She was in her element. Her curtains were drawn back, plunging her entire room into a complete darkness. The only light source was her telly, turned bright and displaying the game she was currently playing. Her console, the console given to her by her best friend, was laying just at her feet, the controller cable stretching just a couple of feet further to her hands. Her feet were tucked under a nice, warm blanket, her back was resting against a soft stack made of her pillows, and she had a large, stuffed otter sitting on her lap, nestled between her arms, her chin resting on its head. She could hear a slight bit of laughter from downstairs, where her parents were no doubt watching some stupid little Christmas special, like they did every year.

She tried to drown it out by turning her telly up louder. Somebody would no doubt complain and tell her to turn it down once they retired to bed, but that could be anywhere from half an hour to three full ones. Plenty of time to figure out where on earth she was meant to be going; she was hopelessly lost in this maze of caves and had been for hours.

Somebody was knocking lightly on her door just ten minutes later, proving her estimate completely incorrect.

"Hermione?" Her mum's voice said gently. Hermione let out a groan that she was sure was audible enough for her to catch.

"I'm turning it down," she said irritably.

"Can I come in? I brought you some cocoa."

Hermione set the remote down, the volume much lower. She considered saying 'no,' but that would probably just result in her dad coming right up, and he wouldn't take that as an answer, not if he thought something was wrong.

There was plenty wrong, of course, but there was nothing anybody could do about it. She certainly couldn't.

"Alright," Hermione said, not looking away from the screen. She brought the map screen back up on her game, trying to remember if there was anywhere she hadn't checked yet. She didn't look away, even as the door clicked softly behind her mum, or even as her mum sat on her bed, right behind her head, setting a steaming mug next to Hermione's leg.

"Is this your present, then?" mum asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, really wishing she wasn't being disturbed right now.

"Looks good," mum said. Hermione could hear her taking a sip of her own cocoa. "Much better than that other rubbish you were playing before. Those ones always gave me a headache."

Hermione didn't say anything. She assumed her mother would get to the point eventually. She was starting to regret not sending her away; at least her dad was blunt enough to start there. That meant she'd be able to get back to her game much faster, since he also gave up much faster.

"You never tie up your hair," mum said, lifting the end of Hermione's ponytail from her shoulder. "Fancy a change, finally?"

"It was getting in the way," Hermione said simply, eyes never leaving the screen. This hallway was so annoying. Enemies just wouldn't stop spawning, and despite her best efforts she just could not avoid them, which meant taking an acid bath every time they knocked her off one of the tiny platforms.

"You could always get it cut. Lord knows that's what I've been suggesting for years."

"I like it long."

"Is that why it's like this, then?" mum said, pulling playfully at Hermione's tail again.

"Can you not? I'm trying to play a game here."

"Oh, hush," mum said, pulling Hermione's hair free of her tie. "When was the last time you brushed your hair?"

Hermione grunted. It was before she came back home, at the least. That was as far as she could remember. She just hadn't felt like it since then. Merlin, it was a miracle if she managed to roll out of bed at all. She wouldn't have today if it hadn't been Christmas; her dad would have killed her if she didn't eat his traditional feast. She was already pushing it as it was, with only eating half a plate before pushing it away and retreating back upstairs.

Hermione felt a brush run through her tangled mane right now, and she let out a little sigh.

"I'm not eight anymore, mum."

"I know," mum said, humming softly. "But that doesn't mean I can't brush my daughter's hair, does it? Last I checked, it's not illegal just because you're fifteen."

"Why did you even bring a brush in here?"

"Because I wanted to brush your hair. Duh."

Hermione sighed again, trying to focus back on her task, her mum continuing to hum while she worked out all the knots and tangles. It wasn't that Hermione wasn't taking care of it at all; she just kept it to washing instead of the full routine. She just couldn't feel bothered to do anything more.

Not like anybody would have expected her to. What did stupid Hermione Granger care if her hair was a mess?

"You really do have nice hair," mum said. "Thank God you got that from me. Your father's just isn't much fun to play with"

Hermione clenched her jaw.

"What wrong?"

