That night, Hermione's sleep was invaded by nightmares. She tossed and turned, the dark images dancing behind her closed eyelids until she finally fell into a dreamless sleep around five in the morning. Groggily, she awoke, barely making it in time for the last day of classes. She rushed down to the Great Hall, grabbing a quick piece of toast. To her surprise, neither Harry nor Ron were there. She glanced at her watch—they were even later than she was. Another look at the Gryffindor table confirmed the absence of all the Weasleys. Hermione's heart began to race—something was wrong, she just knew it.
Nonetheless, she hurried towards Charms. She resolved to check the classroom first before jumping to conclusions. But before she could get halfway down the corridor, Professor McGonagall intercepted her.
"Miss Granger," she said with an odd look on her face. "I need you to come with me to the Headmaster's office."
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, anxiety tightening her chest.
"Just come with me, Miss Granger."
"Is it Harry? Ron?!" she pressed, her voice rising with panic.
"We will explain when you—"
"What happened?!" Hermione's control was slipping, and she didn't care. The concern on Professor McGonagall's face mirrored the dread pooling in her stomach. Her nightmares were seeping into reality.
"Please, Miss Granger, let's go to—"
"Are they alive?!" Hermione screamed, drawing the attention of nearby students. She didn't care about their stares.
"Yes, Hermione," Professor McGonagall said, using her first name, which only heightened Hermione's fear. "Both Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are alright."
"And Ginny? She wasn't in the Great Hall—"
"Yes, the Weasley children are all safe," Professor McGonagall reassured. "But I need you to come with me to meet with the Headmaster. Can you do that?"
Hermione nodded, following her favourite professor to the Griffin doorway of the Headmaster's office. Despite McGonagall's reassurances, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that something was horrendously wrong. The professor's pale face and tired eyes were unnerving.
"Fudge Flies," murmured Professor McGonagall, and the Griffin door swung open, revealing a spiral staircase. They ascended to the circular room of the Headmaster's office. Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk, fingers tented, deep in thought.
"Ah, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with relief. "Welcome."
"What's going on? What's wrong?" Hermione demanded, impatience cutting through her voice.
"Please, take a seat," he replied, gesturing to the thick chairs in front of his desk. While Professor McGonagall stepped towards the seats, Hermione stood her ground, arms crossed.
"I'm good, thanks," she said firmly.
"Very well," Dumbledore said, taking a deep breath. "Last night, Harry had a very odd dream in which a snake attacked Mr Weasley in the Ministry of Magic."
"He has been having a lot of those dreams," Hermione said, worry etching her features.
"Yes, I am aware," Dumbledore said. "I had every reason to believe those dreams were a direct connection to Voldemort and, therefore, had my contacts check on Arthur at his post. Unfortunately, he had, indeed, been attacked."
Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Harry and the Weasley children were sent to St. Mungo's by way of the Floo Network to be close to Molly and Arthur as they assess his injuries. I would have sent for you as well, Miss Granger, but I was told you were heading on holiday during the break and wasn't sure of your travel schedule."
"How is he? Mr Weasley, that is?"
"He suffered extensive damage in the attack, but the healers at St. Mungo's are the best of the best. I have full confidence he will make it through with little to no side effects."
Hermione let out the breath she had been holding. "How's Harry?"
Dumbledore paused slightly. "He is, of course, worried about Mr Weasley. As for any other ramifications of the connection between him and Tom Riddle, we must address that after the immediate challenge is at bay."
"It's been going on for a while now," Hermione said. "You would have known that had you not ignored Harry this whole year."
Dumbledore raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise at her tone. Even Hermione was taken aback by her bluntness. Professor McGonagall's eyes widened.
"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed. "I hope you will trust that I have my reasons for maintaining my distance."
"And what is your reason?" Hermione challenged.
"I will let you know when I let Harry know," Dumbledore said after a short pause. "I hope you understand he deserves to hear it first."
Hermione couldn't argue with that logic, but it didn't mean she liked it.
"And now, Miss Granger, I would like to confirm you are, indeed, travelling with your parents to visit Mr Krum, or should I arrange for your transport to Headquarters tomorrow?
