Hi, thanks to everyone who has so far followed, favorited, and reviewed. Love it! The next chapters will be a little more dialogue heavy, and at some point I might go back to edit these, depending on where the story goes, but of course I will make sure to note it, if anything changes. Enjoy.
Chapter 13
The morning after the second task had an eerie stillness to it, the cold air biting through the stone walls of Hogwarts. Fog rolled across the grounds, and the students, still buzzing from the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament, moved through the castle in clusters. But for Hermione, the weight of recent events had started to close in.
Sitting alone at the Gryffindor table, she absentmindedly sipped her tea, her thoughts miles away. The jar in her bag—the one containing Rita Skeeter in her Animagus form—seemed to hum faintly, a constant reminder of the control she now had over the journalist. Hermione felt a strange sense of satisfaction from the capture, a feeling she hadn't expected. The power she wielded over Rita's fate was intoxicating, and though she tried to push the thought away, it lingered.
She had done what was necessary, hadn't she? Rita had crossed too many lines, and it was time for someone to stop her. But Hermione couldn't ignore the thrill that came with having complete control over another person's secrets.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice from across the room.
"Good morning, Hermione," Luna Lovegood said as she drifted toward her, her usual dreamy expression in place.
Hermione looked up, startled. She hadn't even noticed Luna entering the hall, it was too early for most students. "Morning, Luna," she replied, her voice a little hoarse.
Luna smiled as she sat down next to Hermione, her wide blue eyes sparkling. "You look like you've been thinking about something rather serious."
Hermione hesitated, forcing a smile. "Just... reflecting on the second task."
"Oh, I'm sure it was quite the experience being under the lake," Luna mused, tilting her head. "But I knew Harry would get you out. He always does the right thing."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at that, though her thoughts quickly turned to Harry. He had been acting distant since the second task, quieter than usual. It wasn't just the stress of the tournament—it was the rift with Ron, who still hadn't made any effort to reconcile.
"He's been through a lot lately," Hermione said softly. "The Triwizard Tournament, all the pressure..."
Luna nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, it must be hard for Harry, not having Ron by his side. But I think he's strong enough to handle it. And you're there for him, which makes all the difference. You'll always be there"
Hermione appreciated Luna's calm, almost otherworldly outlook on everything. She envied how Luna seemed unaffected by the tension that weighed down the rest of them. It was as though she floated above the chaos, untouched by the darker aspects of their world.
Before Hermione could respond, Harry entered the common room, his expression tired but relieved to see them. His eyes lit up slightly when he saw Luna sitting with Hermione.
"Morning, Hermione, Luna" Harry greeted as he approached. He looked at Hermione. "You alright?"
"I'm fine," Hermione said quickly, pulling herself back to the present. "Just having a chat with Luna."
Harry smiled weakly at Luna, grateful for her company. "Good. We all need a bit of that after... everything."
Luna looked at Harry with her usual serene expression. "I brought something for you, Harry," she said, reaching into her bag. She pulled out a delicate flower crown, its soft petals glowing faintly. "It's made from lily pods. They're lucky after a dangerous challenge."
Harry blinked, taken aback by the gesture. "Uh... thanks, Luna," he said, accepting the crown with a smile. "I didn't expect this."
Luna grinned. "The Wrackspurts won't bother you as much if you wear it. You'll need it for the third task."
Hermione watched the exchange with a small smile. Luna's whimsical view of the world was comforting, especially now, when everything seemed so heavy. It felt like a moment of lightness in an otherwise dark time.
"Thanks, Luna," Harry said, his voice softening. "I'll keep it with me."
Luna gave him a bright smile before getting up, her gaze drifting dreamily toward the portrait hole. "Take care, Harry," she said gently before leaving the room.
Hermione and Harry sat in silence for a moment, watching Luna's retreating form.
"She's something else, isn't she?" Harry said, shaking his head with a small chuckle.