"Nothing," Hermione said. I hate my hair, she thought. She'd give anything to be able to control it at will like a certain somebody could.

"Hermione," her mum said knowingly. "If you're going to lie, you could at least keep playing your game. You've stopped moving."

"Because I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing."

"Hermione," her mum said patiently, continuing to brush and caress Hermione's hair. Hermione could practically sense that she was finally about to get to what she actually wanted to talk about. "You wrote to us every day about how excited you were for the Yule Ball. You even had Lily draw us a sketch of the dress you were planning to wear. You asked me for tips on makeup, how to get your hair to stay down, and you wrote several letters freaking out about the actual dancing portion, and what you were supposed to do if you accidentally stepped on your partner's foot."

Hermione clenched her jaw harder and forced her character forward, hoping that would be enough to shut her mum up.

"And then," her mum continued, still brushing, "you came home on that dreadful magic bus- what's it called again?"

"The Knight Bus," Hermione said, remembering having to board it in Hogsmeade while everybody else went towards the Hogwarts Express. She even had to drag her things herself, since she couldn't well use one of the carriages, not with those dreadful beasts pulling them.

"Right, the one that keeps threatening to keel over," her mum said. "You just showed up. You didn't even tell us you were coming home, and then you've done nothing but hide away in here ever since. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Hermione, you know you can tell me anything," mum said, running a hand lovingly through the now-knotless portion of Hermione's hair. "If it's boy trouble, don't worry; I won't tell your father. He'd probably kill them, anyway, and we could go without a murder charge in the family, thank you."

"It's not that," Hermione said quietly, chewing at her lip, her game once again motionless as she stood still in a quiet section.

"Then what is it? Why don't you want to go to the Ball anymore?"

"Because nobody wants to go with me," Hermione said coldly, moving forward into the next room.

"What do you mean?"

"Nobody wants to go with ugly, mannish Hermione Granger," Hermione said, her face twisting cruelly. "'Oh, you should go in dress robes, Granger. You'd look completely ridiculous in a dress. What are you wearing a skirt for, Granger? Fancy feeling what it's like to be a girl for once? Oh, look, somebody put some makeup on the beaver! How adorable! But, don't you know it's wrong to test product on animals? Poor little thing, why don't you tell us who did this to you, because they belong in Azkaban for that blending job."

Her mum kept brushing long after Hermione let it lapse into silence, wishing she hadn't said anything at all. All she wanted to do was relax and forgot those complete gits, but now all the pain was feeling fresh and she could feel the hot beginnings of tears burning at the corners of her vision.

"Who were you going to the Ball with?" her mum asked. "Did he say those things, too?"

"No," Hermione said. "I never had a date to begin with."

"What? But you told us you were going with someone."

"I thought I was," Hermione said. "But they're just the same as the others. Wouldn't spare a glance at poor, miserable, annoying, nagging, know-it-all Hermione. 'Oh, don't worry, Hermione, I'll be asking someone real soon. Oh, and don't worry about paying for your own dress; I'll pay for you! I want to make sure we match, after all! Because, obviously, that means we're going together, because what else would it possibly mean, and never mind that I'm always telling you how pretty I think you are, that's just to mess with you, because I'm actually seeing other girls without telling you, and you'll have to find out the hard way when you walk in on me with one, and, oh, don't worry, I'm actually taking her to the Ball instead of you."

Hermione let out a sigh of frustration and paused her game, squeezing tighter to the otter on her lap to try and calm down. It just wasn't working because nobody would leave her alone.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione said, hoping her mum would get the hint and leave her alone.

"No, you're not," her mum said, forcing her to sit back down in her spot. "I haven't finished brushing, yet."

"Mum-"

"You're beautiful, Hermione," she said. "Those other girls are just jealous. I mean, surely one person asked you?"

"Viktor Krum," Hermione grumbled under her breath, picking her controller back up from where it lay.

"See?" her mum said. "I'm sure he thought you were pretty. Why didn't you go with him?"

"Because he didn't want to go with me," Hermione said. "He only asked me because I'm friends with Lily."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"They're both in the same- err- sport," Hermione said, wishing she hadn't let quite that much slip; her parents didn't know anything about the Triwizard Tournament. "He just wanted to get close to me so he could find out what her plan was."

