talking shop."

Fred and George both smirked, and Rebecca backed off. "Well…have fun with that," Roger told them before turning his own attention back to his date.

A few minutes later, the tea came. One good point about the shop—the tea was very good.

"Speaking of shop talk," Hermione added, "while I was in a haze last week, I did have a chance to run those cores from the toy wands by Professor Sprout. The one from the cheapest wand was flitterbloom, just like we thought. The middle one turned out to be from a fanged geranium."

"Oh, fanged geranium. That's interesting," said Fred. "What about that broken one that looked like a one-galleon wand."

"Well, it was pretty well burnt, but Professor Sprout thought it was dittany."

"Dittany?" They both said in surprise.

"I think we know why it costs a galleon," George added.

"I'm more interested in the fact that they're all plant fibres," Hermione said. "And real wands all use animal fibres—unicorn, phoenix, and dragon."

"Well, those are just the ones Ollivander uses," said Fred. "I think I heard of some old bloke once who had a dittany wand—maybe in History class or something."

"Hmm. It must be rare, though," Hermione said. "I wonder if the distinction is important. I mean, we know the Ministry has a way of distinguishing accidental magic from magic cast with a real wand from magic cast with a toy wand. So do wands trigger the Trace differently because they use animal fibres or because they have runes carved on them?"

"Or both," George suggested.

"Well, let's look at what we do know," Fred reasoned. "It looks like the toy wands all have a piece of cheap wood, split in two, a core from some kind of magical plant, and glued together in some way, sometimes with varnish."

"And real wands have better quality wood, a core from a magical animal, and tiny runes on them," George added.

"But those are just the differences we can see," Hermione said. "We still can't take apart a real wand…except—does Ron still have his old wand? The broken one?"

"Hmm…probably does, but it'll be at home," Fred replied. "We'll look next summer."

Hermione was about to take another sip when one of the cherubs threw a handful of confetti over their heads, and it fell in the tea. She glared up at the winged creature, then frowned at her cup. "Do either of you know a good purifying charm?" she asked.

"Well, Katharizi is used to purify water, but I'm not sure if it'll work right on tea," Fred said.

"Yeah, you might wind up with just water," George agreed. "Let's see, removing large particles…" He drew his wand and pointed it at his own cup. "Let's try…Percolare." The confetti rose up out of the cup, accompanied by most of the dregs. "Eh, close enough," he said, and he quickly cleaned the other two cups.

"Thank you," Hermione said. "Anyway, I wonder what would happen if you tried to make a toy wand with an animal fibre."

"Hmm…interesting experiment," George said. "But I doubt we'll get unicorn hair or anything like that."

"No, but I can probably swing some hippogriff hair from Hagrid—although we'll probably want to try to make plant-based ones first, to make sure we can do it. It might take a magical glue or something to work."

"Well, sounds like a plan for next weekend," Fred said.

"I like the way you think, Hermione," George added.

"Thanks. Oh, by the way—" She leaned in closer and whispered, "I didn't think to ask—did you check the Map after Sirius Black broke in last weekend?"

"We did, but we didn't see him," Fred replied.

"Yeah, he must've got out bloody fast," George added. "We looked straight to that one secret passage Filch doesn't know about, but he wasn't there."

She sighed dejectedly. "Well…I know you can't watch it all the time, but if you're looking, and you happen to see his name—"

"We'll have to tell a teacher. We know," Fred agreed solemnly.

"We'll think of a good story," George assured her.

"Good," Hermione said. "If someone could just catch Black, it would clear a lot of things up." A thought struck her—something that Professor Vector had said two weeks ago: "Professor Lupin was the only werewolf to ever come as a student, at least in my lifetime." That and the names of the Marauders: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. True, Moony wouldn't have to be a nickname for a werewolf. It could be Lily Moon's father, for example. Or it could be some troublemaker who had mooned Snape and lived to tell of it. Or it might not mean anything. But still, there were four of them, and she knew Lupin was one of a group of four friends and was probably smart enough to make something like the Map. It was a chance well worth taking to catch Black, in her opinion.

"Guys, will you trust me on something?" she whispered.

They glanced at each other. "Probably, yes—"

"—what is it?" they said.

"If you happen to see Black, I think you can confide to Professor Lupin about the Map."

The Twins' eyes went saucer-sized and they leaned back from her. "That's a lot of trust you're asking for, Hermione," said Fred.

