Monday morning arrived with a crisp chill, and Hermione felt ready to tackle the new week after a much-needed weekend of rest. She dressed in her Gryffindor robes and joined Lily and Marlene at breakfast, eager to see what her one new class of the day, Charms, would hold. The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, students discussing the weekend's events and dreading the start of another week.

Lily was in high spirits as they settled at the Gryffindor table. "Charms today! One of my favourites. Flitwick always keeps things interesting. You'll love him, Mina."

Hermione nodded, feeling a sense of comfort at the mention of Charms. It had always been one of her best subjects, and she was eager to see what an advanced N.E.W.T.-level lesson would be like. "I'm looking forward to it. Flitwick's a fantastic teacher," she said automatically, then quickly added, "Or so I've heard."

Lily didn't seem to notice the slip, beaming as she buttered her toast. "He's brilliant. Always manages to make even the most complex spells seem doable."

Marlene joined them, flopping into her seat. "Let's hope we get to do something cool today. I need a bit of excitement to wake me up."

After breakfast, they made their way to the Charms classroom, where Professor Flitwick was already perched on his stack of books, welcoming students as they trickled in. Hermione took her seat, feeling that familiar thrill she always got in Charms, even as she reminded herself to keep her enthusiasm in check.

"Good morning, class!" Professor Flitwick greeted them, his voice cheerful and slightly squeaky. "Today, we'll be tackling something very advanced: the Patronus Charm. It's a particularly difficult spell, even for seasoned witches and wizards, but it's excellent practice for focusing intent and control."

A ripple of excitement ran through the room. The Patronus Charm was far beyond what was normally taught, and even the seventh-years seemed eager for the challenge. Hermione felt a surge of anticipation; she had mastered the charm during the war, and her Patronus—a bright, playful otter—had always been a source of comfort. But she reminded herself to be careful; she couldn't afford to stand out too much.

Flitwick demonstrated first, his tiny wand producing a silvery burst of light that quickly formed into a shimmering raven that swooped elegantly around the room before dissipating. "The key is to focus on a happy memory—one powerful enough to fuel the charm. Now, pair up and give it a try!"

Hermione found herself paired with Lily, who looked excited but slightly apprehensive. "I've never quite managed it fully," Lily admitted. "I can get some light, but no form."

Hermione smiled reassuringly. "It's tricky, but you'll get there." She was careful to keep her own wand movements slow and controlled, guiding the charm but holding back just enough to seem like she was still learning.

Meanwhile, across the room, the Marauders were causing their usual chaos. Sirius had immediately summoned a burst of silver light that formed into a massive dog, which bounded around the room, knocking over Flitwick's books in the process.

"Oops!" Sirius grinned, unrepentant, as the tiny professor quickly flicked his wand to restore order. "Sorry, Professor! Guess Padfoot got a little excited."

James was next, producing a magnificent stag that pranced around the room, drawing gasps from a few of the younger students who had poked their heads in to watch. Peter's attempt, however, resulted in a weak puff of light that fizzled out almost immediately, earning teasing encouragement from his friends.

Hermione watched them with a mix of amusement and nostalgia, but when it was her turn, her mood shifted. She raised her wand, feeling the familiar pull of the spell. "Expecto Patronum," she whispered, focusing on a memory she'd always used—one of warmth and safety, of moments spent with Harry and Ron by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. But this time, only a faint, formless wisp of silver light emerged before flickering out.

A surge of frustration flared up inside her. She had gotten over this already. She had managed to cast it even with dementors in the room back at the Ministry when they had snuck in for the locket—why was it failing her now? She tried again, pushing harder, but the results were no better. The silver light remained faint, flickering out before it could even begin to form her Patronus.

"Just needs a bit more focus, Mina," Lily said encouragingly, noticing the light wisp of her spell.

Hermione's jaw tightened, and she tried again, her irritation bubbling up. "Expecto Patronum!" she snapped, but the charm fizzled out, stubbornly refusing to take shape.

Flitwick approached, his expression sympathetic but slightly puzzled. "It's alright, Miss Delacour. You've got the beginnings of it—don't be discouraged."

But Hermione was beyond trying to be patient. She clenched her wand tightly, forcing herself to take deep breaths. "I should be able to do it," she muttered, too quiet for Flitwick to hear but loud enough for Lily to notice the strain in her voice.

