Or had they?

The 'thief' had certainly done a very good job. As Hermione studied the book frantically she noticed that there was no tear, no rip, not even the tiniest fragment of paper left in the join. Whoever took the page - or the words on them - must have removed it by magic, Hermione reasoned, which left a very focused shortlist for her search.

Suspicion fell immediately on her dorm-mates. Did that explain the sudden surge of interest in finding out all the intimate details of her relationship with Harry? She tentatively ruled that out. The girls had been ribbing her last night, too, as they all went to bed, and she hadn't even unpacked by that point. They'd all been at the Sorting Feast so there would have been no opportunity to steal her diary in the day, and they'd already started their playful teasing by then.

So if not them, then who?

Hermione had to think it was someone trying to use her to get information on Harry. It made the most sense. It was was more important and interesting. But even these suspects had perfect alibis. The girls from the Harry Potter Fan Club had no more opportunity for theft than the girls of Dorm Seven - less even, as the dorms were spelled to refuse access to those who weren't occupants, sort of like how vampires were kept at bay.

Hermione wanted to blame cute-nosed Sally-Anne, but she'd ridden with her from the Hogwarts Express and Hermione had spent the entire trip glaring at her. She had been watching where those hands were roaming, and they didn't go anywhere near her bags.

The list of potential culprits was growing thin.

Hermione debated with asking the other girls in her dorm if they had stolen the missing page, but she checked herself. If she came across as frantic about something missing from her diary they might think that she had something to hide, and the curiosity of teenage girls for a bit of gossip was an insatiable beast. She could kiss goodbye to privacy if she revealed that she was keeping juicy secrets from them.

So, no. She'd have to get to the bottom of this on her own. In any case, this problem wouldn't prevent her doing her homework. The bigger problem was if she would be able to sleep at all. With a panicked mind and frantically beating heart, she doubted rest would come easy.

Serves you right, a stern part of her brain told her, for pursuing this petty punishment of Harry.

Hermione huffed at that. An hour ago she was telling Harry that she didn't have sleep problems, while at the same time still holding his own careless transgressions against him that has caused his. Talk about karma! It wasn't his fault he was as blissfully ignorant as all other boys from time to time. He couldn't be too perfect, it'd be unnatural. He'd apologised without Hermione being specific with him about what his crime was.

That wasn't like her, or them. They'd been honest and transparent since almost the beginning, but Hermione now saw that it was she that was playing games, whereas Harry was just trying to make amends. Lyra had advised her to do what she would have done, the way she'd always toyed with the affections of the men in her life.

But that wasn't Hermione's way, and it wasn't how she wanted to be with Harry. So she fluffed her pillow briskly, and made a decision as she settled down to sleep. Tomorrow, first thing, she would find him, tell him why she'd been upset and clear the air completely. Yes, that was better. It was their way. And she'd have a whole month of Harry making it up to her in the most adorable of ways to enjoy in the aftermath.

Hermione smiled into her pillow. That was something to give her the most pleasant of dreams. Unfortunately for Hermione, the dreams she did have were far from pleasant. The Diary Page Thief would make sure of that.


The Thief also made sure that Hermione's clear-the-air meeting with Harry never happened.

Though in truth, Harry had a hand in this, too. For he spent much of the next week speeding between his classes, dodging out of sight whenever he saw any members of his fan club coming near. He learned that there were over a hundred students signed up, making it the most popular social club at the school. This didn't sit at all well with Harry, and simply fuelled the paranoia that he was being watched everywhere he went.

Even worse than his fans was the exuberant attentions Harry had attracted from Gilderoy Lockhart. The hapless Defence Professor had a habit of swooping up on Harry at the most random of times, as if drawn to him like a magnet, offering advice on how best to manage his fame and minor celebrity status. He would swing by at meal and break times, escort Harry between lessons if he happened to come across him in the corridors, and even sit with him during other classes. Or, at least, until the Professors teaching those lessons lost their patience and asked Lockhart to leave, with the minimum amount of civility their frayed nerves could spare.