"Hermione," her mum said extraordinarily patiently. "If there's one thing I can promise you, it's that there is not one force on this planet dumber than teenage boys. I highly doubt he asked you out because he cared about a little game."

Hermione doubted that very much. She could think of one person in particular that was completely, entirely infuriating in their carelessness.

"Isn't there anybody you wanted to go with?" mum asked when she tried to go back to focusing on her game.

"Yes," Hermione said reluctantly, her mind immediately going back to the same person.

"Why didn't you ask them yourself?" mum said.

"Because I thought she was going to ask me," Hermione mumbled, staring down at the controller in her hands, not noticing her mum's hand pausing slightly, nor her little slipup. The brushing picked back up immediately after, although her mother was no longer humming.

Merlin, how could she be so stupid? Even after she laid out exactly what her type was, Hermione still convinced herself that she was going to be going to the Ball with her. How could she have been so deluded? She clearly wasn't interested in her, but she just kept holding out hope that she was wrong and- Merlin, she were sharing a bed with herfor months and they never tried anything or even implied that they wanted to and how could she be so stupid! How could she convince herself that they were anything more than friends or that they ever would be?

"Are you winning?" her mum asked.

"What?"

"Well, with how hard you keep tapping that button, you must be kicking that thing's ass."

"No," Hermione said, a puff of frustration leaving her nose. "I'm not winning anything."

"You know," her mum said, setting her brush down after another long gap in the conversation. "Have I ever told you the story of how your father and I got together?"

"Yes," Hermione said with an exasperated sigh. "At least a hundred times. You met in uni, dated throughout med school, and then married and had me after a few years."

"Actually," her mum said slowly, her hands moving to instead braid Hermione's hair, "Your father and I met in secondary."

"What?" Hermione said, her shock causing her to miss a jump. "That's not what you said before."

"Because it's embarrassing for me," her mother said, her tone confirming that. "See, he doesn't remember a single instance of it- or, at least, he knows better than to say he does- and I'd prefer to keep it that way, thank you."

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't he remember you two dating earlier?"

"Because we weren't dating," her mum said as if it was obvious.

"Pardon?"

"He didn't notice me at all, matter of fact," she said. "Even after every mortifying little thing I did to try and get his attention. See, I was in love with him at first sight, when we were only thirteen, but he was more preoccupied with his mates and trying to get plastered off huffing the fumes of rubbing alcohol."

"Come again?"

"I told you, Hermione, there's nothing dumber than teenage boys. Well- alright, there was me, I suppose. Teenage girls can be just as dumb if we put our minds to it."

"Really?" Hermione said, knowing full well from being a certain somebody's friend that girls could be infinitely stupider.

"Really," her mum said. "Sometimes, I lay up at night, going over every little mortifying thing I did trying to get his attention."

"Like what?" Hermione asked curiously, trying to pretend her focus was on the game.

"One time," mum said, her hands looping Hermione's hair, "I even sang a love song for him in the cafeteria, right in front of everybody."
"Oh, Merlin."

"I know," her mum said, sighing. "I'd gotten it in my head when I was watching some program with my mum- I don't even remember what it was, but it was enough to convince a stupid little girl that it was a good idea."

"What song did you sing?" Hermione asked after a long pause that she knew was deliberate. She just wanted to hear the rest of it, and based off the pleased tone in her mum's voice, she knew that she knew, too.

"Oh, that's the worst part. I made it up myself."

"No."

"Yes," mum said, sighing again. "If you've never heard the genius compositions of a thirteen year old, I can't say I'd recommend it. We can't all be Mozart."

"How does dad not remember this?" Hermione said, smiling slightly.

"Oh, I'm not convinced he doesn't, to be honest," mum said. "But, he's been a good man, and hasn't brought it up a single time. Probably knows I'd divorce him if he did; don't think I'd be able to live with that particular shame."

"I can't believe he agreed to go out with you after that."

