Hermione Granger: A Place of Joy and Wrath

Hermione Granger

The puddle in front of the abandoned Honeydukes exploded upwards in a muddy geyser. Pressurized into steam, the puff of fog floated through the pounding rain.

"Incendio!"

A withered branch lying across the street crackled with bright flames, spitting angrily under the pounding rain until it sputtered into a smoky mass. The cloud spread in all directions, one edge reaching Hermione as she sat on the Honeydukes stoop.

She coughed and put her wand away, the petty destruction not nearly as satisfying as she'd hoped.

The wind had finally tapered off. It was still bucketing down, but at least the rain wasn't coming at her sideways. Dumbledore's umbrella had been useful again, hovering above in an attempt to make her less wet and irritable.

The leather watch on her wrist chimed lightly. The field of stars on its face swirled into the air, tinkling as they danced in the gloom. Four clustered together into a falling star that landed with a tingling shower of sparkles on her nose.

She waved them away until the air was clear. Twenty minutes already. She'd promised herself that she'd only give that much time to shout and curse and hex anything in sight. Now it was time to get up and deal with what she'd learnt.

Pulling off her boots and taking out the newest edition of the Prophet, she peeled away the damp pages stuck to her feet and wrapped fresh classifieds around her well-worn socks. Shoving her boots back on, she slowly got up, the umbrella rising with her. That felt better, at least. Dry feet do a world of good, as her mother used to say. She closed her eyes. Don't think about Mum. You simply can't, not on top of everything else.

The front page declared "Muggle-Born Criminal Rampage" in overinflated lettering. Extra warmth was all it was good for. They'd been running stories of muggle-borns stealing supplies. "Like dogs scrabbling for a bone." Lovely imagery.

Tucking the paper away, she peered down the street. They might get a break in the rain today, although perhaps that was wishful thinking. Sometimes she thought that was her biggest fault: wishful thinking. But she couldn't help it. She needed to believe that the sun would shine, eventually.

She pointed her wand at her face. "Tergeo." That cleaned up her tears, and she could blame her red eyes on a lack of sleep. All fixed up and ready to face the troops with the good news and bad.

She grabbed the umbrella and headed towards the Three Broomsticks, careful to avoid the stoops with rotted wood, especially the ones that squeaked angrily. While Crookshanks enjoyed the plentiful rats that scurried through the abandoned shops, even he wasn't up to the task of eliminating them all. It wasn't an ideal spot under normal circumstances, but it had turned out to be the only one of their remaining bases that hadn't been overrun with the Dark Army within hours of their arrival. She glanced in the direction of Hogwarts, although she couldn't see it over the rooftops. A lingering protective magic, perhaps.

Japanese knotweed had grown over windows, and moss covered the cobblestone streets. Bittercress nested in the hollows of the fence posts. She jumped at an explosion of movement as a rabbit sprung, wide-eyed, from its burrow beneath an overturned vendor's cart. A weedy cul-de-sac hosted a herd of five goats. They stared at her with sleepy eyes and bleated before hanging their heads to endure the downpour.

The doorframe to The Three Broomsticks barely held the moisture-swollen door. It was more of a disguise than a real barrier to entry. She shrank the door until it swung open, then let it swell back into the frame.

The tables, bar, and floor were all coated with dust. Another disguise. They'd cast a reversal of scourgify, and the surfaces now attracted dust when they weren't actively used. A way for the inn to look uninhabited and uninhabitable, despite the subtle repairs they'd done to keep themselves dry and warm.

Millicent, who sat at one of the tables, nodded at her. "Messages?"

"Two, and the Prophet. I thought you were going for supplies."

"Already back." Millicent nodded at the bar.

Bags of cheese, bread, and other edibles blanketed the bar. The side of the bags announced the muggle shop from which it came. "We don't have the money for—" A sinking feeling in her gut stopped her as she remembered the article in the Prophet. She held it up. "Are you the 'muggle-born criminal rampage?'"

Millicent brightened. "Hey, I made the paper!" She snatched it from Hermione's hands and read eagerly.

"We can't steal," Hermione argued. "The wizarding customs department puts charms on muggle goods to deter stealing through magic. It's part of the Wizarding-Muggle Relations Agreement."

Millicent shrugged. "The new Ministry doesn't care about wizarding-muggle relations."

That was an understatement. "They still use the detector charms, though, since they'll detect us. You're lucky an undercover Dark Guard didn't arrive at the shop and arrest you."