Lily glanced at her, brows furrowed. "It's a really advanced spell. You're doing fine."

Hermione forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She could feel the sting of failure, irrational as it was, and the pressure of holding up her disguise was too much. Without another word, she stormed out of the classroom, her frustration boiling over. She could hear the murmurs of surprise behind her, but she didn't look back.

Hermione's footsteps echoed in the corridor as she marched away, her cheeks flushed with anger—mostly at herself. She knew she was being unreasonable, that it was just one class, one spell, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was losing control. She had always prided herself on her abilities, and to fail at something she was usually so good at felt like everything slipping through her fingers.

Mina's sudden exit from the Charms classroom left a tense silence hanging over the room, the sound of the door slamming echoing long after she'd gone. Remus watched her go, feeling a pang of familiarity at the look on her face—frustration, anger, and something deeper, the kind of weight you carried when things felt beyond your control.

The rest of the class tried to refocus on their Patronus practice, but whispers buzzed around the room, students exchanging confused glances and murmurs about what had just happened.

"What's her problem?" muttered a Hufflepuff girl, her brow furrowed. "It's just a spell."

"What was that about?" Marlene whispered, bewildered.

"Must be hard when things don't come easily for once," James said, though his tone lacked its usual teasing edge. He seemed more puzzled than anything, watching the door Mina had stormed through.

Sirius snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Didn't peg her for having a temper. Guess even the perfect ones crack."

Remus glanced at the door, concerned but unsure what had set her off. "Maybe it's just nerves… but still, that was a bit much."

Remus tried to turn his attention back to his own wand, but his mind kept drifting back to Mina's exit, replaying the sharpness in her voice, the way she'd stormed out without a second glance. He knew that feeling—the pressure to perform, to meet the expectations you set for yourself. And failing, even in front of people who were your friends, stung in a way that was hard to shake off.

After the tense Charms lesson, Remus made his way to Ancient Runes with an unsettled feeling. Mina's sudden departure had left everyone on edge, and he hoped she might be feeling better by now. When he and Lily entered the classroom, however, he spotted Mina already seated off to the side, her head bowed over her parchment. She'd chosen a spot next to a quiet Ravenclaw girl, clearly avoiding familiar faces.

Remus exchanged a brief look with Lily as they took their seats. Mina's rigid posture and intense focus on her notes spoke volumes; she was still stewing, and she didn't want company.

Lily leaned closer to Remus, keeping her voice low. "She's really taking this to heart. I thought she'd brush it off by now."

Remus nodded, his gaze flicking back to Mina. "Yeah… I didn't expect her to be this upset." He watched as Mina continued to scribble furiously, clearly more focused on avoiding everyone than on the runes in front of her.

Throughout the lesson, Remus found it hard to concentrate. His mind kept drifting to Mina, to the way she was practically hiding in plain sight. Her quill moved at a frantic pace, but it wasn't about the work—it was a way to keep herself locked away, to shut out the embarrassment and frustration still lingering from Charms. Remus wanted to say something, to offer some reassurance, but the way she kept her head down told him she wouldn't welcome any attempts at comfort.

Lily glanced over at Mina again, her expression a mix of concern and uncertainty. "I wish I knew how to approach her. It's hard to know what to say when you've only just met someone."

Remus gave a small shrug, though he understood the sentiment. "Yeah, she's hard to read. I don't think it's just about today, though. It feels… bigger."

The lesson dragged on, and when it finally ended, Mina was the first to leave. She gathered her things with quick, sharp movements, slipping out of the room before anyone could catch her. She didn't look back, and Remus and Lily were left watching her disappear into the throng of students in the corridor.

Lily hesitated, glancing at Remus. "Do you think we should follow her? I mean, it's not like we know her that well, but…"

Remus shook his head, his own uncertainty mirrored in Lily's tone. "No, better to give her some space. I don't think she's ready to talk yet."

Lunch in the Great Hall was its usual noisy chaos, filled with the clatter of plates, the chatter of students, and the occasional burst of laughter from the Gryffindor table. But despite the lively atmosphere, Remus couldn't help but feel distracted. He kept glancing toward the entrance, expecting Mina to walk in at any moment. After their tense morning in Charms and the quiet, uneasy Ancient Runes class, Remus had hoped to see her at lunch, a sign that she was ready to rejoin the group, but she never appeared.