Hermione knew her parents and Viktor would be horribly upset if she cancelled her trip, but she also knew Ron and Harry needed her. "May I let you know later today?" Hermione asked.
"Of course," Dumbledore said. "Now, I believe both of you are late for class."
Hermione followed Professor McGonagall back down the spiral staircase, wondering how she would be able to concentrate on her classes at all. Not only was she terribly worried about Mr Weasley, but she also had to make a very big decision about her holiday plans.
Just as they were about to part ways, Professor McGonagall turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, consider yourself excused from Transfiguration this morning. We will not cover any new material, and I will dismiss the students early. Take care of yourself today." With a curt nod, the professor walked away, leaving Hermione standing in the corridor.
Hermione watched her go, and at that moment, she did something she would never have dreamed of doing before: she decided to bunk off her classes for the day.
She tried not to overthink the repercussions of a prefect skiving off classes, reminding herself that most of her professors would assume she had gone to London with Harry and the Weasleys. Besides, most classes were just reviewing for the holiday break.
Hermione found a secluded spot in the tower she had frequented during her third year. She sat down, looking out over the grounds, and began weighing the pros and cons of going on holiday versus going to headquarters. With a sigh, she pulled out some parchment and made two columns.
After a few hours and several feet of parchment, Hermione made her decision. Ron, Harry, Ginny, and the Weasleys needed her. Her "found" family took precedence over everything else.
Her next order of business was writing to both her parents and Viktor, letting them know of her decision. Neither letter was easy to write, and Hermione had to continuously remind herself she was making the right choice.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I am so sorry to do this to you, but I must cancel our ski trip. I took some practice tests and was not happy with my results. A group of students are staying through the holidays to study together, and I have decided to join them. I hope you understand. I'm sure Viktor would be more than happy to keep all the plans in place. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.
All my love, Hermione.
Hermione sealed the envelope before she could feel any guilt for her lie. She pulled out a new sheet for Viktor's letter.
Dear Viktor,
I am so sorry, but I cannot make it to our trip. Ron's father was attacked, and I must go to help their family while he (hopefully) recovers. My parents are still very excited to meet you and your mother, and I hope the four of you can have a good time together. I am so thankful that you invited me and I am so disappointed to have to miss it. I hope you understand.
I will write once I know more and update you on his condition.
Yours, Hermione
As with her parents' letter, she sealed up the envelope before she could second guess herself. Hermione glanced at her watch. The afternoon classes were in full swing, meaning she could, conceivably, make it to the Owlery without being noticed by too many people.
Back in her dormitory, Hermione lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her mind raced with thoughts of the Weasleys, Harry, Viktor, and her parents. She had made her choice and now had to live with it. The uncertainty of what lay ahead gnawed at her, but she knew she had done the right thing.
She took a deep breath and began to pack. She planned on finding Professor McGonagall after the afternoon classes were due to be over to inform her of her decision to go to Headquarters. She hoped the professor would relay the message to Professor Dumbledore. Her annoyance with the headmaster and his "reasons" were too intense to even think about voluntarily returning to his office.
Unfortunately, as she made her way to Professor McGonagall's office, a horrible pink blur eclipsed the corridor in front of her.
"Ah, Miss Granger," Professor Umbridge said in her sickeningly sweet voice. "I've been looking all over for you, but you didn't seem to be in any of your classes today. Very peculiar. Perhaps you believe yourself too good for classes now?"
"No, professor," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Then why were you not in your classes today?"
"I was ill," Hermione said quickly.
"I also checked the Hospital Wing," Professor Umbridge said with a maniacal smirk. "And, curiously, you were not there either."
Hermione had a sneaking suspicion the pink toad was bluffing. Without taking enough time to second guess her instinct, Hermione blurted, "Oh, I'm not sure how you didn't see me, Professor. I was there in the back corner near the wall."
Hermione noticed Umbridge's face falter for a moment but, in that moment, she knew she had correctly called her bluff.
"I trust you are feeling better now?"
"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied, trying not to smirk. "Thank you for asking. I really appreciate your concern." Umbridge wasn't the only one who could pretend to be sickeningly sweet. Hermione could tell turning the tables on Umbridge had unnerved her. "Do you need anything else, Professor?"