"She really is," Hermione agreed, her smile lingering. Her thoughts once again drifted to the jar in her bag. "Harry, have you thought more about what comes next? The third task?"
Harry leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah... I mean, I have. But it feels like the pressure keeps building. With everything happening... Ron not talking to me, the tournament, those damn articles from Skeeter... It feels like I'm being watched all the time."
At the mention of Rita Skeeter, Hermione stiffened, her fingers curling around the handle of her teacup. 'Rita won't be writing anything for a while, you are safe from her Harry' she thought darkly.
"We'll figure it out, Harry," Hermione said, her voice steady. "You've come this far, and you've got me by your side. We'll win Cedric and Viktor will help"
Harry smiled weakly, grateful for her support. "I know I can count on you, Hermione."
But as the words left her mouth, Hermione felt a strange disconnect. She was there for Harry, of course, but the darkness growing inside her—the control she was beginning to crave—felt distant from the Hermione Harry knew.
Later that afternoon, Hermione made her way to the library when a figure stepped out from the shadows at the far end of the corridor.
Standing near the pillars was Professor Snape, his black eyes fixed on her with a sharp, unreadable intensity. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as Snape pushed himself off the wall and moved toward her, his robes billowing out behind him.
"Miss Granger," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "A word."
There was no room for debate in his tone, and Hermione swallowed hard, her heartbeat quickening. She nodded stiffly and followed him down the corridor, her mind racing. What did Snape want? She hadn't done anything—at least nothing that he should know about.
Snape led her into a quiet, empty classroom, the door closing softly behind them. He turned to face her, his gaze lingering on her with a pointed curiosity that made Hermione's stomach twist. His dark eyes glittered in the dim light of the room, as though he could see through the walls she had built around herself. He murmured a spell, and turned back to her.
"If you recall, You've been asking some interesting questions lately," Snape began, his voice soft but laced with an undercurrent of something more. "Particularly regarding... certain types of magic."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression neutral. "I asked about dark magic once, sir," she said evenly, "but only because I wanted to understand the theory behind it. I haven't asked since."
Snape's lips curled slightly, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Indeed. One question, yet a very telling one."
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. He can't know. He doesn't know anything.
"I told you at the time," she said carefully, "that it was purely for research. The consequences of dark magic can be... dangerous. I just wanted to be informed."
Snape hummed softly, his eyes narrowing. "Informed. Of course." He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more dangerous tone. "But you've always been the type to be more than 'informed,' haven't you? You have a reputation, Miss Granger. Always prepared. Always ahead."
Hermione's pulse quickened, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him rattle her. "I believe it's important to be prepared for any situation. That's all."
"Any situation," Snape repeated, his voice lingering over the words. He studied her for a moment longer before continuing. "Tell me, Miss Granger, do you believe that knowledge is power?"
Hermione frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. "Yes," she answered carefully. "Of course."
Snape gave a small nod, his eyes glinting. "Then you must also believe that power, when left unchecked, can be dangerous. Even to those who wield it."
Hermione swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on her. "I'm not... wielding power, sir. I'm just learning."
Snape's gaze sharpened. "Learning, yes. But from what I saw during the trial... you are more than just a curious student, Miss Granger. You are calculated. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you? Every step, every word. You played your part brilliantly."
Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. She had been careful during the trial, methodical, but hearing Snape point it out so plainly made her stomach twist. "I just wanted justice for Sirius," she said, her voice quiet but steady.
Snape tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Justice, perhaps. But there was more to it than that, wasn't there? You knew how to manipulate the situation, how to influence the outcome. It was impressive, really."
Hermione's chest tightened. She had thought she was doing the right thing—getting Sirius the trial he deserved. But hearing Snape describe it as manipulation made it feel... darker.
"I did what needed to be done," she said firmly, though her voice trembled slightly.