Then there was Quidditch, which Harry was disappointed to find very rarely contained his personal cheerleader these days. Hermione would normally have been found in the stands, watching Harry while he was training or playing. She claimed that doing her homework in the fresh air was good for her, but Harry liked to think that she was simply there to be on hand if he had an accident or something.

Which was just what happened during the second Saturday training session of the new year. Hermione hadn't come along to watch again - not that Harry was too surprised, considering that Oliver Wood had been dragging the team out of bed at 7am for these gruelling workouts - and Harry trudged out into the pouring rain in quite the despondent mood. There was a damp chill over the grounds that morning, the rain was falling incessantly like little bullets, and they were all soaked through in a matter of minutes.

They were so damp, in fact, that at one point Harry lost his grip on his broom and crashed right into one of the scoring hoops.

"It's fine, just a bruise," Harry told Wood as they landed to investigate his injury. "I'll be alright."

"Okay, well, if you're sure," Wood replied bracingly, wiping rain from his fringe. "Get back up there."

"No you wont!" Alicia Spinnet told him crossly, as she landed by Harry and cradled his wrist. "That's more than just a bruise. The only place you're getting up to is the Hospital Wing. Don't argue, Oliver! Look at the swelling! We can carry on training without Harry. One more injury, though, and we're all calling it a day."

So Harry did as he was told. Madame Pomfrey gave him something for the pain and an ice strapping for his wrist, which he was still wearing by the time he entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

"What happened to your arm?" Neville asked as he joined Harry at the Gryffindor table.

"A incident involving me, a crazy Quidditch Captain and a twenty-mile-an-hour collision with a fifty-foot metal hoop!" Harry grimaced. "It looks worse than it is, though."

"I was going to say it looks like you are being a bit of a fart!" Neville teased. "Milking flesh wounds! What a pansy!"

"Shut up, Neville," Harry chuckled. "Have you seen Hermione? It's late for her."

"She's probably listening to Lockart's breakfast show on the Wizarding Wireless Network," Neville told him lightly. "He likes to have a live audience, so he does broadcasts from down in the school kitchens now. She might be there, actually. You know, Lockhart might have actually made that toast and jam you are eating."

Harry pushed his plate away in disgust. He'd lost his appetite ... and if Lockhart was cooking his meals now, Harry rather thought he'd never get it back again.

"I don't know what she sees in him," Harry moaned bitterly, stabbing his sausage slice with his fork. "I mean, she's always going to see him doing different things, and all she ever says is 'Gilderoy said this' or 'Gilderoy was wearing that'. I caught her rewriting her entire Charms essay the other day because Lockhart had been 'advising' her on structure. It was a good job I looked over it for her, because it was rubbish. I had to re-write tons of it when she went out for a walk with Lavender and Fay."

Neville quirked an eyebrow. "You re-wrote Hermione's essay?"

"I had to," Harry confessed. "I even had to learn a spell to make my handwriting look like hers. It was a good thing, too. I took it to McGonagall to have a look at, and she said it would have barely scraped an Acceptable."

"Wow, that isn't like Hermione, is it?" Neville frowned, looking concerned for the first time. "Did you tell her?"

"I've hardly seen her to," Harry replied. "But she'd have been devastated to get such a poor mark. There's something wrong with her, Nev. Ever since Lockhart arrived, she hasn't been the same. I wonder if he's got her under a spell or something. You must have noticed."

"Noticed what?"

Harry snapped his head up to see Hermione arriving at their table. Harry's heart sank, for Hermione was keeping up with her recent trend of sitting on the other side of the table to him, rather than what had been her regular spot by his side. Harry felt colder for not having her tucked close to his right arm. He sighed sadly and let his face sag with his shoulders.

"What must you have noticed?" Hermione repeated breezily, leaning over and stealing the sausage from Harry's plate.