Lily, sitting beside him, also kept looking toward the door. She fiddled absently with her fork, poking at her food without much interest. "I thought she'd show up by now," Lily said, her voice laced with a mix of worry and frustration. "I didn't think she'd still be hiding out."

Remus nodded, his concern deepening. "Yeah, me neither. She seemed off in Runes too… wouldn't even look our way."

Peter, who had just joined them after Divination, looked around, his brow furrowing. "Are we talking about Mina? She didn't show up for lunch?"

"Nope," Sirius replied, glancing over from where he was buttering a roll. "Still in hiding, I guess. Probably embarrassed. Can't say I blame her, but it's been hours. How long does she need?"

James, who had spent the free period with Sirius, shrugged but looked concerned. "Maybe she's just cooling off somewhere. Can't be easy being new and having a blow-up like that."

Remus listened to his friends' speculations, but the knot in his stomach tightened with each passing minute. Mina's absence was unusual; she didn't strike him as the type to wallow or avoid things for long. And after seeing how she'd shut herself off in Ancient Runes, he couldn't shake the feeling that something more was going on.

As lunch wore on and students began finishing up, Remus leaned closer to James, his voice low. "James, you've got the map with you, right?"

James raised an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden question but nodded. "Yeah, it's in my bag. Why?"

Remus glanced around, making sure no one else was paying attention. "I think we should check on Mina. She's been gone a while, and she didn't come to lunch. I don't think she's just cooling off."

James's expression grew serious as he caught the urgency in Remus's tone. "Alright, let's find somewhere quiet."

They slipped out of the Great Hall, Sirius and Peter trailing after them with curiosity. Finding an empty classroom, James pulled out the well-worn piece of parchment, his wand at the ready. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said, tapping the Marauder's Map.

Remus's eyes quickly scanned the map, searching for Mina's name. After a moment, he found her—tucked away in the kitchens, far from the busy corridors and bustling classrooms. It was clear she was seeking solitude, but Remus's heart sank at the thought of her hiding away like that.

"She's in the kitchens," Remus said, pointing to her name. "Looks like she really wants to be alone."

Sirius glanced over, his usual carefree demeanour softening. "Makes sense, I guess. It's quiet down there, and the house-elves don't pry."

James studied the map, watching Mina's dot as it hovered near the centre of the kitchen. "Maybe she just needed some time. But she's been avoiding us since Charms."

Remus felt the sting of that reality. Mina had barely acknowledged him in Runes, and he didn't want to push her if she wasn't ready. But the thought of her sitting alone, stewing in her frustration, made him anxious. She needed someone, even if she didn't realise it.

"I don't think she'd want to talk to me right now," Remus admitted, feeling a pang of helplessness. "She's been avoiding us… but maybe she'd talk to you, James. You're not as—"

"Entangled?" James offered with a knowing smile, though his expression was gentle. "Yeah, I get it. I'm not right in the middle of it."

Remus nodded, grateful for James's willingness. "Yeah. Maybe she just needs a face she's not so… caught up with. Someone who's not as close."

James folded up the map, slipping it back into his bag. "I'll head down there and see how she's doing. I'll keep it light. Sometimes all you need is a distraction."

Sirius clapped James on the back, his smile genuine. "Go on, Prongs. Charm her with that famous Potter wit. You're good at that."

James rolled his eyes but couldn't help the small grin. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not making any promises, but I'll try."

With that, James headed off toward the kitchens, the other Marauders watching him go. Remus let out a slow breath, hoping that James's easygoing presence would be exactly what Mina needed—a reminder that she didn't have to figure everything out on her own, that it was okay to lean on someone, even just a little.

After the disastrous Charms lesson, Hermione couldn't shake the burning embarrassment of her outburst. She'd stormed out like a child who couldn't handle not being the best, and the thought of facing her classmates—especially Lily and Remus—made her stomach twist uncomfortably. When Ancient Runes came around, she slipped into the classroom early, deliberately choosing a seat beside a quiet Ravenclaw student she didn't know.

The girl beside her was absorbed in her notes, barely acknowledging Hermione's presence, which suited her just fine. Hermione buried herself in her work, furiously copying down translations and avoiding eye contact with anyone. She kept her head low, focusing on the intricate runes on the parchment before her, though her mind kept drifting back to the Charms classroom, her failed attempts, and the looks of surprise from her friends.