Snape took another step forward, his gaze even more piercing now. "And now? What are you up to, Miss Granger? What is it that you need to be so prepared for?"
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. He was prodding, trying to get her to reveal something she couldn't afford to share. She wouldn't tell him about the future—he would never understand. And she certainly wasn't about to admit to anything regarding dark magic. She had only asked about it once, out of curiosity. He didn't know more than that. He couldn't.
"I'm not up to anything," Hermione said, her voice firm, though inside she felt anything but. "I'm just... trying to be ready for whatever comes. I want to make sure Harry survives this tournament"
Snape studied her for a long moment, the silence between them growing heavier with each passing second. Hermione could feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on her, as though he could see through her words, through her defenses. But she held his stare, refusing to back down.
"Prepared, yes," Snape murmured, his voice low. "But you're playing a dangerous game, Miss Granger. Knowledge is power, and power—unchecked—will destroy you if you're not careful."
Hermione's pulse raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Snape asked softly, his eyes glittering in the dim light. "You've changed, Miss Granger. Your magic is flickering. I've seen it. You're not in control."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't realized he had noticed. Her magic had been faltering lately—But she hadn't told anyone, she had been careful.
Snape took another step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You asked me once about the consequences of dark magic. You haven't asked since. Why?"
Hermione's mind raced. "Because I don't need to know more," she said quickly. "I'm not planning to use dark magic. I just... wanted to be prepared for the future."
Snape's lips twitched, but there was no amusement in his expression. "Perhaps. But you are not as invisible as you believe. I've seen the way your magic responds, how it struggles. You're teetering on the edge, Miss Granger. And I suspect... you don't even realize it."
Hermione swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't sure if Snape was warning her or testing her, but his words were sinking in deeper than she wanted to admit. "I'm in control," she said firmly, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Snape's gaze remained locked on hers for another long, tense moment before he finally stepped back, his expression unreadable. "You may believe that, Miss Granger," he said softly. "But remember this: power without restraint is dangerous. Control is easily lost"
The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Hermione's chest tightened, but she held his gaze, refusing to show any weakness.
"I know what I'm doing," she repeated, her voice steadier now. "I am helping Harry survive this tournament"
Snape studied her for another long moment, then nodded once, sharply. "Very well. But remember, Miss Granger—knowledge is only power if you wield it wisely."
"I haven't done anything wrong," she said firmly, though her voice trembled slightly.
His eyes bore into hers for a moment, before he turned, his black robes billowing behind him as he swept toward the door, but before he left, he paused, his voice cutting through the silence one last time.
"When you're ready, Miss Granger," he said softly, "you'll know where to find me."
The door closed behind Snape with a soft click, and Hermione was left alone in the dim, cold classroom. His final words still echoed in her mind, carrying the weight of something heavier than any reprimand or warning she had received before.
"When you're ready, Miss Granger... you'll know where to find me."
Hermione shivered slightly, though she wasn't sure if it was from the chill of the room or the unsettling feeling that Snape had seen through her. He had noticed the subtle changes, the flickering of her magic, the questions she hadn't asked again—because the answers terrified her.
She drew in a breath and shook her head, brushing those thoughts aside. She was still in control. She just needed to focus.
Gathering her books, Hermione slipped out of the classroom and made her way down the long corridors of Hogwarts. The walk to the library was familiar and comforting, and she needed that familiarity now. Books always brought order, and she could use a little order after the chaos of Snape's prodding.
The library was mostly empty when she arrived, the afternoon light streaming in through the high windows, casting soft shadows across the rows of shelves. She found her usual spot near the back, secluded from the bustling students in the front, where she could work in peace.
Settling down at the table, Hermione let out a slow breath and opened the heavy tome she had been reading. Her fingers traced the old, worn pages, and for a brief moment, the world narrowed down to the familiar smell of parchment and the soft rustling of pages.
But even as she tried to focus, the memory of Snape's words lingered at the edges of her thoughts. He had seen something in her—something she wasn't ready to admit to herself.