"There's a whole platter of fresh Cumberlands just over there," Harry grumbled, nodding to the sausages nearby.

"Yes, but I wanted yours," Hermione grinned cheekily. "So, are you going to answer my question, or do I have to ask for the third time?"

Harry looked firmly at Neville and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"I was just saying how stupid Lockhart's homework is," Harry lied to her. "I haven't bothered doing it this week. He never asks anyway. He only seems to want to know what the girls are dreaming about. I reckon it's just because he loves it when you all say you're dreaming about him."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy there, Harry?" Hermione teased.

"No!" Harry scoffed brusquely. "Absolutely not! You can all dream about what you like."

"What's in your diary today then, Hermione?" Neville asked playfully. "I'll show you mine ... if you show me yours!"

Neville winked at Harry, who was looking daggers at him.

"I cant show you that!" Hermione squealed.

"Of course you can," Neville replied. "You'll only tell us during class, anyway."

"That's just because I have it memorised," Hermione sniffed loftily. "I mean, I literally cant show you, can I? Seeing as how the words fade into the page as soon as you write them, of course. It's a bit odd that they don't always come back in the same order, but maybe mine is just a bit defective. I'll have to ask Professor Gilderoy about that later."

Harry looked over at Neville in alarmed confusion. Quite clearly, his dream diary didn't behave in this way either, just as Harry's didn't. Harry was about to point this out to Hermione when she suddenly leapt up in animation.

"Come on, boys, we don't want to be late for History of Magic," she chimed brightly. "I want to pop to the loo on the way. I've been having the best wees lately, ever since I started using that disused toilet on the second floor. It's so much easier to go when there aren't other girls around to hear, I find. Well, apart from Moaning Myrtle, obviously. But she's just a ghost, so she doesn't really count."

Then she danced off, swinging her school satchel behind her. She hadn't noticed Harry's bandaged wrist at all.

"Okay, Harry, I'm onside," Neville muttered lowly as they left the Hall. "Something definitely isn't right with her."

Harry gave a weak smile. "Thanks. Glad it's not just me."

"We'll keep a closer eye on her from now on," Neville promised. "Though perhaps we should wait till she's off the toilet before we start! Unless, of course, you'd like to catch her with her knickers down!"

"Dont be disgusting!" Harry chuckled, then pushed Neville along the corridor to their classroom.


Harry and Neville were good to their word, and kept a far closer watch on Hermione after that. But, aside from a slightly more chipper attitude, they didn't notice much of a difference. It was true that she tended to spend more time polishing her nails than doing her homework these days, but she was a growing girl and they shrugged and accepted that this was just the 'new normal' for her.

After all, she was spending more and more time with the girls from her dorm than she was with Harry and Neville. Harry stopped hoping that she would turn up to watch him at Quidditch, got used to doing his homework by himself - while Hermione gossiped happily with Lavender and Parvati - and he could more often than not be found reading alone in the library, or taking long walks around the grounds with Hedwig rather than his best friend for company.

Neville tried with all his might, but he simply wasn't an adequate replacement for Hermione in Harry's world. There was much less laughter when Neville was your best friend, and more time spent pruning plants than Harry could tolerate. So he soon found himself swapping Neville for Hedwig, taking his faithful owl to quiet spots near the Great Lake or in the shadow of the Forbidden Forest, where they would while away the hours in companiable, if lonely, silence.

On September the Nineteenth, however, things came to a head.

Harry had prepared a nice surprise for Hermione for her birthday. Well, he thought it was nice anyway. Hagrid had told him that the school's flock of unicorns were in birthing season, and that a number of foals had been born just a few days ago. Aside from being extremely cute, these baby unicorns secreted a pheromone that had special healing properties for girls. And, as Hermione had been complaining of cramps all week, Harry thought this might help ease her discomfort, if only for her birthday.