"Well, I moved away right after," her mum said. "Pretty much had to. Hard to focus on your studies when everybody keeps singing your stupid song the instant they see you- don't think my sister ever forgave me for making her switch schools. But, anyway, I didn't see your father again until uni, and I'd been doing my best to forget all about him."

"But you still asked him out?"

"He asked me," her mum corrected. "Don't think I'd ever been happier than when he did, either. Dropped everything I was holding and kissed him right then and there. That was equally mortifying, but at least there were only seven other people in the room, and they were friends, so they all seemed happy enough for us."

Hermione laughed softly, letting it lapse back into silence for a moment, the only sounds that of her killing enemies in her game.

"How did you get him to notice you, when he wouldn't before?" she asked in what she hoped was a sly attempt to get advice.

"Aside from it being years between appearances, you mean?"

"Yes."

"By calming down," mum said thoughtfully. "I saw him the first day of classes in first year, and about had a heart attack then and there. I knew I couldn't keep acting like a stupid little girl with her first crush, so- I didn't."

"How?" Hermione said, thinking that sounded far too easy.

"I saw other people," her mum said simply. "I stopped staring at him, I gave him space to explore on his own, and I hardly spared a single thought for him. By the time we shared another class in third year, that stupid little schoolgirl crush was gone, and I was capable of carrying a conversation with him like a normal person. Which really helped, actually, since we got assigned as partners in the lab. Would have been hard to get anything done if I couldn't open my mouth without embarrassing myself."

"And that worked?" Hermione asked, abandoning all pretense and fully pausing her game (but not turning her head, as that would ruin her mum's hard work).

"Extremely well, if I do say so myself," mum said confidently. "Now I'm married to him and we have an extremely beautiful daughter who I couldn't possibly be prouder of." Hermione felt a kiss planted a top her head. "And I wouldn't have any of that if I hadn't done some serious growing up."

"So- so give them some space?" Hermione said, wondering how on earth she was going to do that when they shared a room together.

"And time," mum said. "See some other people, Hermione. Get your mind off whoever's got you so riled up."

Hermione nodded, chewing her lip again. She supposed she could try that. She just had no idea who to even ask. She'd never thought about anyone in that way before this year, and now she couldn't get her mind off one person in particular, even if that particular person had seemingly no interest in her.

"Here," mum said, standing from Hermione's creaking bed and offering her a hand up. "I want to show you something."

"What?" Hermione said, accepting her mother's hand reluctantly, setting her otter on her bed gently as she stood, blanket slipping off her lap and to the ground.

"This!" mum said, pulling Hermione forward by the hand and placing her firmly in front of her wardrobe mirror. "See?"

"You mean the braid?" Hermione said, pulling the long thing over her shoulder. She supposed it was nice enough, even if it wasn't her usual style.

"I mean how pretty you are!" mum said, laughing.

Hermione looked again. She didn't feel very pretty. Even in her pyjamas, she lacked much of the oomph (as Lily liked to describe it when talking with Ron) that many of the other girls had. Her face was plain, her front teeth too large, her nose too long- it always felt like, no matter what she did, everything about her was just wrong, so she never tried.

"Here," her mother said, placing a finger under Hermione's chin and forcing her to lift it slightly. "You just need a bit of confidence if you want people to notice you."

"But I don't-"

"Fake it until you make it, Hermione," mum said, forcing her chin back up and using her other hand to correct the rest of Hermione's posture, forcing her to stand with her chest more front and center and removing her slouch. "See? You're beautiful."

Hermione still didn't see, but she was also, inexplicably, starting to feel a bit better about herself.

"Thanks," she said, hands going to nervously tug at her braid, her eyes watching it in the mirror. "Do you- err- do you really think I should cut my hair?"

"I love your hair, Hermione," mum said, grabbing Hermione's hands and moving them back to her sides. "But, I think a new style does wonders for one's confidence, yes, if you're willing to try it. If you don't like it, I'm sure you know plenty of spells to fix it."

Hermione actually hardly knew any beauty spells, actually, but she knew someone who did.

"Alright," she said, awkwardly holding her own chin up before her mother could correct it. "Err- I'll do it."