Before she could sink too deeply into her reading, she noticed a shadow fall across the table.
Draco Malfoy stood across from her, his usual smirk absent, replaced with something more calculating. He didn't sit down immediately, instead, he hovered at the edge of the table, as if weighing the decision.
"Granger," he said quietly, almost as if testing the waters. He didn't sneer, didn't mock.
Hermione set her quill down but didn't respond immediately. Instead, she met his gaze, trying to gauge his intentions. "Malfoy."
There was a silence, heavy and charged with unspoken tension. He remained standing for a moment longer before slowly taking the seat across from her, his eyes never leaving her face. It wasn't his usual move. Draco was always so quick to take control of any space he entered, and yet here, he waited. Watched.
"Studying, as always," he noted, his tone soft, almost neutral.
"Do you need something?" she asked, her tone clipped but not as harsh as it might have been under different circumstances.
Draco's eyes flickered with a hint of amusement, but he didn't smirk, didn't sneer. He stood there, his hands in his pockets, as if weighing his next move carefully. "I was just passing by," he said, casually. "Saw you here... again."
Hermione tilted her head slightly, suspicion creeping in. "So? I study here often."
"I know," he said, his voice oddly soft. "But it seems like you've been doing more than just studying lately."
Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn't let it show. "I don't know what you mean."
Draco finally moved, sliding into the chair across from her. He didn't lean back arrogantly as he usually did. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze more focused than usual. "I mean... you've changed."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat for a moment, but she kept her face impassive. "People change, Malfoy. It's called growing up."
Draco's lips quirked into a small, almost knowing smile. "Maybe. But you're different now."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Different how?"
Draco studied her, his gaze scanning her face as though searching for something just beneath the surface. "I don't know yet," he admitted, and there was no malice in his voice, only curiosity. "But it's there."
Hermione swallowed, unsure of how to respond. There was something unnerving about his words, the way he was watching her so closely. It wasn't the usual antagonism, nor was it respect. It was... curiosity. And that, for some reason, unsettled her more than anything.
"You're imagining things," she said, her voice steady. "I'm the same as I've always been."
Draco didn't look convinced. He leaned back slightly, his eyes flicking to the pile of books in front of her. "You know," he began, his tone casual, "when you start noticing things... you start wondering."
"Wondering what?" Hermione asked, her suspicion deepening.
Draco looked back at her, his gaze intense but not unfriendly. "Why someone like you—who's always been so predictable, so... by-the-book—starts doing things that don't quite fit."
Hermione stiffened. "Like what?"
Draco shrugged, his tone remaining even. "The way you handled the trial, for one. Sirius Black, the House of Black—Potter in this tournament, those aren't small feats. And the way you've been moving through people... it's just interesting."
"I did what was right," Hermione replied coolly. "That's all."
"Maybe," Draco mused. "But you can't blame me for being curious. I've known you for years, Granger. And yet... lately, it feels like I don't know you at all."
Hermione's pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral. "You don't know me, Malfoy. You never have."
Draco's eyes softened just slightly, though his curiosity remained. "No. I suppose I haven't." He was quiet for a moment, studying her with an intensity that made Hermione uncomfortable. "But that's what's interesting, isn't it? How much we don't know."
Hermione's throat felt tight, her mind racing to keep up with his subtle probing. He wasn't accusing her of anything. He wasn't mocking her. He was simply... watching. Trying to understand.
"What are you getting at?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more measured.
Draco leaned forward again, his tone dropping just enough to make her feel like this conversation was happening on another level, a more private one. "I'm saying that things are shifting. Not just for you—for all of us. People are starting to see things differently."
She frowned, unsure of what he was trying to say. "Who's 'people'?"
Draco smirked slightly, but it was faint, more thoughtful than malicious. "Let's just say... not everyone sees the world the way they used to. And you... well, you've caught some attention."