Throughout the lesson, Hermione avoided glancing over at Lily or Remus. She felt their occasional looks—Lily's filled with concern, Remus's slightly confused but sympathetic—but she pretended not to notice. She didn't want to talk about what had happened, and she certainly didn't want to hear reassurances that felt like pity.

The class went on, but Hermione barely registered the content. She was too busy berating herself for her behaviour. Why had she let her emotions get the better of her? Why had she snapped at her friends, who were only trying to help?

When the lesson finally ended, Hermione gathered her things in a hurry, determined to slip out before Lily or Remus could catch her. She ducked her head and moved swiftly, disappearing into the crowded corridor before either of them had the chance to call her name.

Hermione knew she was being childish, but she couldn't face them—not yet. She needed time to cool down, to put on her composed mask again. She wandered the castle aimlessly, her mind racing with a mix of regret and frustration, and when lunchtime came, she didn't bother to head to the Great Hall. The thought of sitting at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by curious glances and whispered questions, was too much to bear.

Instead, she headed towards the basement, moving swiftly and deliberately through the familiar broad stone corridors until she reached the large painting of the fruit bowl. She reached up and tickled the pear, the portrait swinging open to reveal the entrance to the kitchens.

The warmth and bustle of the house-elves greeted her, and Hermione felt a rush of comfort as she stepped inside. It was quieter here, away from the noise and scrutiny of the Great Hall, and she breathed in the scent of fresh bread and roasted vegetables.

A tiny house-elf with big, bright eyes hurried up to her. "Miss needs something to eat?" the elf asked, its ears twitching with eagerness.

Hermione managed a small smile. "Just something light, maybe some soup?"

The elf nodded enthusiastically and disappeared, returning moments later with a steaming bowl of soup and a plate of bread. Hermione thanked the elf, settling into a small table tucked away in the corner of the kitchen, grateful for the solitude. She stirred her soup absently, her mind still churning over the morning's events.

As she sipped her soup, the warmth slowly spreading through her, Hermione tried to collect herself. She knew she had overreacted in class, but everything felt off-balance. She was out of her time, pretending to be someone she wasn't, and the constant pressure of maintaining her cover was wearing on her more than she wanted to admit. Her failure in Charms, a spell she knew she could perform flawlessly, had been the tipping point.

But even here, tucked away from prying eyes, Hermione couldn't fully relax. She could only imagine what her friends were thinking—what Lily and Remus must have made of her abrupt exit, or the Marauders' snide jokes about her not being perfect for once. She wasn't ready to face them, not while she still felt raw and embarrassed.

Hermione finished her meal in silence, grateful for the comfort of the kitchens and the gentle, unintrusive presence of the house-elves. She would have to face everyone eventually, but for now, she let herself linger in the quiet warmth, hoping that by the time her next class rolled around, she'd be able to pull herself back together.

Hermione lingered in the kitchens longer than she'd intended, savouring the quiet away from the judging eyes of her classmates. She was still nursing her soup when the door swung open, and a familiar figure stepped inside, looking slightly out of place amidst the bustling house-elves.

James Potter.

Hermione blinked, surprised to see him there. For a moment, she wondered how he'd found her, but then it hit her—the Marauders' Map. She'd almost forgotten about that magical artefact, but of course, James had it. Her heart skipped a beat as she panicked internally. If the map showed her true name—Hermione Granger—she'd be exposed. Her mind whirled with the implications: How could she have been so careless?

But as James approached, there was no look of shock or suspicion on his face, only a curious tilt of his head and a wry smile. "There you are, Delacour. Been looking for you."

Hermione forced a smile, trying to keep her panic at bay. "How did you—?"

James shrugged casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Lucky guess. The castle's got a lot of places to hide, but I figured you might end up somewhere quiet. With food."

Her mind raced through possibilities of how the map might show her as Mina Delacour, and she reasoned that the map must pull its information from the Hogwarts wards. Since she was officially enrolled as Mina Delacour, that's how she appeared. It was a relief, but the brief scare still left her heart racing.

James interrupted her thoughts, his expression softening as he looked at her. "Lily and Remus were worried when you didn't show up for lunch. You alright?"