"We'll go this weekend," her mum said, kissing the top of her head lightly again. "You can pick everything. We can even dye it, if you'd like, and if you want, I can show you how to apply makeup afterwards."

Hermione snorted. "Merlin knows you've been offering that for years."

"We'll start lightly," mum said, patting her playfully on the cheek. "Maybe just a bit of lipstick, so it doesn't- who is knocking at this hour?"

Hermione had to agree; whoever it was at the front door was either desperate or too self-important if the sound of their knocks was reaching all the way up to her room.

"I'll go see who it is at the door," her mum said, kissing her cheek one more time. "Why don't you wrap up your game and come watch a movie with us?"

"Alright," Hermione said, still playing with her braid as her mother left, and even well after. She supposed she could use a bit of a trim, at least. From what she'd gathered, Lily did seem to prefer shorter- no, she was going to do this for herself, she was done thinking about what Lily might or might not like. She'd entertained that particular delusion long enough, thank you.

She just had to keep living this new lie until she believed it herself. Fake it until you make it, she thought. She took a deep breath to push away the ache in her heart when somebody called for her downstairs.

"Hermione, love?" her dad called up. "Could you come down here?"

"Coming!" Hermione said, immediately hopping to pull her door open.

She stopped at the top of the staircase, completely surprised to find Professor Moody standing at the front door, magical eye staring up at her while his real one focused on her two nervous looking parents in front of him.

"Professor?" she said in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Get down here, Granger," Moody barked. "Got some questions for you."

"I don't understand," her dad said as she hurried down the steps. "Is Hermione in trouble?"

"No trouble," Moody said, taking a step in uninvited. "Just some questions."
"About what?" her dad asked, still not fully letting him inside.

"That's on a need-to-know basis," Moody said. "Confidential investigation for the Order."

"Surely, we'll at least be allowed to sit with our daughter during the questioning?" dad said, crossing his arms.

"If you insist," Moody said, closing the door behind himself since neither of her parents were going to. The angry, frustrated part of Hermione's brain recalled that he was not at all required to include Muggle parents in any sort of investigation. If he wanted to, he could force them to wait while he did so privately, and there wasn't a thing any of them would be able to do about it.

"We do," her parents said together.

"Then let's take this to the kitchen," Moody said, his magic eye swiveling around and checking the rest of their house. Hermione moved him up her list of favourite professors for not being terrible to her parents.

"I'll make some tea," mum said, hurrying ahead and rummaging through the cabinets. Her dad continued standing as Moody limped into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table, cane leant next to him, false leg stretched out in front of him. Hermione carefully took a seat at the other side, her father resting a hand on her shoulder.

"What's this about?" he asked.

"Just some routine questioning," Moody said, his real eye never leaving Hermione's face. His magical one was looking behind his skull, no doubt watching her mother to make sure she didn't slip anything into his tea. "I'll make this quick, Dumbledore wants me back at the Ball to make sure no one tries anything. Can you see Thestrals, Granger?"

"No," Hermione immediately lied, an image of the skeletal beasts popping into her head only to be forced away.

"Pro tip:" Moody said with a knowing smile. "Don't chew your fingernails when you're lying. It's a dead giveaway. I would have thought being Potter's friend would have taught you better by now."

"She's not lying," her dad said protectively.

"She's a teenager. They all lie. How long have you been able to see Thestrals?"

"I'm sorry," her mother said, sliding a cup of tea in front of them all and then taking a seat at Hermione's other side. "What, exactly, is a Thestral?"

"A magical horse," Hermione said, her brain automatically going into academic mode to keep her from thinking about anything else. "They're skeletal in appearance, with only a loose set of skin and muscles covering them. They also have wings and can fly faster than any of the current brooms."

"And their most important quality?" Moody said, leaning forward. "What makes them so unique? What makes wizards fear them so much, to the point we nearly hunted them to extinction? What makes us classify them as such a dangerous creature just because we think they might be unlucky?"

Hermione shook her head, not wanting to answer the question. She didn't even like to think about them, and she usually did a very good job doing just that.