Hermione tensed again. "What kind of attention?"
"The kind that makes people like me... curious," Draco replied, his gaze locking with hers. "You're not invisible anymore, Granger. And that's a good thing. For you, anyway."
She searched his face for a hint of malice, for any sign that he was playing some kind of game, but there was none. He was serious—serious in a way she hadn't expected.
"You think I care about what people like you think?" Hermione asked, her voice sharp again, trying to regain control of the conversation.
"I think you care about what's coming," Draco said quietly. "Whether you admit it or not."
Hermione's chest tightened. Draco had always been cunning, always manipulative, but this—this was different. He wasn't offering her anything. He wasn't even asking for anything. He was simply acknowledging something she hadn't yet admitted to herself: that the world around her was shifting, and she was part of it.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
Draco's expression softened slightly, and for a brief moment, she saw something almost... sincere in his eyes. "Maybe I'm just as curious as everyone else. Maybe I just want to know where you stand."
Hermione blinked, surprised by the admission. "Where I stand?"
He nodded, leaning back slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on her. "People like you and me—we're not so different. We're both... trying to find our place."
Hermione frowned, her mind racing. "I'm nothing like you."
Draco chuckled softly, but it wasn't mocking. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you can't deny that things are changing. And the sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."
With that, he stood, his movements slow, deliberate. But before he turned to leave, he glanced back at her, his gaze lingering.
"You've got people's attention, Granger. Mine included."
And then he was gone, disappearing into the shelves of books, leaving Hermione sitting at the table, her heart pounding in her chest. She stared down at her notes, the words blurring as her mind replayed the conversation.
Draco had noticed the change in her—he had seen it, just as Snape had. But what unsettled her more was the fact that Draco hadn't been hostile about it. He had been... curious. And that curiosity made her more uneasy than any insult or sneer ever could.
'Snape and Draco in one day, what were they playing at. I'm getting sloppy'
Hermione remained in the library long after Draco left, staring blankly at the pages in front of her. His words lingered in her mind, stirring emotions she wasn't ready to face. The way he had looked at her,curious, almost intrigued—it unsettled her in ways she hadn't expected. She had never considered herself to be anything other than the bookish, rule-following student.
Hours passed in a blur of parchment and ink before Hermione finally packed up her things and made her way back to the common room. The sky had darkened outside, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she walked briskly through the castle corridors. Her thoughts were still muddled with Draco's cryptic words, and even though she tried to push them away, they clung to her like shadows.
When she entered the Gryffindor common room, she was greeted by the usual bustle of activity. Fred and George were in one corner, surrounded by a group of younger students, showing off some new joke product. Harry was sitting by the fire, his brow furrowed as he read something—likely some strategy guide for the upcoming task, she hoped. Hermione smiled softly as she approached him.
Harry looked up as she sat down beside him, giving her a tired smile. "Hey. Long day?"
"You have no idea," Hermione muttered, sinking into the chair beside him. The warmth of the fire was soothing, and for a moment, she allowed herself to relax.
Harry chuckled softly, though his expression remained thoughtful. "I've been trying to figure out the best way to handle the third task."
Hermione nodded, her gaze flickering to the papers spread out in front of him. "You'll be fine, Harry. You've faced worse." She paused, studying him closely. He seemed... distracted. "Are you alright?"
Harry shrugged, running a hand through his messy hair. "It's like always, Hermione. Just... everything feels like it's getting bigger. The tasks, the pressure—it's like the closer we get, the more it weighs on me."
Hermione frowned, her heart aching for her friend. "You're not in this alone, you know. I'm with you. Always."
Harry gave her a grateful smile. "I know. And I appreciate it." He hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter. "I've been thinking about what Rita Skeeter wrote. The way she twisted everything from the trial."