Hermione hesitated, still reeling from her internal panic. She hadn't expected James, of all people, to find her, let alone ask if she was okay. But something about his demeanour, the familiar set of his jaw, the way he seemed to radiate concern, reminded her so much of Harry that it caught her off guard. She'd been holding everything in, pretending she was fine, but now, sitting across from someone who looked so much like her best friend, the words spilled out before she could stop them.

"I'm sorry for storming out," Hermione said, her voice wavering with frustration and embarrassment. "I just—I've been able to do the Patronus Charm perfectly for years. It hasn't always been easy for me, but I've cracked it. Had it down to a pat. And today, it just… wouldn't work. It's like everything I know how to do is slipping away."

James watched her carefully, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered her words. "I think you're being a little hard on yourself," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "New school, nothing is familiar. I think it's natural if things are off-kilter a bit."

Hermione stared into her bowl, the soup long forgotten. "I know it's stupid. I just—I'm used to being able to handle things. And right now, everything feels… wrong."

James nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's not stupid. It's frustrating when you've got high expectations for yourself, and suddenly you're not meeting them. But it doesn't mean you've lost it, Mina. You just need to give yourself a break."

Hermione let out a shaky laugh, a bit of her frustration bleeding away. "You're probably right. It's just hard to admit that."

James leaned back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It's alright to not be perfect all the time. Besides, you're allowed to have an off day. No one's keeping score but you."

Hermione nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude that she hadn't expected to find in James Potter. His words were simple, but they were exactly what she needed to hear. "Thanks, Potter. I guess I needed that."

He grinned, standing up and stretching. "I have my moments. But seriously, don't beat yourself up. We all have those days."

As James left the kitchens, Hermione watched him go, feeling a surprising sense of comfort in his words. She hadn't expected to find any solace in a conversation with James Potter, but his calm, almost brotherly reassurance reminded her that it was okay to struggle, to not always have things under control.

For the first time that day, Hermione felt a little less alone, her worries not completely gone, but softened by the understanding of someone who, despite everything, felt a little like home.

Hermione walked into her Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with her nerves still frayed from the morning. She tried to focus on James's words, reminding herself to take things one step at a time, but her anxiety was bubbling dangerously close to the surface. She was barely holding it together, and today's class was the last thing she needed.

Professor Winklebottom, a stern, wiry wizard with a penchant for unpredictability, had once again decided to keep the class on their toes. The lesson started with an abrupt spell demonstration that sent half the class ducking under their desks—a jinx that ricocheted off the walls before slamming into a shield charm he'd conjured at the last second.

"Constant vigilance!" he barked, echoing Moody's infamous mantra—or maybe Moody learned from this piece of work—and Hermione felt her pulse quicken. "Dark creatures, jinxes, curses—they don't wait for you to be ready! Always expect the unexpected!"

Hermione's grip tightened on her wand. She was good at Defense; maybe not perfect, it was decidedly Harry's strong point, but she'd been through real battles, faced horrors beyond what most of these students could even imagine. But today, with every sharp command and every unexpected hex thrown their way, she felt like she was back on the battlefield, her instincts screaming at her to dodge, deflect, survive.

To make things worse, Winklebottom divided the class into mixed-house pairs, Gryffindors paired with Slytherins. Hermione found herself partnered with a sharp-eyed Slytherin boy she didn't know the name of, who seemed just as unimpressed with the pairing as she was. The tension was palpable, and it only made the entire exercise feel more hostile.

"Defend, counter, and don't hold back!" Winklebottom shouted, his eyes darting around the room as students reluctantly faced off. "This is no time to be friendly! The enemy won't care if you're tired or upset—so show me what you've got!"

Hermione squared off against her Slytherin partner, her movements sharp and precise as she blocked and countered each spell thrown her way. Her wand moved fluidly, muscle memory guiding her actions even as her mind spiralled. But every spell that whizzed past her felt like a shot of adrenaline, spiking her anxiety higher and higher.

Her partner was aggressive, sending hex after hex her way with a smirk that only deepened her frustration. Hermione deflected each one with practised ease, but every sharp impact of magic felt like a blow to her fraying nerves. She was managing, performing well even, but inside she was unravelling, teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

Winklebottom praised her defence, shouting compliments across the room, but the words barely registered. All she could feel was the tightness in her chest, the creeping sense that she was about to lose control. The classroom was too loud, too chaotic, and every sudden movement or shouted incantation made her flinch.