Umbridge straightened the giant bow in her hair, a tell Hermione would remember for later. "Yes. I must know where Mr Potter and the Weasley children are. They, too, have been missing all day. Were they also in the Hospital Wing?" The sticky-sweet sarcasm was thick.
Hermione quickly ran through her options. She could outright lie, she could say she didn't know where they were (which was technically accurate - she wasn't sure if they were still at St Mungo's or Headquarters), or she could tell a version of the truth… at least enough that wouldn't have foreseeable repercussions after the holiday.
"I heard that there was an emergency with a family member," Hermione said. "I don't know much more than that."
"Why didn't you go?"
Hermione furrowed her brows. "I'm not part of the Weasley family," she replied simply.
"Neither is Mr Potter," Umbridge shot back.
"No, he isn't," Hermione said, "but he had plans to go home with Ron for the holidays, whereas I had other plans."
"And what plans are they?"
"With all due respect, Professor, I have not read any sort of rule or decree which states that holiday plans must be disclosed to professors other than whether or not the student wishes to stay at Hogwarts for logistics sake."
Professor Umbridge bristled. "Surely, disclosing their holiday arrangements shouldn't be an issue unless a student had nefarious or otherwise suspicious plans."
"Indeed," Hermione countered, her anger rising. "Unless said student would rather maintain some semblance of privacy and had absolutely no practical reason to share her plans with a professor she neither cares for nor respects."
"I believe that warrants a detention, Miss Granger," the pink blob giggled. "Tonight. Before you go on your mysterious holiday. Report to my office at seven o'clock."
Hermione stormed away, determined not to let that vile, evil woman see the tears trickling down her face. She was gutted. At sixteen years old, she had never gotten a detention, and now this impostor of a professor on a bloody power trip swoops in and gives Hermione Jean Granger detention for absolutely nothing that warrants it.
By the time she reached Professor McGonagall's office, Hermione's face was soaked with tears, though they were of the angry kind. "Miss Granger, what—"
"That horrible, vile, daft cow!"
"What did Dolores do now?" sighed Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall's office seemed dimmer than usual, the comforting hum of magical artefacts doing little to calm Hermione's racing heart. She couldn't shake the anger and frustration from her encounter with Umbridge. Her chest felt tight, and her breaths came in short gasps. Hermione filled her in on her impending detention in between her sobs. McGonagall's eyes softened with a rare look of sympathy.
"Hermione, you have to breathe," Professor McGonagall said in a motherly tone, her usually stern face softening. Embarrassed to be seen in such a vulnerable state, Hermione focused on following the professor's instructions. She counted each breath, trying to steady the chaos within her.
After a few moments, she managed to calm down, her breathing returning to something close to normal. "I'm so sorry, Professor," Hermione muttered, staring at the floor, her cheeks burning with shame.
"There is no reason to apologise," Professor McGonagall said gently. "I sometimes get them too."
"Really?" Hermione looked up, surprised.
"Not as much anymore, but I did when I was your age." Professor McGonagall's eyes twinkled with a rare touch of nostalgia.
Hermione mulled over this unexpected revelation as Professor McGonagall returned to her desk. "Unfortunately, as for your detention, there's little I can do," she continued. "Professor Umbridge, whether we like it or not, is a member of staff and has every right to give out detentions as she sees fit. However, I will make sure to mention this to the Headmaster. He needs to understand exactly what he has hired."
"You mean who," Hermione corrected absentmindedly.
"I most certainly do not," Professor McGonagall replied, a slight grin flashing across her face. "I will inform the Headmaster of your decision to travel to Headquarters instead of home. You can take the Hogwarts Express to London as you would have anyway, but a member of the Order will be there to pick you up and escort you the rest of the way. I assume you've already notified your parents of the change of plans?"
"Yes," Hermione nodded, her voice tinged with worry. "Not that they will be pleased."
"They have been incredibly understanding until this point," Professor McGonagall reminded her. "Give them a little more credit."
Hermione hoped she was right. —- After packing her bag for the holiday, Hermione made her way to Professor Umbridge's office. Her resolve was firm—she wouldn't cry or show any emotion. She understood now why Harry hadn't wanted to tell anyone about the horrors of his detentions with Umbridge. She didn't want to give the vile woman the satisfaction either.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," Umbridge giggled as Hermione entered the room. Hermione ignored her, sitting at one of the three desks, each equipped with the infamous quill ready to cut into her skin.