Hermione's jaw clenched at the mention of Rita's name. The article had been infuriating, filled with jabs and insinuations about Harry's past and his connection to Sirius. But the worst part had been the way she had turned Sirius's heartfelt gesture into something tawdry, questioning the bond between him and Hermione, as if she were manipulating him.
"It's just words, Harry," Hermione said firmly. "Rita Skeeter thrives on scandal and lies. She'll say anything to sell her stories."
"I know, but…" Harry trailed off, frowning. "The way she made it sound, like I'm just… attention-seeking. Like everything I've been through isn't real."
Hermione felt a surge of anger on Harry's behalf. She knew how much his past haunted him, how hard it was for him to open up about the trauma he had faced with the Dursleys. Rita had no right to twist that into something ugly.
"She doesn't know you," Hermione said, her voice hardening. "And she doesn't care. All she cares about is selling her story. But we know the truth, Harry. That's what matters."
Harry gave her a small nod, though the tension didn't leave his face. "I just… sometimes it feels like everyone's thinking it."
Hermione reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "You're stronger than you think, Harry. You've been through so much already, and you've come out of it every time. This is no different."
He smiled weakly, grateful for her support, but there was a sadness in his eyes that she couldn't shake. She wished she could do more for him, protect him from the weight of everything, but all she could do was stand by his side.
As they sat in silence, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, Fred and George's laughter rang out from the other side of the room, but Harry turned and stared across the room at Ron, who was sitting with Lavender Brown at one of the tables, their heads close as they whispered to one another. It was the same strained distance that had been there for weeks now—Harry's gaze filled with an unspoken longing for their friendship to be what it once was.
"Harry," she said softly.
Harry didn't look away from Ron, his expression a mixture of frustration and sadness. "He's still not talking to me, not even for class" he said quietly.
Hermione frowned, glancing over at Ron and Lavender, who were now laughing at something, oblivious to the way Harry's face tightened at the sight. "He will, Harry," she said, though her voice lacked the certainty it once held. "He's just... stubborn."
"It's more than that," Harry muttered, tearing his gaze away from Ron. "I feel like he doesn't even want to be friends anymore. Not after everything that's happened."
Hermione sighed, her heart aching for Harry. She had tried to be there for him as much as she could, but the rift between him and Ron had left a void that she couldn't fill. "He's angry," she said gently. "Did you talk to him?" Hermione asked softly.
Harry sighed, his hand running through his messy hair. "I tried."
Hermione frowned, folding her hands in her lap. She had expected Harry to try to reach out to Ron, despite everything. That was who Harry was—always extending the olive branch, even when he was the one who'd been wronged.
"What did he say?" she asked, keeping her voice even, though the tension between them gnawed at her.
Harry let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Nothing." His voice was low, strained. "He just stared at me, like he didn't even care."
Hermione felt a twinge of anger, not at Harry, but at Ron. "You made the effort, Harry," she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "If he didn't respond, that's on him."
"I thought... I thought we could fix it," Harry muttered, his frustration clearly mounting. "We've been through so much, and now it's like... like none of it mattered."
Hermione glanced over at Ron, who was sitting with Lavender, laughing like nothing was wrong. It irritated her more than she cared to admit. Ron had always been stubborn, but this level of ignorance toward Harry—after everything they'd been through—was hard to swallow.
"I'm not going to try again," Harry said, his voice flat. "I can't keep reaching out if he doesn't even care. What's the point?"
Hermione's gaze shifted back to Harry. His face was tight with frustration, but she could see the hurt behind his eyes. Despite everything, despite Ron's coldness, it was clear that Harry still wanted his friend back. But the realization that Ron wasn't willing to meet him halfway was starting to wear on him.
"I get it," Hermione said quietly. "It's hard when someone just... shuts you out like that."
Harry looked down at his hands, his jaw clenched. "I just thought we were better than this. That he would at least listen."
Hermione hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Ron's stubborn, Harry. But that doesn't mean you should blame yourself. You tried. You did everything you could."