She didn't even know what they were until her third year. The first time she saw them, standing in front of the supposedly horseless carriages, she dropped her trunk and broke the handle off of it, but nobody else could see them, so she pretended she couldn't, either, so they wouldn't think her mad. She forgot about them by the time they returned to school.

But then she saw them again, right after leaving the Hogwarts Express, after fainting from that dreadful dementor. But, still, nobody else could see them, so she didn't push it. It wasn't until months later, during the period Lily wasn't allowed to attend the class, when she found out what they were, when Hagrid brought her in to his hut to explain; one just flew right out of the Forbidden Forest, snatching a bird from the sky, and she was the only one who saw it.

That was her favourite part of going to Beauxbatons. She didn't have to see them, there. She didn't have to think about why. She didn't have to worry about it all coming back to her the instant she saw them again, like she did before the First Task, when they had to take the cursed carriages up to the mountains, and when she had to watch her best friend nearly die to a dragon and worry about what else she'd be able to see if she did.

"What is it, Granger? What's special about them?"

"They can only be seen by those who have witnessed death," Hermione said, closing her eyes and chewing on the inside of her lip.

"Quite right," Moody said, ignoring the following questions from her parents. "So: how long have you been able to see them?"

"Since the end of second year," Hermione said, her parents falling completely silent, her mother laying a hand on her leg and her father squeezing her shoulder.

"Interesting. And who, pray tell, did you witness die?"

She was back there all over again, sitting on the Chamber floor, her best friend's head in her lap, watching her chest cease moving along with her breathing, her hands covered in slick, sticky blood.

"Nobody," she said, trying to ignore the shaking in her body. She didn't die. She was still here.

There was no coming back from death, even for the Girl-Who-Lived.

"That's enough," her father said, squeezing her shoulder again. "Why bring this all up, now? Wasn't she questioned enough then?"

"I wasn't there, then," Moody said dismissively. "I was too busy being petrified by a beast she released, and I wasn't allowed questions afterwards."

"Why now?" her mum asked, all hint of warmth gone from her voice.

"Are you serious?" Moody asked, voice indicating he thought this was all a joke. "With everything going on at Hogwarts- with Potter again in the middle of it all- you wonder why I'd ask? I ask because all information is good information. I ask because somebody is out to kill her- and anything your daughter can tell me could potentially save lives."

"I don't understand," her mum said, squeezing her leg harder.

"Potter's Trace is gone," Moody said, both his eyes locked on Hermione's. "I've determined that's how her name was entered; the Goblet detects the Trace, you see. That's how the Ministry set it up so no one under seventeen could enter the tournament. Without her trace, anybody could have slipped Potter's name in, and the only way the Trace can break is through the person coming of age or death. So, tell me, Granger: who did you see die?"

"Nobody," Hermione said quietly. Lily didn't die. She couldn't have.

"Not good enough, Granger," Moody said. "If it wasn't Potter, it had to be someone else. Who did you see-"

"Alastor."

All three Muggle occupants jumped in fright as a silver, glowing phoenix descended through their ceiling. A Patronus, Hermione thought, thinking about her own otter, shaped after her favourite animal and the last gift her grandparents gave her before passing away, the same one currently sitting on her bed waiting for her.

She wished she had it with her right now, even if wishing for a stuffed animal made her feel like a stupid little girl.

"There is a problem," Dumbledore's voice continued, the phoenix hovering in front of Moody. "You are needed back at the castle immediately."

The phoenix vanished instantly after Dumbledore finished speaking, and Moody was already rising from his seat, cane in hand.

"Have a good evening," he growled, heading straight for the front door. "Oh, and Happy Christmas."

And then he was gone, leaving Hermione sitting awkwardly at the table, her parents at her sides.

"What was that about?" her dad said, tapping his foot on the floor in irritation. "Didn't even touch his tea."

"I'm going to bed," Hermione said, trying to rise, only for her dad to push her gently back down.

"Not yet, you aren't," he said. "We've got some questions of our own, thank you."

"I- I can't- you don't-"

"Hermione," her mother said, cupping a hand under her chin and turning her face so she could look her in the eyes. "What is happening at school? Tell us everything."