Millicent settled down to page through the paper. "We'll starve, then. There's no food left in Hogsmeade. Anything that wasn't packed up or looted was eaten by rats."

"You're the only one of us that isn't known to be in the resistance. Maybe you can go to a wizarding shop—"

"With what money? And they'll have much stronger anti-theft charms."

Hermione fidgeted. "There isn't any way you could access your Gringotts vault?"

Millicent looked up from the paper to gaze at her steadily. "It's in trust. I have an allowance, but if I access it, my parents will be on me like that." She snapped her fingers. "You'll be down to two, and I'll be…" She firmed her lips and stared down at the paper. "Why don't you use Draco's money? We've been here a few days, and no invasion yet. Send a message to Gringotts telling them to ship you the first payment."

She clasped the watch, running her thumb over the leather. No more time for crying or hexing. "About that. I need to talk to both of you. Where's Ron?"

"Clearing the tunnels. I didn't realize there were so many under Hogsmeade."

"There was only one when we went to school—that I know of. The resistance dug out the rest when we were using Hogwarts as a base, years ago."

"Must be why it's taking him so long."

"Too right," came a voice from the cellar stairs. Ron emerged, pulling a dollop of mud out of his hair. "Three collapsed. I've worked on restoring the connection from the Three Broomsticks to the Shrieking Shack to Hogwarts. It's a handy escape route."

This was where they were these days: how quickly they could escape. And she was the reason why. She cleared her throat. "I know why the Dark Guard has found us so quickly. This was in one of our drop-boxes." She showed them the message from the Phoenix.

Written in a child's lettering, which hid any identifiable handwriting. The words were anything but childlike, and swam before her as she forced herself to look at it again: …goblins have changed allegiances… Gringotts… tracking charms…

They'd gone from one base to another, only to meet the Dark Army shortly after settling. Lucius Malfoy had been ever-present, shouting orders as he zeroed in on her. They'd barely kept ahead of their pursuers, but she'd held onto one thought. Once they had a moment to breathe, they would have funds again. They could buy spellbooks and supplies. They could make a plan to break their friends out. Buy potions and hire healing specialists to help them recover from their ordeal. Keep dreamless sleep in stock for Sirius, and wolfsbane for Remus. Bring others into their cause, and become a force that could bring down the legions aligned against them.

Hermione took out the scroll she always carried with her. The Gringotts seal gleamed. She'd pinned her hopes on the very thing that was helping their enemies.

Ron was the first to realize her intentions, and his face paled. "Hermione, no. You can't."

"I have to." She could see Draco Malfoy at the table in the White Wyvern, sitting with unnatural stillness as she handed over her location to the enemy. He knew. That slimy little git knew, and he'd goaded her into signing. He thought she was an inferior being who had no business being in the magical world, and she'd been so busy showing him up that she hadn't stopped to think. And Griphook. They'd both known she couldn't be familiar with every nuance of pureblood culture, and they'd taken advantage of that. She had to be smarter. She couldn't afford any more mistakes.

Millicent caught up. "You're going to destroy it? Because of one message?"

"We couldn't figure out how they kept finding us, and now…" Hermione stopped as Ron and Millicent glanced at each other silently. "Well, go on. What is it?"

Ron avoided her gaze, but Millicent hardened her jaw and glared. "We don't trust the Phoenix. We think he betrayed us and has been telling the other side our location."

Hermione blinked at her, then turned to Ron. "Is that what we think?"

He made a face at Millicent and shrugged. "It's a convenient explanation he has, isn't it? One that cuts off our funds."

"It could be a she… but unlikely," she added, not interested in having that argument again and aware of the scant number of women within Voldemort's inner circle. At some point the Phoenix had become a he in her mind. "He doesn't know our location. I haven't sent him a message, what with—"

"With constantly being pursued." Ron folded his arms. "All these messages back and forth—you're saying he couldn't have put a trace on you?" He ploughed on before she could respond. "And what about the attack on Dumbledore's house? He said the next attack would be elsewhere."

"Everyone makes mistakes."

He shook his head. "We figure he's a Death Eater, right? It could be the overgrown snake himself, for all we know. Just like that bastard to use a name that makes us think of Dumbledore."

Who was the Phoenix? There were a select few who fit the bill. She'd actually considered Draco or Lucius Malfoy, but her encounters with them had dispelled that notion. She tried not to think about it too much. His life depended on remaining anonymous. "All the information he's given us. That was, what? To lower our defenses? So he could wait four years and then dive in for the kill?"

"It's not as though he's helped us win the war," Ron said. "We're doing worse than ever."