"Yeah," Harry muttered, bitterness creeping into his voice. "But trying isn't enough, is it?"
"I'm still here," Hermione said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll always be here."
Harry smiled weakly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know. And I don't know what I'd do without you. But it's just... it's not the same."
Hermione nodded, understanding. "It won't be. Not until Ron decides to talk. But until then, you have to focus on what's in front of you."
Harry sighed again, leaning back in his chair. "I don't even know if I want to do it anymore. The tournament, I mean. Not like I have a choice"
Hermione didn't say anything for a moment, letting his words sink in. She understood the pressure he was feeling, the way the world seemed to be pressing down on him from all sides. But she also knew Harry was stronger than he gave himself credit for.
"I know it feels like everything is falling apart," Hermione said gently. "But you've made it this far because you're strong, Harry."
Harry looked at her, his eyes filled with doubt. "I don't feel strong."
"You don't have to feel it to be it," Hermione replied, her voice firm. "You've faced worse before, and you've come through it every time."
There was a long pause, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. Harry glanced over at Ron one last time before turning back to Hermione, a hint of determination flickering in his eyes.
"I'm not going to let him ruin this for me," Harry said finally, his voice steadying. "If he doesn't want to be part of this, that's his choice. But I'm not going to let it stop me."
Hermione smiled softly, proud of him. "That's the Harry I know."
They sat together in silence for a while, the weight of everything still heavy.
The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual morning activity as Harry and Hermione made their way to the Gryffindor table. The air was filled with the smell of bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread, while students chattered and laughed, seemingly unaware of the heavy thoughts weighing on the pair.
Hermione's mind was still racing from the previous day—her conversation with Snape, Draco's cryptic comments, and, of course, the fact that Rita Skeeter was now securely trapped in a jar in her bag. But for now, she pushed all of that aside, focusing on the present. She couldn't afford any distractions, not with everything at stake.
As they sat down, Harry glanced across the room, his eyes immediately finding Ron, who was seated at the far end of the table with Dean and Lavender. They were huddled close, talking in low voices, completely unaware of the tension they were causing.
Hermione noticed Harry's gaze and sighed softly. She knew it wasn't easy for him, seeing Ron every day and not being able to talk to him. She had tried to reassure him the night before, but she knew that words could only do so much.
Before she could say anything, Luna Lovegood floated into the Great Hall, her usual dreamy expression in place. She spotted Harry and Hermione and made her way over, sliding into the seat beside Harry without a word. Her presence, as always, brought an air of calm with it, as though nothing in the world could disturb her.
"Good morning, Harry, Hermione," Luna said in her soft, melodic voice. "Did you see the sunrise? It was beautiful, all pink and orange. I thought it looked like the wings of a Unicorn"
Hermione stifled a smile, though her mind was still elsewhere. Harry, too, seemed distracted, offering Luna a small smile but not really responding.
Before the silence could settle too long, Fred and George Weasley appeared, flanking Harry and Luna as they plopped down on the bench with their usual energy.
"Morning, all!" Fred exclaimed, grabbing a piece of toast from the tray in front of him.
George followed suit, nodding toward Luna with a grin. "Lovely morning for a bit of mischief, don't you think?"
Luna smiled serenely, as if the idea of mischief was a distant concept to her. "I do like lovely mornings," she said simply.
Neville Longbottom joined them moments later, sliding into the seat across from Hermione. He looked a bit nervous, as always, but offered a friendly smile to the group. "Good morning," he said quietly.
"Morning, Neville," Hermione replied, her thoughts momentarily lifting as she noticed the group gathering around them. Despite everything that was happening, it was nice to be surrounded by friends—even if some of them were preoccupied with their own problems.
As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, mostly driven by Fred and George, who were recounting their latest prank idea involving enchanted quills that would write in invisible ink at random moments, causing chaos during exams.