"Yeah, telling the secret of our success to a teacher…" George added.

"I know. I wouldn't ask if weren't potentially life-or-death. But I've been talking to Professor Lupin—I didn't tell him about the Map, but from some of the things he said…I think he might…have known Mr. Moony when he was a student. I have have a feeling he'll recognise the Map if he sees it."

The Twins were silent for a moment, taking a deep breath as they digested that. "If we catch Black, it'll be for a good cause, Fred," George whispered slowly.

"We should be so lucky," Fred whispered back. "But that's a high price."

"To catch Black, though. We've taken big risks before."

"Not like this. We don't know if she's right about the Map—"

"C'mon, this is Hermione, here—"

They both glanced at her, then paused and stared at each other for a few seconds, seeming communicating with flickers of facial expressions—mostly annoyed ones. Hermione had heard of so-called "twin telepathy", but she'd never seen anything that actually looked like it before. She knew the Twins liked to maintain a united front, although they surely disagreed at times. They weren't entirely alike, after all. For example, George had always struck her as the more level-headed Twin, as was evident here.

"Look, boys…" Hermione spoke up. "If it's that important to you, if Lupin does confiscate it, I'll help you make a new one. If the Marauders can do it, so can we."

Fred put his hand over his heart in mock outrage. "Blasphemy!" he gasped. "Burn the blasphemer!" But he smiled at her.

"Now, that's the Hermione we know," George said, tapping her on the nose. "If you're willing to do that for us, I think we can take a chance for you. Right, Freddie?"

"For replicating the Map? That we can do," his twin agreed.

"Thank you," Hermione said. "That means a lot to me."

The rest of the trip was surprisingly enjoyable. They spent a lot of time in Zonko's and Honeydukes, and Hermione finally got a chance to see the Shrieking Shack that she kept missing on her other visits.

"Nasty place that," Fred told her.

"Yeah, Nearly Headless Nick says even the Bloody Baron steers clear of it," said George.

"We tried to get in, of course."

"But so far, it's proved to be beyond us, sad to say."

They ran into Harry and Ron after that and had a very awkward conversation. Well, Harry wasn't so bad. He'd mellowed out over the past week.

"Listen, Hermione," he said hesitantly. "I, uh, I'm sorry for yelling at you. I guess I get why you have such a problem with dementors. I just think Black deserves what he's gonna get."

Hermione stared at him for a minute, unsure what to say. She really wanted her friends back, and Harry did seem sincere—he usually did. That was the kind of person he was. "Thank you…for apologising, Harry," she eventually said. "And I'm sorry I yelled at you, too. I've seen how upset the whole Black thing makes you. I think we can agree to disagree on this."

Harry nodded, but still stood awkwardly at arm's length from her. "Are you okay?" He asked. "No one's really seen you…"

She took a deep breath and answered, "Yeah, I…had a rough week, but I'm feeling better."

"That's good."

Both of them glanced at Ron, who was standing off to the side and pointedly ignoring her. He didn't acknowledge her and even looked impatiently at Harry. Fred and George cleared their throats. He only gave them a glance and muttered "C'mon, Harry," before turning and heading back to the castle.

"He's still pretty mad," Harry said obviously before following him.

Fred and George escorted Hermione, and they hurried to catch up. "Ronniekins," Fred called, "when people are apologising, it's polite to join in."

"I'm not the one who needs to apologise," he called back.

"Oh? Are you the one who's been ignored all week?" George said.

"Whose friends abandoned you?" Fred added.

"Who can't get into her own tower?"

"Can you hear someone talking, Harry?" Ron said.

Hermione sighed in frustration. That stupid pride of his—it was still mostly his fault, no matter what he said. What really surprised her is that he was keeping up the silent treatment for so long. Granted, with the week she'd had, she hadn't made much effort to talk to him, either, but still. If he'd just be reasonable about it, she'd be willing to apologise for her part in it, but she wasn't going to grovel to Ron Weasley. She was past that.

"Can't we give her a break?" Harry said just loudly enough for her to hear.

"No. She's still acting like Scabbers went on holiday or something."

That was too much for her. She strode forward, grabbed Ron by the shoulder, and spun him around to face her. "Ronald," she said sharply. She raised her head and turned up her nose a tiny bit. "I'm sorry Scabbers got eaten, okay?" she said. "I'm sure you cared about him just as much as I do for Crookshanks. But you should remember, I give Crookshanks the same freedom any other cat gets in the tower, while in the muggle world, pet rodents are not let out unprotected without supervision. I informed you multiple times that you weren't taking appropriate precautions. I'm sorry for not keeping Crookshanks reigned in better, but you need to learn to take responsibility, too."