Hermione shook her head. The Phoenix only supplied information. In her own attempts to gather intelligence, she'd learnt how difficult it could be. At Hogwarts, it had been so easy—read the appropriate chapters and write the answers. Now the information was sparse, the informants untrustworthy, and the possible answers endless. "It's not his fault. He's doing the best he can."

Ron and Millicent started talking at once, their voices rising. "The best he can is rubbish…"

"…you Gryffindors will trust anyone…"

They didn't understand what it was like to get those messages. The first one had found her shortly after she'd escaped from the prison camp. It had unnerved her that anyone outside of her fellow escapees had known where she was. But the message had told her how to find the resistance movement. It was the first time she'd felt safe in months.

Through the past four years, the messages had been there to give her another window of opportunity, another chance to regain the world she'd lost. Scrolls first left in her path, then in drop-boxes, or under Crookshanks's collar. Nothing personal in the information, not even an encouraging word—and yet she sensed the trust within them. Even now, there was no demand that she destroy the Gringotts document, only the information laid out in precise detail. The choices that he left her to make were never easy, but they were hers to make alone. How could she betray that trust, the way Griphook had betrayed hers?

Nodding decisively, she dropped the scroll onto the floor. "Incendio."

The scroll burst into flame, quickly blackening and crumbling to ash. She stamped out the remaining embers, wincing as a spark burned through the cracked sole of her boot.

All three of them stared at the spot for a moment, the heat of their argument gone.

"I hope you're right," Ron said finally. "If the Phoenix has been lying to us, it was all for nothing." He raised his hands. "I'm saying it's a possibility. We've no idea who he is, or what he wants. Probably Slytherin, and they never do anything unless it benefits them."

Millicent cleared her throat pointedly, her face flushing. "Remember me? Helping your sorry lot doesn't benefit me. I spend most of my day regretting it."

"I appreciate your work, Millicent, even if you don't. And Ron, enough with houses. We're not at Hogwarts anymore…" She broke off. "Well, we are now, I suppose."

Ron huffed, waving away her words. "I'm saying it's hard to believe he's risking his neck out of the goodness of his heart."

"Then put him to a test," Millicent said. She had a strange sort of stoicism, her anger quickly settling back into her natural state of perpetual sourness. Waving her wand idly, she made little whirlwinds of dust on the floor. "If you want to make sure he's not giving away your secrets, tell him a secret and see what happens."

"Give him our location," Ron said, "and see if anyone attacks? That's idiotic."

"You're idiotic. Give him a false location. Ask to meet. If an army shows, you have your answer."

"I don't know," Hermione said. "Is there anything that will remove all doubt? Only people on the other side can supply the most useful information. We'll always wonder if they'll betray the entire resistance."

Millicent scoffed, gesturing at the three of them. "The entire resistance."

There's still Molly, Charlie, and Bill." Hermione turned to Ron. "I have a message from her."

"How are they?" Ron's eyes were bright, almost feverish.

She felt guilty for arguing with him. He hadn't said much, but he'd asked about messages whenever she went out to check their drop-off points. He'd been tense since they'd separated. She opened the message:

Hello everyone,

The boys and I have gotten through the past few weeks as well as expected. Only one close call, and that was because Bill let his glamour drop and a Dark Guard officer caught sight of him. We gave him the slip, thanks to Charlie's quick thinking.

With so many of our friends captured, we've been searching for information on who's been sent where. It's challenging, since even the officials we've trusted in the past have gotten tight-lipped.

But we found someone—an old school chum of mine. A brilliant student, but all this purity nonsense means that many half-bloods are stuck as low-level clerks in the ministry. Still, she goes through a lot of paperwork, and she saw a transfer list that showed Sirius and the rest have been sent to Azkaban. And there was a Weasley on the transfer to Azkaban about a year ago. She couldn't remember the first name. But who else could it be, with Ron safe and dear Arthur and the twins gone and Percy—well, where he is? It simply has to be Ginny.

I asked if she can find a way to get them transferred. Even one of those awful prison camps would be better than Azkaban. I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but I can't stop thinking of holding my sweet girl in my arms again.

My friend said she'll contact me soon, so I'll write again if I learn anything new.

All my love,

M.W.

"Ginny." Ron closed his eyes, his mouth tight. "Azkaban. A year ago."

"I'm sorry." Those two words were all she could offer, and she tried to imbue them with the warmth and comfort he needed. Ginny, Sirius, and Remus. Neville and the others. Something inside her cried out that they should attack Azkaban, now. But of course, they couldn't. The last time they'd tried that, they'd had an army and Dumbledore. And the only result was that a damaged Azkaban soon resumed operation, harder to break into than ever.