She felt trapped—trapped in her own head, trapped in the past, where every spell and every hex could mean life or death. She knew it wasn't rational, but it didn't stop the memories from clawing their way up, threatening to overwhelm her.

"Delacour, that was excellent!" Winklebottom's voice broke through, jolting her back to the present. Hermione forced a tight smile, nodding mechanically, but inside she was anything but calm.

The rest of the class dragged on, every second stretching painfully. By the time Winklebottom finally called it to an end, Hermione was barely holding herself together. She packed up her things with shaking hands, avoiding the curious glances from her classmates as she made her way toward the door.

"Mina, you alright?" Lily asked, catching up to her. There was genuine concern in her eyes, but Hermione couldn't handle it—not now, not when she felt like she was seconds away from shattering.

"I'm fine," Hermione said shortly, her voice sharper than she intended. "Just… it's been a long day."

Lily looked taken aback but nodded, clearly unsure how to respond. "Alright, but if you need—"

"I'm fine," Hermione repeated, more forcefully this time, before quickly turning away. She couldn't let anyone see how close she was to breaking down. Not here, not now.

She rushed out of the classroom, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she tried to find somewhere, anywhere, she could catch her breath. Her mind was spinning, the walls of the castle feeling too close, too suffocating. She ducked into a small alcove, pressing her back against the cool stone as she struggled to get her breathing under control.

Hermione closed her eyes, counting her breaths, trying to ground herself. It was just a lesson, just a class, but everything felt like too much. She'd thought she could handle it all, but the constant pressure of pretending, of keeping up appearances, was eating away at her. She felt fragile, like the slightest push would send her over the edge.

She clenched her wand tightly, the familiar weight of it both a comfort and a reminder. She'd survived worse than this, she told herself. She could survive this, too. But as the minutes ticked by, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was still fighting a battle—only this time, it was with herself.

With a free period ahead, Hermione made a quick decision. She needed to get away—to be alone, to let out the frustration that had been building up inside her all day.

She headed towards the lake, slipping through the crowded corridors and out into the open grounds. The crisp autumn air was a shock to her system, sharp and bracing, but it was exactly what she needed. She walked with purpose, making her way toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest where the landscape was quieter, more secluded. The towering trees loomed in the distance, their dark branches whispering secrets she didn't want to hear, but Hermione wasn't interested in the forest today.

She found a secluded spot near the water's edge, far enough from the castle and its prying eyes. The lake's surface was calm, reflecting the grey sky above, but inside, Hermione felt anything but peaceful. Her emotions were swirling—anger, embarrassment, anxiety—and she needed to release them before they tore her apart.

Hermione took a deep breath and pulled out her wand, feeling its familiar weight in her hand. There was something cathartic about spellwork when it was just her, alone, with no one to watch or judge. Today, she didn't need precision or control. She needed to feel the raw power of magic, to let it explode outward like the frustration she'd been bottling up.

She raised her wand and shouted, "Reducto!" The spell shot out in a bright blue blast, hitting a nearby rock and shattering it into pieces. The sound was loud and satisfying, a sharp crack that echoed across the water. Hermione's pulse quickened, the rush of power and release easing some of the tension in her chest.

"Diffindo!" she yelled, slicing through the air, the severing charm cutting cleanly through a low-hanging branch. It fell with a satisfying thud, and she watched the leaves scatter, feeling the smallest bit of calm return to her.

She continued, casting spell after spell, the explosions of magic cracking through the silence. Each burst of energy, each impact, felt like a release. She aimed at rocks, branches, anything that would bear the brunt of her frustration. Her wand moved fluidly, directing her anger into powerful, destructive bursts that sent debris flying.

With each spell, she felt the pressure inside her lessen, the tight coil of anxiety slowly unwinding. She didn't have to be perfect here; she didn't have to hold anything back. Here, it was just her, her wand, and the pure, explosive force of her magic.

"Confringo!" Hermione cast with a fierce determination, and a nearby log exploded into splinters, sending shards scattering across the ground. She felt a brief surge of satisfaction, the kind she hadn't felt all day.

The spells left scorch marks on the earth, and the air smelled faintly of smoke and burned wood. Hermione's breathing was ragged, but the overwhelming rush of adrenaline had finally ebbed. She sank down onto a rock, exhausted but relieved, her wand still clutched tightly in her hand.