"Yeah, well, Scabbers never had any trouble before you got that cat," Ron shot back.

Hermione just harrumphed and moved on. She'd tried. That was the best she could do while he was still acting like that. The Twins glared at Ron. Oh, she was sure they could get him to come around after a while, but he really needed to grow up.

The five of them piled into a single carriage and bumped along up the path. As soon as they felt the dementors' chill at the gates, the Twins grabbed her in one of their trademark four-armed hugs. It helped a little—it wasn't as bad as when they'd come out, but she still found herself whining in fear and clutching at her head.

When her vision cleared, Harry was too preoccupied with resisting the dementors himself to notice much, but Ron eyed her with confusion.

"Dementors," the Twins said in unison.

"She's been in a funk for two weeks—

"—because of those things."

Ron looked uncomfortable, but he crossed his arms and looked away. Meanwhile, the effect of the dementors combined with their argument seemed to have wiped out all of the happiness she had gained over the course of the day. Hermione suddenly felt like she was in just as much of a "funk" as she was that morning.

Things only got worse after dinner, as Fred and George refused to let her slip away back to the Room of Requirement. Instead, they took her by the arms again and pulled her along up to Gryffindor Tower.

"Guys, I don't think I can do this," she said fearfully.

"It's time to stop running from your fears, Hermione," George insisted as she struggled.

"What's the big deal?" Ron said as he walked alongside the group.

"Trolls, Ronald," she snapped. "Have one swing a club at your head, and you start to see them differently."

"Yeah, well I bet Scabbers started to see cats differently after—"

"Ron, if you value your sanity, you won't finish that sentence," George growled at him, drawing his wand. "Open your eyes for once, and look at what it's doing to her." Indeed, Hermione was white as a sheet as they approached the corridor into the tower and had begun sweating and breathing heavily.

"Honestly, Ronniekins, you're the one who always complained how useful Scabbers was," Fred scolded.

"And Hermione's been falling apart this week, if you'd care to notice," George told him.

But before Ron could give an answer, Hermione let out a yelp. She was facing the trolls.

"Alright, let's do this," Fred said.

"No, I really don't want to," she said.

They picked her up by the arms again.

"Okay! Okay! I'll do it!" She kicked with her feet until they set her down. If she was doing this, it would be on her own feet. They kept their arms linked with hers, though, for which she was secretly very grateful. She walked forward slowly. Her heart started pounding again, and she tried not to shake too much. One of the trolls grunted menacingly at the girl who was acting funny, and Hermione lost it and screamed.

Trolls don't like loud noises.

The four trolls all growled and roared. They didn't use their clubs, but they started swatting at the group, which only caused more shouting. Finally, Fred clapped his hand over Hermione's mouth, and the trolls gave them enough space to pass. The Twins pushed her forward until they were through to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Well, I say!" the painting said imperiously.

"Not now. Flibbertigibbet. Flibbertigibbet!" Fred said.

The Fat Lady swung aside, and they piled into the Common Room. Fred and George let go, and Hermione immediately collapsed face-down on the carpet, still shaking, with tears streaming down her face.

Ron did not sound happy: "Hermione, why did you do that—ouch!" Fred elbowed him hard.

"She didn't do it on purpose," she heard someone mutter amidst some jostling sounds.

"We shoulda helped her out last week."

"Hasn't she caused enough—ow!" There was a sound of someone being smacked in the back of the head.

"Quit being a prat, Ron."

Hermione turned red as she picked herself off the rug. She must look really pathetic like this, though at least she was finally past the troll. She wiped her eyes and set herself on her feet the best she could. When she turned around, she found that the other boys had manoeuvred so that Ron was standing before her. She braced herself for his next insult, but apparently, the sight of a girl crying did get through to him. Oh, Merlin, and I told myself I wouldn't grovel, she thought. She defiantly held her head high to try to make up for it.

"Hermione, I, uh…" Ron started. His eyes flicked towards Fred. "I'm sorry for being a prat. You look like you're really cracking up, and, uh…I shouldn'ta kicked you when you were down, you know?" Surprisingly, he actually sounded sincere, despite being strong-armed into it. Of course, seeing the state she was in was probably enough to make him come to his senses. He could just be so frustrating sometimes. She still thought he had some real potential if he would just use it properly, but it looked like that was going to be a long road.