"I said, 'Good evening, Miss Granger,'" Umbridge repeated, her sickeningly sweet tone.
Hermione fought against every instinct and refused to acknowledge the vile pink blob. Instead, she focused on one of the seemingly hundreds of cats displayed on frilly pink plates adorning the walls.
"You will address me," Umbridge screamed, suddenly mere inches from Hermione's face. Hermione flinched but quickly recovered, turning to look at the woman breathing into her face.
"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said, thankful that her voice wasn't shaking as much as she thought it would be.
"Good evening, Miss Granger."
Hermione stared into Umbridge's black eyes, channelling all her anger and hatred. "Good evening, Professor."
"That's more like it," Umbridge giggled. "As you can see, we are expecting two more of your ill-behaving classmates. They should be here—" the door opened "—any minute. Good evening, Miss Haught. Good evening, Mr Lechinski."
Hermione immediately recognised Jillian and Owen, a fellow Muggle-born student from Lavenham. The two younger students took their seats with apprehension but seemed slightly relieved to see Hermione.
"Miss Haught, you will continue with your lines from the previous night," Professor Umbridge said, speaking slowly in front of Jillian as if she couldn't understand her. "'I will not use Muggle electronics in class.'"
Hermione's head snapped toward Jillian, noticing immediately that her cochlear implants were missing. "But, professor, Jillian needs her cochlear implants to hear," she protested.
"As you are well aware, Miss Granger, Muggle electronics have no place in a school for witches and wizards. I have offered to send for a healer from St. Mungo's to restore her hearing, but Miss Haught refused. Therefore, she will be completing lines until she changes her mind. I cannot and will not allow Muggle electronics in my school."
"You are literally depriving her of one of her senses," Hermione tried to keep her voice even. "How dare you?!"
Umbridge only giggled in return and turned to Owen. Jillian could see Hermione trying to argue on her behalf and held up her hand, motioning that it was okay and indicating Hermione should let it be. Hermione gave her what she hoped was a look that said, "Are you sure?" and Jillian nodded.
"And you, Mr Lechinski, can also continue where you left off: 'I will not eat anything from the Weasley twins before class.'"
Owen looked over at Hermione and winked. Come to think of it, Hermione had seen Owen hanging around the twins quite a bit lately. Hopefully, he wasn't their new test subject.
"And now you, Miss Granger. Whilst I can think of many lines you should be forced to write, I believe, 'I am not smart, just average,' should cover the root cause of most of your indiscretions." An evil smile crossed the woman's lips, making Hermione's stomach turn and her anxiety rise.
Umbridge waved ignorantly in front of Jillian's face to ensure she had her attention. "And now, students, it's time to begin," she said, pointing at the quill and parchment in front of Jillian and miming writing as if she were speaking to a toddler. Once she was sure Jillian "understood," Umbridge turned back to Hermione and Owen. "You, of course, will need no ink with my special quills. The message will sink in nicely without it."
With that, the vile woman sat at her desk, crossed her hands in front of her, and stared unblinkingly at Hermione.
Setting her jaw, Hermione grabbed the quill and began writing, "I am not smart, just average." The sensation of the quill cutting into her skin was immediate. She watched as the pale skin became agitated with each stroke. The words on the parchment started faintly, but the bright red "ink" became much more vivid as the cuts grew deeper.
The pain in her hand increased with every new line. "I am not smart, just average."
The pain in her heart grew with every new line. "I am not smart, just average."
The escalating pain overshadowed Hermione's rational thoughts about the line's inaccuracy. Soon, blood oozed down her hand, blotching out the horrible words on the page.
Despite the agony, Hermione refused to let Umbridge see how much this punishment affected her. She could hear the sniffles and strangled sobs of Jillian and Owen but knew she couldn't look at them without breaking down herself.
Somehow, Hermione's stubbornness won out, and she didn't shed a single tear by the time Umbridge finally called it a night. She threw her bag over her shoulder and nearly ran out of the office, pausing a few meters away to wait for Jillian and Owen. They emerged a few moments later, catching up to Hermione. Jillian was pulling her cochlear implants out of her bag and reconnecting the magnets to her head.