Ron's voice had gone soft. "They could come here."

"They have a good lead, and should stay where they are to follow it. And it's safer where they are. They haven't been pursued like we have."

He gave her a look.

"Which is explained by the trace on the Gringotts transfer." Something stuck in her throat, and she busied herself by scanning Molly's message. She didn't believe the Phoenix betrayed them. But she hadn't believed the goblins would betray them until they did. The only people she could truly trust were in this room or with Molly. And one more, at the castle. Although that was stretching the definition of people. But it reminded her of a task that couldn't wait.

"I'm off to explore Hogwarts," she said. "There may be supplies worth salvaging."

Ron frowned. "We haven't explored the whole village. Could be—"

"—Dangerous. Yes, I know." The events of the past few weeks were catching up with her. She wanted to collapse into a soft bed, sink down and let sleep cover her. She knew her voice was rising, but didn't care. "Also dangerous to not patrol the grounds. It's dangerous to stay, dangerous to leave—"

"I know, I know." Ron sighed. "At least take the tunnels. Less chance of a collapse with the two of us working, and we'll be less exposed. Millicent can guard the home front, right?"

Millicent nodded. "I'm keeping the umbrella. Never know when another roof will land on me."

"Great. Back in two shakes."

Hermione wanted to argue. She'd rather go to the castle alone, and when she and Ron worked a mission together—it was either quite uncomfortable, or a little too comfortable. Old habits and old feelings. But Ron still looked pale from the news about Ginny, and she relented, hoping they'd keep things professional. Not that they ever had.

xx

The pounding rain left the tunnel muddy and dripping. Ron charmed two scavenged shovels to self-dig drainage holes on each side, preventing flooding.

"It's a tight fit." He indicated the newly cleared walls on either side of them. "But I wagered that clearing it to the Whomping Willow was more important than being spacious." They walked until the tunnel veered sharply to the right. "Here's the connection to the original tunnel. The Shrieking Shack is above us, there." He pointed with his illuminated wand.

Everything looked different since those early years of the war, but it was coming back to her. "How much still needs to be cleared?"

"Quite a bit," he admitted. They walked ahead until they met mounds of collapsed earth blocking the passage, exposing grasping roots and the stone foundations of the buildings.

"I've been transfiguring loose earth into support structures, and it's slow going." He gestured at the wooden support beams above them. "Didn't want to make a mistake and get buried down here."

"Definitely not," Hermione murmured. She examined the cascade of oozing mud blocking the passage and pointed her wand. "Glacius."

The mud crackled as it froze, a pale sheen of ice forming on the surface. She guided her wand up the wall, above her head, and down the other side. When she was done, the cold nipped at her nose and their breaths misted the air. "Should be frozen solid a good ten meters ahead."

He cocked his head skeptically. "And that'll make it easier to dig?"

"It'll make an ice tunnel that'll support earth overhead. Evanesco."

The dirt blocking their progress disappeared, revealing a cold but solid passageway.

"Blimey," he said, staring at her progress. "That'll work. What about when it melts?"

"The ice is thick enough to last a few hours." After pulling a pencil from her pocket, she worked off the eraser and then the ferrule. She held up the small metal ring. "What do you think? Can you duplicate it and enlarge it to three meters across? They'll function as support beams, and it's easier than transfiguring solid wood from muddy earth."

Ron took the ferrule and peered through it. "That would work, yeah." He gave her a friendly poke with his elbow. "Guess that's why you run this organization, eh? We'll make it to the castle in record time." His face darkened. "Not looking forward to seeing Hogwarts again."

"It's still standing," Hermione offered, knowing it was small consolation.

"Didn't realize when I was a student that I'd look back on it as the best years of my life." He gazed at her. "And the years we were together."

"It was only a year." Here it was again. Before, there'd always been enough people that she could put space between them when he got like this. She could go out on missions, limiting their interactions for everyone's comfort. It didn't inspire confidence to see the leader of the resistance getting into constant little quarrels with her ex. But now it was the three of them, and she could hardly expect Millicent to act as referee.

"Eighteen months. Right after you escaped from that prison camp, we—"

"Focus, Ron. It's still going to take us hours to clear this, and I don't fancy being down here at night."

"I'm only saying it was a long relationship. The longest you've ever had."