At nine o'clock Harry was to be found waiting in the Entrance Hall as they'd agreed. There was no-one else about. Harry adjusted the clasp on his Farringdon Fliers cloak as he ambled around. He'd attached the fancy toggle that Hermione had produced in Transfiguration and he was trying to make it prominent on his chest, hoping she'd notice it. He was looking forward to seeing the foals, as Hagrid said this was a once-in-a-year opportunity. After tonight they'd retreat back into their habitats deeper in the Forest. Harry didn't want to miss this.

The minutes passed. Harry glanced up at the huge clock above him as the hands marked the arrival of quarter-past, then half-past. Harry started to get anxious. Had something happened to Hermione to make her so late? He couldn't imagine that it had. After all, he'd seen her less than two hours ago when they ate dinner.

Soon it was ten o'clock. Harry was now sat slumped on the Grand Staircase feeling thoroughly miserable. There was no sign of Hermione. He'd give it another ten minutes ... then he added another five, just in case. By the time half-past Ten came along he decided to give up and call it a night. Sighing heavily, he tucked his robe tight against the blistering cold of the draughty castle and started making his way along the glum corridors.

That was when he heard the voice.

Come to me ... let me rip you ... I smell flesh ... hungry, so hungry ...

It was a voice of chilled venom. Harry snapped his head around, this way and that, but all he could hear was the echo of that icy tone in his mind. And as the seconds sped past, he started to wonder if that was where he'd heard it ... in his mind. It was late, and he was tired. There were no more words, only the chilly tingle it had left on Harry's skin.

In his depressed state Harry hadn't really paid much mind to the direction he'd been taking. The icy voice had sent his senses onto high alert now, though, and he looked around in the gloom. Where was he?

He wished he hadn't asked.

A door opened just up ahead, and the simpering voice of Lockhart floated along the corridor. Harry was about to turn and dive into an empty classroom to hide when a second voice reached him from inside Lockhart's office.

"Well, thank you for helping me answer my fan mail," Lockhart was saying smoothly. "It's been a fun night, hasn't it? We'll have to do it again sometime."

"Oh yes! The absolute best. I can think of no better way to spend my birthday!"

Harry's heart fell. For it was Hermione who was speaking.

Harry sighed and felt angry tears rise behind his eyes. Or were they sad ones? He wasn't sure about that, but the pinch of disappointment around his heart was almost unbearable. That was in no doubt. Harry listened to Hermione saying goodnight to Lockhart, waited until her footsteps echoed nearby, then he stepped out.

"So this is where you've been?"

Hermione jumped in her fright and fell back against the opposite wall, clutching at her heart.

"Harry!" she yelped angrily. "What in the hell are you playing at? Why are you hiding in an empty classroom?"

"I was just wondering where you might be," Harry replied quietly. He wasn't going to apologise for scaring her. "You were supposed to meet me, remember?"

"I was? Why?" Hermione asked, confused.

"I was going to show you a surprise, I told you," Harry reminded her.

"Was that tonight?" Hermione squeaked. "I'm sorry, Harry. I completely forgot."

"Completely forgot?" Harry scythed, taking a step nearer to her in the dark. "Forgot that we were going to spend some time together on your birthday?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, but she didn't sound like she meant it. "What was the surprise?"

"I was going to show you some newborn unicorns," Harry grumbled. "But it's too late now."

"Ooh, that sounds lovely!" Hermione beamed. "We can go now. Come on!"

She reached out for him, but Harry tugged his arm away. "Didn't you hear me? It's too late. They're gone."

"Then we can catch them. It's only the Forbidden Forest."

"Stop being stupid," Harry snapped furiously. "It doesn't suit you. You're spending too much time with that bimbo back there. It's making you dumb."

"Harry ..."

"Dont 'Harry' me! I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't like it. I don't like who you're becoming, what you're turning into."

"What does that mean?" Hermione demanded.