"Stupid cow," Jillian said once they were on.
"I can't believe she made you take your implants off," Hermione huffed.
"Me neither, but at least I don't have to hear her annoying voice."
"There has to be something we can do," Owen said, wrapping his hand with a piece of fabric from his satchel. "Maybe sneak her some of the twins' Puking Pastilles… for every meal."
"Wouldn't that be nice," Hermione said.
"But what won't be nice is me trying to explain this to my parents," Jillian said, holding out her hand. "Muggle and wizard parents alike don't look too fondly on corporal punishment like this."
"Here, come with me. I think I have some Essence of Dittany in my room. That should clear it up," Hermione said, leading the two younger students back towards the common room. She tried her best to stay positive around Jillian and Owen but knew something inside her seemed to have broken.
The next morning, Hermione groggily rolled out of bed, her sleep fractured by waves of panic attacks and nightmares. The phrase "I am not smart, just average" echoed relentlessly in her mind. After throwing the last of her things into a holdall, she joined the stream of students heading to the Great Hall for breakfast before boarding the Hogwarts Express to London.
Hermione's eyes darted to the ceiling every time an owl swooped into the Great Hall, hoping for letters from her parents or Viktor to avoid awkward conversations at King's Cross. Just as she took the last bite of her toast, a tawny owl landed in front of her, bearing a letter in her parents' familiar handwriting.
Hermione,
We received your message. Merry Christmas. Good luck with your studies.
Hope to see you this summer,
Mum and Dad
The shortness of the letter stung more than Hermione allowed herself to feel. She steeled herself with the thought that she needed to be there for the Weasleys and that her parents didn't understand. Someday, she hoped they would.
Neville and Bem joined her in the compartment on the Hogwarts Express. There could have been no better companions for that day—Bem's puns and jokes had Hermione nearly spitting her drink everywhere, and Neville's sweet, reassuring pats conveyed understanding without prying. It was absolutely lovely.
As the rolling hills transformed into the bustling outskirts of London, Hermione's anxiety spiked. The chaos of unloading hundreds of students at King's Cross left her alone on the platform, searching for a familiar face. She had thought someone from the Order would be there to pick her up, but as more and more time passed, Hermione realised she would have to find her own way to Twelve Grimmauld Place.
Hoisting her carryall higher on her shoulder, she headed for the brick wall leading to King's Cross's Muggle platforms. Halfway through, however, she collided with someone and bounced back onto Platform 9 ¾. Just before she fell, a strong arm took hold of hers and pulled her back to a stable, standing position.
"My smartest girl!" Viktor Krum said with a slight bow. "You must be more careful!"
"Viktor, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, hugging him tightly.
"Just making sure you are okay," he said. "I got your letter."
"I am so sorry I can't make it on the trip," Hermione apologised, pulling back from the hug.
"That is okay," Viktor said, holding her a bit longer. "There will be more trips. Are you okay?"
"Yes, just worried about Mr Weasley," Hermione said, withdrawing slightly.
"I understand," Viktor nodded. "I heard he is going to be okay."
"How do you know that?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"As a famous Quidditch star, I have many friends at St. Mungo's," Viktor smirked. "But I am here to escort you through London before I start on my ski trip."
"Oh!" Hermione was taken aback by the fact that Viktor was the Order's "representative" who picked her up. While she trusted Viktor implicitly, she knew some Order members were wary of his connections to Durmstrang and Igor Karkaroff.
Viktor took Hermione's bag from her and offered his arm. "Come, Hermione. Let us take a walk and talk."
They left the bustling station and ventured into the heart of London. The city was alive with the energy of the holiday season. Lights twinkled from every shop window, and the streets were filled with people bustling about, wrapped in their warmest coats and scarves.
"How have you been?" Viktor asked, his voice gentle and filled with genuine concern.
"Busy," Hermione admitted. "Between classes, homework, prefect duties, and the DA, there's hardly any time to breathe."
Viktor nodded, understanding. "I remember my time at Durmstrang. It was demanding. But you are strong, my smartest girl. You can handle it."