And the only relationship you've ever had, she thought, but didn't say. She was hardly a seasoned expert. Her time with Viktor Krum had been brief, cut short by Harry's disappearance. And she'd dated him to make a point to Ron and herself, which hadn't been fair to Viktor. But it had opened her eyes to how different a relationship can be. How they could be companionably quiet together, even if she'd never managed his talent for long bouts of silent self-reflection.

As the war dragged on, she'd thought more about those moments of quiet and peace. After a terrible battle, in between caring for the injured and planning future strategies, she would think of early spring afternoons in a tranquil cottage. Warm and comfortable, reading by the crackling fire with… someone. It used to be Ron, but the face of that companion had gotten blurry over the years, as it became harder and harder to make Ron fit into that picture.

She focused on freezing the newly exposed earth in front of her. "I haven't had time for relationships, long or otherwise. If there hadn't been a war–"

"Well, there is a war." Ron vanished the next section of frozen mud. "And we're good together. In the battle at the base, we barely had to say anything. We were like two owls flying in unison."

"In battle. But when we're not fighting the enemy, we fight each other. We can never handle peace for long."

"What does that matter? Peace isn't exactly on the horizon. And even if it was—there's the auror program. We can spend the rest of our lives fighting side by side."

Hermione looked at him, dismayed. "That's the future you see for us? A fight that never ends?"

"Don't make it sound like that. We've always been that way. We fight in battle, then we find each other and… fireworks. Things settle down, and we argue a bit. Maybe too much. But there's always another battle."

"But that's the point. I need to believe it'll change, that there will be peace again. The idea that we'll go from fight to fight, snogging and shagging as a way to release it all… I don't want to live like that. And being with you is like accepting that future. That we'll always be fighting for our lives. I'd be giving up on the way the world should be."

He looked away from her, his jaw tightening. "What does the future of the war have to do with something that's between us?"

"Relationships are about the future. It's saying that this is the life I want; this is the future I want to share with someone."

"But I thought…" He shook his head. "We were meant to be. You said you had a crush on me all through Hogwarts—"

She thought back on that time, her feelings now tinged with nostalgia and bittersweetness. "I also had a crush on Jonas Salk at that age. Childhood dreams."

He looked stunned. "Who is this Jonas bloke, and why were you mooning over him?"

"Ron, he… It doesn't matter. What I mean is, I was young. We were young. Too young to know what being an adult is really like."

"We were seventeen when we kissed. And eighteen when we were together for the first time. Remember that night at Kew Gardens? We waited all night for that informant, hiding from the guard, and then we…" He took her hand in his. "You said you loved me, afterwards."

She remembered. It had been a beautiful, vibrant night. "I did. I do. You're my best mate. And we tried. When we get in fixes, and things get intense, it all feels good. But when things calm down, we don't know what to do with each other."

They fell into silence, Ron vanishing the dirt and mud as she cast the freezing spell. Finally, he sighed and looked back at her. "But this Jonas bloke? You're not still carrying a torch?"

She resisted the urge to smile and nodded solemnly. "That love affair is over."

Light broke out above them between tree roots that wriggled like toes. Ron stopped short. "There it is. The Whomping Willow." He looked up at the waving roots, not moving.

Hermione quietly siphoned off the water in the surrounding slopes and transfigured them into packed-dirt steps. "You don't have to go up, you know."

He extinguished his wand, and his face fell into shadows. "I'll have to see it eventually."

The rain had tapered off into a light drizzle that would frizz up her hair but was otherwise tolerable with her hoodie pulled up. There were no flailing branches overhead, but the Whomping Willow was still alive. From the blackened stump, green shoots emerged, waving feebly. Ron let one curl around his finger before turning to look at Hogwarts.

Life was beginning to show at the castle. Clumps of bracken fern peeked out of the scorched earth where Hagrid's hut once stood. A brown bird hopped lightly among the jagged stones of the fallen north tower. The rain had washed away some of the soot on the north face, revealing spots of grey on the black walls. She could no longer smell the smoke and death that had choked the air for so long. Another few years, and she imagined it would look the way it had always looked to muggles: ancient ruins.

"Shite," Ron said. "The infirmary wing is gone."

"That happened two years ago," she told him bitterly. "They didn't want resistance members coming here for supplies and healing themselves."

He stared at her. "How often have you come here?"

"Not that often," she said, keeping her gaze on the castle. "I wanted to salvage what I could before it was all looted or destroyed."

They patrolled the grounds, hiding the trails they made in the waist-high grass, careful not to stumble into one of the black craters that pockmarked the honey-colored landscape. All that could be seen of the quidditch field were the spindly remains of one tower. The greenhouses were gone, along with any other buildings, all the way to the Forbidden Forest. Only the forest and the lake felt unchanged.