"It means that ..." Harry took a gulping breath. This was going to hurt him badly. "I ... I don't want to be friends anymore."

"What? Harry, come on. Don't say that."

Hermione reached over and took a handful of his cloak in her hands.

"Let go of me!" Harry yelled. He yanked himself away... hard. The handsome toggle came away in Hermione's hand. She looked at it in a stream of moonlight from a high window. When she looked up again her eyes were moist with tears ... and something had broken within her.

"Harry ... please!"

"I don't think we should be friends anymore," Harry insisted firmly. "You can have old Lockhart and spend your time with him. I'm done."

Then he started walking off.

"Harry ... wait ... please!" Hermione begged, hurrying after him. "I'm sorry ... I'm ..."

But whatever else she was got lost within a whoosh of runic magic, as Harry cast his wand over his retreating shoulder and blocked the corridor off with a powerful barrier. He didn't look back. Hermione fell to her knees behind it, weeping profusely as Harry stormed off into the night.

"Harry! I'm sorry! It's not me. It's these dreams I've been having ... and that diary. I'm sorry, Harry."

"He can't hear you. He's long gone."

"Pap! There you are! Where have you been?" Hermione shrieked. She reached out for her dæmon ... but he backed away from her, too. Hermione's heart went cold. "Pap ... come to me."

"No," Papageno replied firmly. "Not unless you get rid of that diary. Tonight."

"But I don't know if I can," Hermione moaned. "It knows me so well. I need it. I cant get Gilderoy to love me without it."

Even as she said the words, Hermione realised how laughably ludicrous they were.

"Did I actually just say that?"

"You did," Papageno confirmed. "And it's the sort of rubbish you've been spouting for weeks. That diary is putting ideas into your head. Get rid of it."

"I cant."

"Then I'll give you a simple choice," Papageno replied flatly. "The diary and this fallacy of Lockhart ... or nobody."

"Nobody?"

"Well, you've already lost Harry," Papageno reminded her, the words cutting to Hermione's heart like a hot knife. "And if you don't get rid of the diary you'll lose me, too. I'll go away and not come back."

"No, Pap! You can't!"

"I can ... and I will. So choose."

Hermione wailed in the corridor. This was so hard, how could she be expected to make such a decision! And had she really lost Harry? What a stupid thing to say! But she had. And she knew it more certainly than anything ... and the pain of the understanding caused her own magic to flare from her like Harry's could do.

And whatever enchantment had been holding her was snapped away like a scab being ripped from a wound.

Hermione had her first clear thought in what felt like weeks. It was like a headache she didn't know she had was suddenly lifted from her skull. What was she doing here, crying on the floor outside Lockhart's classroom? Had she really been helping him reply to fan mail? Had she really missed out on seeing baby unicorns? She would scorn herself for that in the days to come.

But, most importantly, had she hurt Harry beyond repair? She didn't know what to do.

So her dæmon told her for her.

"Go to your room. Now," Papageno advised sternly. "Get the diary. Take it to Harry. Tonight. Crawl on your hands and knees if you have to, if that's what it takes to get him to talk to you. Tell him everything. Then get rid of the cursed thing."

"Yes, yes I will," Hermione announced, standing up and drying her eyes. "Do you really think he meant that? That he doesn't want to be friends anymore?"

"Maybe, but not in the way you're on about," Pap quirked lightly, which sparked a fire of hope in Hermione's heart. "But you realise that that is a long way off now, don't you? It's going to take a long time to earn his trust again, let alone his affections. You'll have to start right from the beginning because of all the hurt you've caused him."

"If that's what it takes," Hermione replied determinedly. "Now, how do I get through this shield?"

"Harry has no defence against the real you," Papageno told her. "He couldn't keep that Hermione Granger away."

"Let's see if you're right," Hermione grinned fiercely.

Then she stepped right through Harry's barrier as though it were nothing more than a ray of light, and began the long run all the way to Gryffindor Tower.