Hermione smiled at his words, though her thoughts drifted back to Ron. She couldn't help but compare the two. Viktor was always so sure of himself, so confident. On the other hand, Ron was often unsure and awkward, especially around her. But something was endearing about Ron's clumsiness, something that made her heart race in a way that Viktor's polished demeanour did not.
They strolled through Covent Garden, where street performers entertained crowds and the air was filled with the scent of roasted chestnuts. Viktor bought them both a cup of hot chocolate, and they found a quiet bench to sit on.
"You seem troubled," Viktor said, studying her face. "Is it more than just Mr Weasley?"
Hermione hesitated, unsure how to put her tangled feelings into words. "It's just... everything," she finally said. "School, the war, my friends... Ron."
Viktor's expression darkened slightly at the mention of Ron's name, but he nodded. "He means much to you."
"Yes," Hermione said softly. "He does. But it's complicated."
Viktor reached out and took her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "My smartest girl, you deserve to be happy. Vether it is vith Ron or someone else, you must follow your heart."
Hermione looked into Viktor's eyes, seeing the sincerity there. She squeezed his hand, grateful for his support. "Thank you, Viktor. That means a lot."
"There is something else," he continued.
Hermione took a deep breath and told him about her detention with Umbridge. Viktor's eyes flashed with anger, but he kept himself composed. "You know she is, how you say, full of shit." Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes. Viktor grabbed her by the waist and turned her towards him. "Say it: she is full of shit."
"She is full of shit," Hermione suppressed a giggle at the swear.
"Yes. You say that as much as you must."
They continued their walk, eventually making their way to the Thames. The river reflected the city's lights, creating a magical scene. Hermione felt a sense of peace as they stood there, watching the water flow by.
As the afternoon turned to evening, Viktor escorted Hermione to Westminster, where she would take the Knight Bus for the rest of the way to Headquarters. They stood outside the gothic parliament building, the weight of parting heavy between them. Hermione glanced at the hands of Big Ben and could have sworn they were moving much faster than they should have been.
"Thank you for today, Viktor," Hermione said. "I needed this."
"Anytime, Hermione," Viktor replied, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Take care of yourself. And if you ever need me, I am just an owl away."
Hermione watched as Viktor disappeared into the night. She stood in the shadow of Big Ben, her heart still pounding from the rush of emotions stirred by her encounter with Viktor. The city's festive lights twinkled around her, but she felt an urgency to get to Grimmauld Place, to be there for the Weasleys and Harry. Clutching her holdall tightly, she stepped to the edge of the pavement and raised her wand arm.
With a loud BANG that echoed through the streets, the Knight Bus appeared before her, a triple-decker monstrosity painted a vibrant purple. It screeched to a halt, nearly toppling over a mailbox in the process. Hermione steadied herself and approached the bus as the doors creaked open.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor this evening," said a familiar, acne-covered face with a broad grin.
"Hello, Stan," Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly. "I need to get to Grimmauld Place. Urgently."
"Course, course," Stan replied, eyeing her with curiosity but nodding understandingly. "That'll be three Sickles. You got your fare ready, miss?"
Hermione quickly fished the coins from her bag and handed them to Stan. As she stepped inside, she was greeted by the sight of plush armchairs and brass bedsteads that seemed to have no particular order, all bolted to the floor. The air inside was musty and filled with the scent of old blankets and something vaguely medicinal.
The bus jerked forward before Hermione had a chance to sit down, sending her stumbling into an empty armchair. She clung to the armrests as the bus zoomed through the streets of London, moving with a speed and recklessness that would have made even the most seasoned roller-coaster rider feel queasy. Buildings and Christmas lights blurred into streaks of colour outside the windows.
"Won't be long now," Stan called from the front. "Just hold on tight!"
The bus swerved sharply, avoiding a traffic light by mere inches. Hermione's stomach lurched as they careened around a corner, narrowly missing a double-decker Muggle bus. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady her breathing, but the jolt of the bus kept her on edge. Every bounce and swerve felt like a miniature earthquake.