The silence settled around her, punctuated only by the distant rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. Hermione leaned forward, resting her forehead against her knees, letting the cool breeze wash over her. It wasn't a perfect solution—it didn't fix everything—but it was enough for now.

She knew she couldn't keep up this pace forever; she would have to find a better way to cope with the stress and strain of pretending to be someone she wasn't. But today, she'd needed this—needed the chance to let go, to be messy, to not have to worry about anyone else.

Hermione stared out at the lake, watching as the surface rippled in the wind. She would go back soon, face her friends and her responsibilities. But for now, she allowed herself this moment of imperfect, explosive solitude.

That is, until she heard slow, deliberate clapping behind her. The sound was sharp and unexpected, slicing through the quiet like one of her own spells. She whirled around, her heart lurching in her chest, wand raised defensively before she could think better of it.

Standing a few yards away, leaning casually against a tree with a smirk that could only belong to one person, was Sirius Black. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, his arms crossed, and his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something else—something that made Hermione's pulse quicken.

"Well, well," Sirius drawled, clapping slowly as he sauntered closer. "That was quite the show."

Hermione's grip tightened on her wand, anger flaring in her chest. She'd come here to be alone, to work out her frustrations in peace, and now Sirius of all people had shown up, grinning like he'd just caught her in the middle of something far more scandalous than a bit of destructive spellwork.

"What are you doing here, Black?" she snapped, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. But deep down, she knew exactly how he'd found her. That sodding map. Harry had never been so obnoxious with it.

Sirius shrugged, unfazed by her hostility. "I was bored. Took a walk. Heard some explosions. Figured I'd check it out." He paused, tilting his head in a way that was almost maddeningly casual. "And look what I found—Miss Perfect blowing up rocks. Who would've thought?"

"Have you been following me?" she accused, the words laced with frustration. "Or was this just another lucky guess?"

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk never faltered. "Relax, Minnie beanie. It's not like you're hard to find when you're blasting half the forest apart. Impressive, though. Didn't think you had it in you to cut loose."

Hermione glared at him and his casual nicknames, every nerve in her body still buzzing from the spellwork and the unexpected intrusion. "I needed to blow off some steam. I didn't think I'd be interrupted."

Sirius watched her for a moment, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. He looked around at the scorched earth, the shattered rocks, the signs of her frustration laid bare, and for a brief second, there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

"Sometimes it's better out than in," he said finally, his tone oddly sincere. "I get it."

Hermione turned away, staring out at the lake again, trying to calm the storm of emotions that Sirius's presence had stirred up. She didn't want his understanding, didn't want to feel seen by him of all people. She wanted to stay angry, to keep that protective wall up.

But Sirius just stood there, not pressing, not teasing—just quietly existing beside her, and it was almost worse than the mocking she'd expected.

After a long silence, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "You know, whatever's got you all twisted up—it's okay not to have it all together. And it's okay to break a few things along the way."

Hermione let out a shaky breath, her anger ebbing away as quickly as it had come. She didn't know what to say, so she settled for a simple nod, still not looking at him.

Sirius gave her a final nod in return before turning to leave, his usual swagger replaced with something more subdued. "See you around, Princess. And hey, next time you feel like blowing something up, let me know. I've got a few suggestions."

With that, he walked away, leaving Hermione alone by the lake once more. She watched his retreating figure, her emotions a tangled mess, unsure whether to feel grateful or annoyed. But one thing was clear: the moment of solitude she'd craved was over, leaving her with a lot more to think about than when she'd first arrived.

Remus sat on his bed in the Marauder dorm, his mind far from the playful chaos around him. The usual evening banter bounced off the walls—James and Sirius were tossing socks back and forth, trying to see who could get one to stick to the chandelier, while Peter lounged in the corner, occasionally offering snarky commentary on their increasingly ridiculous attempts. But Remus barely registered any of it. His thoughts kept drifting back to lunch, replaying James's rundown of what had happened when he found Mina in the kitchens.

James had approached her cautiously, catching her off guard as she sat hunched over a bowl of soup. She had looked rattled—angry at herself, frustrated, and struggling to find her footing. "I've been able to do the Patronus Charm perfectly for years," she confessed to James, the frustration clear in her voice. "And today, it just… wouldn't work. Everything feels wrong."