"You'd be halfway through writing the best essay of your life," Fred said with a grin, "and suddenly—poof! Nothing but blank parchment!"
George snickered. "Imagine the look on Snape's face when he sees a whole class of blank essays."
Harry chuckled, though it was clear his heart wasn't fully in it. His gaze kept flicking toward Ron, and every time he did, his shoulders tensed slightly.
Luna, who seemed to notice everything despite her usual detached demeanor, turned to Harry with her usual calm expression. "You shouldn't worry about Ron, you know," she said gently, her wide eyes fixed on him. "Sometimes people need to figure things out on their own. Sometimes they go on on their own."
Harry blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Luna's insight. He hesitated, then sighed. "I've tried, Luna. I really have. But... I don't know if he even cares anymore."
Luna tilted her head slightly, her radish earrings swaying. "Oh, I think he cares. He just doesn't know how to show it right now."
Hermione watched Harry closely, her heart aching for him. Luna had a way of cutting through the noise, of seeing things that others missed. It was a gift, and one that Hermione had always admired in her.
Fred, who had been momentarily distracted by the toast in his hand, suddenly leaned in, lowering his voice dramatically. "You know what you need, Harry?"
Harry looked at him, a bemused expression on his face. "What?"
"A bit of revenge," Fred said with a wink. "Nothing too serious, of course, but something to remind dear old Ronniekins that he's missing out by not talking to you."
George nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. We could brew a batch of Puking Pastilles and slip them into his pumpkin juice."
"Or maybe something more subtle," Fred added thoughtfully. "Something to make him think twice about ignoring his best mate."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Thanks, Fred, but I don't think that's going to help."
Fred shrugged, unfazed. "Suit yourself. But the offer stands."
Neville, who had been quietly eating his breakfast, spoke up for the first time. "I think Ron will come around eventually, Harry. He's just... well, he's always been a bit stubborn."
Harry gave Neville a small, grateful smile. "Yeah. I hope so."
The conversation continued, light and easy, with Fred and George taking turns coming up with increasingly ridiculous pranks, while Luna occasionally interjected with observations about the magical creatures she had read about in The Quibbler. It was nice, Hermione thought, to have this brief moment of normalcy. To be surrounded by friends, laughing and joking, even if the weight of the world still pressed down on them.
As Hermione sipped on her tea, a regal owl swooped down, landing gracefully in front of her, and dropped a thick envelope sealed with the Black family crest.
Harry, sitting beside her, turned away from his conversation and gave her a curious look. "Sirius?"
Hermione nodded, breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment. She scanned the letter quickly, her eyes widening as she read.
Hermione,
I hope this letter finds you well. After the trial, I've been working to make everything official. As part of the House of Black, you now hold the same rights and protections as any member of our family. I've enclosed some paperwork that will finalize the process, and as well as a signet ring, which will mark you as one of us. Harry will receive his soon as well.
Take care of yourself, and stay close to Harry.
With all my gratitude,
Sirius Black
Of the Ancient and Noble House of Black
Hermione unfolded the second piece of parchment, where the legalities of her new status were outlined. Her breath caught when she saw the small box tucked inside the envelope. She opened it carefully, revealing a silver ring adorned with the crest of the House of Black.
She slipped it onto her finger, feeling the cool metal settle against her skin. The weight of it was heavier than she had expected, not just physically, but symbolically. She was officially part of Sirius's family now. And that meant something in the wizarding world—especially among the purebloods.
Harry, noticing her silence, glanced over at the ring. "What's that?"
Hermione hesitated before answering. "It's... a signet ring. Sirius made it official. I'm part of his family now."
"You deserve it," Harry said, grinning. "You've always been like family to me, but now... it's super official."
Hermione smiled, though the weight of Sirius's gesture still hung heavy on her. She hadn't anticipated this, but it had been given to her all the same. And now, she had to navigate the consequences of it, whatever that might be. For now, she just had to keep going, and focus on Harry.