Suddenly, the bus screeched to a halt with another loud BANG, throwing Hermione forward in her seat. She opened her eyes to see the dimly lit streets of Grimmauld Place outside the window. The houses loomed tall and foreboding, their facades dark and unwelcoming.
"Here we are, Grimmauld Place," Stan announced, turning to her with a smile. "Safe and sound."
Hermione muttered her thanks and grabbed her holdall, stepping off the bus with a sense of relief. The Knight Bus vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving her alone in the cold, silent street. She took a deep breath and walked towards Number Twelve, her heart heavy with anticipation and worry.
As she reached the doorstep, the house revealed itself to her, its grim exterior no less daunting than before. Hermione steeled herself, clutching her holdall a little tighter. She knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. The door creaked open, and she was greeted by the familiar, oddly jolly face and the screams of his gloomy mother.
"Hermione," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and relief. "Come in, quickly."
She stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the house envelop her. The old, musty smell of the place was oddly comforting. Despite everything, she felt a sense of belonging amidst the worn carpets and ancient portraits.
"We weren't sure if you had changed your mind."
"No, I needed to be here," Hermione said simply, stepping into the warmth of the house. "How is Mr Weasley?"
"Stable, but it was a close call," Sirius replied, his tone serious. "Molly just got back from seeing him. The others are decorating the house to make things a bit more jolly around here."
Hermione nodded, feeling a wave of relief. "Thank you, Sirius. For everything."
"Always, Hermione," Sirius said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Mother! Would you please shut up!" he roared and shot a spell at the screaming portrait, covering it behind the tarp. "She never was one for family holidays," Sirius grinned.
Hermione followed Sirius into the dimly lit drawing room of Grimmauld Place, the scent of pine and cinnamon mingling with the house's usual mustiness. The room was a flurry of activity; strings of enchanted fairy lights twinkled above, garlands of holly and ivy were draped across the mantle, and baubles floated gently towards the enormous Christmas tree in the corner.
"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, rushing over to embrace her. "We were wondering when you'd get here!"
Ron, Fred, and George turned to greet her, each pausing in their decorating efforts. Ron was attempting to untangle a particularly stubborn string of lights while the twins were animatedly discussing the best placement for their newest invention—a singing Santa hat.
Mrs Weasley rushed over. "It's good to see you," she said, giving Hermione a crushingly wonderful hug. "Come help us make this place a bit more festive, will you?"
"Come help us make this place a bit more festive, will you?" Sirius said, his face lighting up with a giant smile.
Hermione set down her holdall and took in the scene, her worries momentarily lifted by the warmth of their welcome. She picked up a strand of silver tinsel and began to wrap it around the bannister, stealing glances at the others.
"So your dad's okay?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
"He's doing better," Ron said, his tone lightening. "Mum's still with him at St. Mungo's. She'll be back later tonight."
"That's a relief," Hermione said, letting out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
Fred and George exchanged a glance, then looked at Hermione with more serious expressions. "There's something else you need to know, Hermione," Fred began.
"Yeah," George continued. "Something we overheard at St. Mungo's when we first visited Dad."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she paused in her decorating. "What did you hear?"
Ginny bit her lip, glancing to see if her mother was listening. "We used the Extendable Ears to listen in on a conversation between some of the Order members. They were talking about Harry."
Sirius, who had been watching them with interest, nodded. "It's about the connection between Harry and Voldemort."
Ron nodded, his face serious. "They think Harry might be…possessed. By Voldemort."
Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. "What do you mean 'possessed'?"
"It's because of Harry's dream," Ginny explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "You know, the one where he saw Dad being attacked. They think that maybe Voldemort is using Harry to spy on us, to get into his mind and control him."
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest. "And Harry? How's he taking all of this?"
"He's been hiding upstairs with Buckbeak ever since he got back," Sirius said, his eyes darkening with concern. "He's convinced he's a danger to us all. Won't talk to anyone."
Hermione's face hardened with determination. "That's nonsense. Harry needs to quit feeling sorry for himself and realise we're all here for him."
"I'll make some sandwiches," Mrs Weasley said. "Convince him to eat something."
Without another word, she stormed out of the drawing room and up the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the house. She reached the door to the room where Harry was hiding and pounded on it with her fist.
"I know you're in there," said Hermione forcibly. "Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."