Remus had listened to James recount the conversation, each word deepening his concern. Mina was holding herself to impossible standards, and when she faltered, it was like the entire world was crashing down around her. James had done his best to reassure her, to tell her it was alright to be off balance sometimes, but Remus couldn't shake the feeling that Mina was still carrying far more than she was letting on.

His thoughts were interrupted when Sirius lobbed a sock in his direction, bouncing it off Remus's shoulder. "Oi, Moony," Sirius called, his smirk fading slightly when he noticed Remus's distracted expression. "You've been staring off into space for ages. You alright?"

Remus blinked, snapping out of his thoughts, but the worry lingered in his eyes. "Yeah, just… thinking. Mina didn't come to dinner either."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, setting the sock aside and leaning forward with a more serious expression. "Still no sign of her? I thought after James talked to her, she'd come around."

Remus shook his head, the knot in his stomach tightening again. "She's struggling more than I think any of us realised. James said she was upset about the Patronus Charm, feeling like she's losing her touch. But it's more than that… she's avoiding everyone."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, the usual mischief in his eyes dimming. "I saw her after Defence, by the lake. She wasn't exactly in the best shape."

Remus looked up, his concern deepening. "The lake? What happened?"

Sirius leaned back against his headboard, the memory of what he'd seen flickering across his face. "I went for a walk after class, needed to clear my head after all those jinxes Winklebottom was throwing around. That's when I heard it—spell after spell, like she was duelling with herself. Found her down by the water's edge, blowing up rocks and anything else that got in her way."

James frowned, setting his sock aside. "She was really going at it, huh?"

Sirius nodded, his tone softer than usual. "Yeah. She was angry—at herself, at the world, who knows. She wasn't holding back, though. Reducto, Confringo, Diffindo… she was making a mess of everything in sight."

Remus's heart ached at the thought of Mina alone by the lake, pouring all her frustration into her magic. "Did she say anything?"

"Not much," Sirius said, shrugging. "Mostly just that she needed to blow off steam. She's got all this bottled up, and it's eating at her. She's trying so hard to keep it together, but you can see it's tearing her up."

Remus ran a hand through his hair, his worry intensifying. Mina was so fiercely independent, so determined to prove she could handle everything on her own, but it was clear that the weight of it was becoming too much. "She's been avoiding us all day. I don't think she knows how to ask for help."

Sirius gave a half-smile, though it was tinged with understanding. "Yeah, well, she's in good company there. We've all been there at some point, right?"

James joined the conversation, leaning forward. "She's only been here a few days, Moony. She's trying to figure it out, but it's a lot. New school, new faces, and now she feels like she's messing up. She just needs time."

Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he grappled with his own helplessness. "I just wish she'd let us in. She's got us now, whether she realises it or not."

In his focus on Mina, Remus didn't notice the slight, resentful glance that Peter threw their way. Peter had grown accustomed to being in the background—James constantly talking about Lily, Sirius basking in his popularity with the ladies, and Remus, his quiet, steady companion, who never seemed to waver. But now, even Remus's attention was divided, pulled toward the new girl who had so suddenly entered their lives. Peter felt the sting of being overlooked, a familiar pang of jealousy rising up inside him.

He fidgeted, picking at the loose threads of his sleeve, feeling increasingly like the odd man out. The others were wrapped up in their own conversations, their concerns about Mina drawing them closer together while Peter sat on the fringes, listening but not really part of it. It had always been easy to brush off James and Sirius's distractions; they were the leaders, the ones everyone flocked to. But losing Remus—his last constant in the group—felt like one betrayal too many.

Sirius, oblivious to Peter's growing resentment, gave Remus a reassuring clap on the shoulder. "She'll get there, Moony. You've got a way of getting through to people, you know? She just needs time. And if she needs to blow up a few more rocks, well… I'm all for it."

James nodded in agreement. "We've just got to be patient. Mina's tough, but she's not used to leaning on people. We'll keep showing up, and she'll figure out that she doesn't have to do it alone."

Peter, feeling more sidelined than ever, forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. We've all got each other's backs, right?" But even as he said it, the words felt hollow, and he couldn't shake the bitterness that lingered in his chest. It was as though everyone else was moving on without him, finding new people to care about while he remained stuck in the same place—ever the afterthought, the lesser Marauder.