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "Thank you, Ron," she said, a little standoffishly. "And I meant what I said. I'm sorry about Scabbers."

"Well…he was pretty useless," Ron said reluctantly. "It's just that he was all I could get…"

There was an awkward silence, which was broken by Fred: "Great. So can we all go back to being friends, now?"

"Yeah, friends," Harry agreed firmly.

"…Yeah, friends," Ron said. They looked to Hermione.

She looked between the boys and made her decision: "Yes…friends."

This was followed by another awkward silence before they each went separate ways. Even if they were officially friends again, it would be a while before she was as close to Ron as she was before. She had no illusions about that, and with some luck, Ron wouldn't either.

"Hermione! You're back!" Parvati cried when she climbed back up to her bedroom.

"Are you okay?" Lavender asked. "Hardly anyone's seen you all week. We told you Professor Trelawney said—"

"It had nothing to do with Professor Trelawney," Hermione said, as Crookshanks jumped up on her lap. He looked just as happy to see her as her roommates. He could hunt for himself, as she knew too well, she felt bad for leaving him alone for so long. "I found out I have a phobia of trolls from first year. I couldn't get into the Tower until Fred and George made me."

"But where did you sleep?" Parvati said worriedly. "How did you not get caught?"

"That's…that's my secret Parvati," Hermione said. "Anyway, I should be back here full time now, so it's fine."

"Well, we're glad you're better, anyway."

Hermione cuddled with Crookshanks a lot that evening. It was nice to have someone who seemed to understand her, even if he was a cat, but even that and reconciling with her friends still wasn't enough to stave off another crash later that night: after facing the dementors twice and the trolls once that day, her nightmares were worse than ever. In the Room of Requirement, she at least wouldn't have bothered anyone else, but now, she woke her roommates with her screaming multiple times. They tried to be supportive, but by the third interruption of their own sleep, their patience was wearing thin.

"Honestly, Hermione what's the matter?" Lavender griped. "What's got you so scared all of a sudden?"

"Dementors," she groaned. "You wouldn't understand." She'd given up trying to explain it.

She spent about half her time that night lying awake, her roommates' remarks becoming increasingly harsh. And she'd been doing so well that day, too. By the fifth time she woke up, it was early morning, and far too late to go back to sleep. Lavender and Parvati, unused to going without their beauty sleep, stumbled around blearily later that morning, acting very grumpy.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is, Hermione, but you need to find a way to deal with it. We are not gonna go without sleep all week and wind up screwed up like you," the blond said.

"I'm trying to get by, here, Lavender. I don't know why nobody else has it this hard, but I'm doing the best I can."

"Well, you need to do something 'cause no one in this dorm is gonna have much fun until you get it together."

At that, Hermione flopped back down onto her bed, crying again. She really was falling apart. If she couldn't sleep, she certainly wouldn't get any better, and at the moment, it seemed like she'd reconciled with one group of friends only to alienate another.

She didn't know what she was going to do. She almost felt like she'd fallen into a Lovecraft story and learnt Things Man Was Not Meant To Know, for all the trouble it was causing her. Why couldn't she find a way to stave off the nightmares of dementors? Even Harry had got over it, and his memories were way worse—

She froze. Suddenly, faster than she ever thought possible, her tears stopped. She pushed herself up and climbed out of bed with a feeling she hadn't felt in weeks: determination. Harry learnt how to repel dementors, she thought. I can do it, too. I will do it, too. It was amazing how much such a simple thought changed her perspective. Just a slight change in her point of view made the insurmountable seem easy—or at least achievable. In retrospect, it should have been obvious, but for some reason, it had taken her completely breaking down to make the connection. Well, no more. She was taking back control of her life. Just the idea—the knowledge of having a plan she was sure would work—made her feel better than she had since before Professor Vector first told her that horrible truth. She actually felt…empowered.

Unlike the past week, she found it easy to get moving. She dressed quickly, feeling positively eager to start her day, despite her sleep-deprived state. As she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and took a good look at her reflection, another thought occurred to her that hadn't before: Maybe I should do something about my hair.

A/N: Katharizi: based on the Greek for "to clean" or "to purge".

Percolare: based on the Latin for "to filter" or "to pass through a sieve".