"Remember our first year?" Ron asked. "The boat ride, when the castle first comes into view…" He lapsed into silence as the grass rattled in the wind. "Think anyone will ever feel that way again?"

She thought about Hogwarts: A History, and how there were theories that the castle was a living manifestation of magic, that it was not so much built, but grown. Organic Magic author Welwanda Krickaboo theorized that some living essence of Hogwarts would remain, even if it were razed to the ground. It would continue to exist long after all witches and wizards had departed from this world. Others theorized Hogwarts marked the beginning of the magical era, and its destruction would mark the end of it. But she wasn't sure she could say any of that without her voice quavering. "I was always rotten at Divinations."

Ron glanced at the castle and looked away. "I suppose there's nothing left but to go in."

"You really don't have to. I can manage on my own."

"It's not about that. I want to be with you."

"But maybe you shouldn't," she said gently. "Want to be with me so much."

He rubbed his head. "You won't let up on this, will you?"

Best to be strong and have it out now. "It's been two years since we've been together—"

Ron's head jerked up. "What about last summer, when we—"

"Two years since we've been together for more than a few days. I shouldn't have given you false hopes, especially last summer. It's just that…" It was just that sometimes things got too difficult to bear, and the nights were worst of all. But she hadn't been fair to Ron, just as she hadn't been fair to Viktor. "You deserve someone who wants to be with you the way you want to be with them."

He was silent for a long time, and she waited, preparing for another argument. But when he looked up, his mouth was tightly closed, and his eyes didn't quite meet hers. He nodded and was gone.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into the empty air. She'd always hesitated to say it so bluntly, hoping Ron would take her hints and their frequent arguments and realize it on his own. Wishful thinking. Why could she break through a front line of Death Eaters without a moment's hesitation, but be such a coward about the necessary business of breaking someone's heart?

The grass had soaked her trousers up to the knees. The main gate clanged in the wind, the bars twisted into a curl. As she approached the castle, the hair on her arms tingled as if charged by static electricity.

Over the years, she'd cleared a path through the rubble in the entrance hall and up the stairs to the next level. She'd looked up all the references cited in Hogwarts: A History. At least, all the references she could find. She'd had some frustrating conversations with Binns, who still floated about his classroom, oblivious to the lack of students or the accumulated layers of dust on the desks. That resulted in more research and conversations with other ghosts who still lurked in the castle, and a few Hogwarts house-elves that had scattered across Scotland. But it had led her to this spot.

Fortunately, the central location of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower had prevented its collapse, although a few stones had loosened from their mortar and fallen on the steps. She picked her way around them until she reached the Astronomy Wing. Stopping at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, she looked at the blank wall opposite. A large crack snaked downwards, wider than her finger.

Three times, Dobby had said. She focused on what she wanted and counted her paces. Silently, the stone bulged outwards and formed an archway. An ornate wooden door appeared within.

She let out a sigh of relief. So much of the castle's magic had been disrupted, and that crack was concerning. She opened the door and froze.

Like a badly tuned television, the room flickered and changed. First a library, full of gleaming gilt-edged tomes, then a knitting room with baskets of needles and yarn, then the interior of a stable, complete with stacks of hay. Then a luxurious bedroom, and a cathedral, and then—there!

She dashed forwards, felt a static tingle pass across her face, and landed in a room that looked like a massive rubbish tip. Staring at the piles of furniture and books and everything else, she had a feeling of foreboding. But perhaps it would be simple. She closed her eyes and put all of her heartfelt intent into the magic. "Accio Ravenclaw's Diadem."

Nothing happened, and the first hint of panic thumped in her chest. No, you can do this. Think logically. If she spent every day in this room, searching, it would take… she made an estimate of the time needed per square foot. Of course, she had to consider the vertical space, as most objects were piled so high they tottered over her. Figure twenty minutes per square foot. She recalled a measuring spell from one of her books and cast it. The room was 100,000 square feet.

Her stupid brain did the math despite desperately not wanting to know the answer. It would take over three years if she searched every single day. And didn't take time to eat or sleep. She sat on a rolled-up carpet, drawing her knees to her face and wrapping her arms over her head. She didn't want to see one speck of the room right now.

Pull yourself together. The key to stopping Voldemort is here. It's one of the few things left you can still do that'll make a difference. You'll find it. You have to.

But another voice rose inside her, gently chiding. Wishful thinking.