Hermione Granger and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/35624461.
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Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Sophie
Roper, Minerva McGonagall
POV Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger-centric, Hermione Granger
is a Good Friend, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Third Year, Time Turners (Harry
Potter)
English
Part 3 of Hermione Granger Series
Published: 2021-12-10 Completed: 2021-12-24 Chapters: 22/22 Words:
130856
Hermione Granger and the Prisoner of Azkaban
by SaraSmile416
Summary
Where would the "Boy Who Lived" be without the "Girl Who Read?" It's Hermione
Granger's third year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and she has all the
time in the world... or does she? Follow along as Hermione navigates too many classes,
magical legal defences, and a stark raving mad escaped convict trying to come after her
best friend.
Notes
This book is dedicated to all of the Hermione Grangers of the group. We see you!
Special thanks to the Timetable Master, Max; Editors-in-chief, Samantha and Ellen; all of
the besties of the Just Keep Rowling Podcast; and Ekow Quartey for helping me with the
character of Bem (he was in the movies, not the books… so I changed that)
Author’s Note: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world,
which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. This is a retelling of the third Harry Potter book
from the point of view of the clever and brave Hermoine Granger. As such, in future
chapters, I have woven some of Rowling’s original text into my own thoughts and words.
This is in order to stay true to the original text but also allow for the exploration of how
things surrounding the Chosen One unfolded from Hermoine’s involvement. There will be
both descriptions, as well as dialogue, that may be familiar to readers. Again, I do not own
this book or these characters, I am simply expounding on the canon events... please don't
sue me.
Timing and Turning
Hermione Granger was a highly unusual girl in many ways. For one thing, she hated the summer
holidays more than any other time of the year. For another, she voluntarily chose to complete triple
the school work than her peers did and enjoyed every single second of it. And she also happened to
be a witch.
Hermione always knew she was different, but she never realised just how different she really was
until Professor Minerva McGonagall (deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry) showed up at her front door two summers ago. After getting over the initial shock of the
professor’s peculiar dress and place of employment, Hermione sat there wide-eyed as she explained
that Hermione Jean Granger was, in fact, a witch with magical powers.
As a Muggle (non-magical) family, the Grangers were overwhelmed, to put it mildly. Their entire
existence turned upside down with a swish of an emerald green cloak and a flick of a wand.
However, Hermione found the Wizarding World the most right-side-up thing she had ever
experienced. From the first moment she stepped foot on the historic school’s magical grounds,
Hermione felt as though she was exactly where she needed to be in life.
That’s not to say her assimilation into the Wizarding World wasn’t without its challenges. Her first
year, Hermione befriended Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter, two wizards who didn’t know the
first thing about minding their own business and following rules. It also didn’t help matters that
Harry Potter was one of the most famous wizards of the Wizarding World and, therefore, tended to
get into more trouble than the average Hogwarts student. When Harry was a baby, the evilest
wizard of all time, He Who Must Be Named (Voldemort, if you must know), tried to kill Harry and
his family. Harry was the lone survivor and, like Hermione, grew up in a Muggle household.
During their first year, You Know Who possessed one of the Hogwarts professors in an attempt to
regain his body and return to power. Hermione, Ron, and Harry thwarted his plan but,
unfortunately, did not entirely defeat him.
Their second year was even more challenging, especially for Hermione and her Muggle-born
classmates. A series of messages on the schools’ walls, written in blood, started appearing. They
warned that the “Chamber of Secrets” had been opened and that the “Heir of Slytherin” would kill
anyone not born of a magical family. It was a race against time for Hermione and her friends as
students, ghosts, and even cats of the castle were turning up petrified in apparent attacks by
Slytherin’s monster from the Chamber of Secrets.
Unfortunately, Hermione succumbed to the monster’s attacks right after she had figured out the
monster was a Baskalisk (and right before she could tell someone about it). Hermione was petrified
for almost half the year until Harry and Ron were able to defeat the monster. To everyone’s
surprise, Ron’s sister Ginny was possessed and controlled by Tom Riddle’s diary. Tom Riddle was
a past Hogwarts student who would, one day, grow up to be You Know Who. Harry destroyed
Riddle’s memory and journal with a Baskalisk fang, and Hermione and the other petrified victims
were revived soon after.
The attack on Hermione’s life wasn’t as devastating as the attack on her status as a witch. The term
“Mudblood” (Mudblood was a very derogatory term used to belittle witches and wizards born into
Muggle families) was hurled at her throughout the year by a small yet vocal group of witches and
wizards. The group (of mostly Slytherins) were adamant Muggle-born witches and wizards had no
place in the Wizarding World. Their attacks hurt Hermione at her core; just as Hermione had
finally found a sense of belonging within the walls of Hogwarts, it was being stripped away from
her from these pure-blood wizards.
From the moment she learned she was a witch, Hermione made it her mission to be the best and
brightest one. She knew she was at a disadvantage for being raised in the Muggle world for eleven
years and made sure to make up for it with as much studying as she could possibly handle. There
was no way she would waste such a fantastic opportunity by not learning everything she possibly
could.
Regrettably, being petrified in her second year put a severe damper on her studies. Falling behind
her peers academically only perpetuated her fear of being different than or not worthy of being a
witch. The professors decided to cancel all exams for the year, but Hermione knew exams were
just a small part of the educational process. She still needed to learn everything she had missed,
exam or no exam. Every time Hermione thought about it, a ball of anxiety would rise within her.
Professor McGonagall understood Hermione’s anxiety and came to the rescue. Before the end of
term, she called Hermione into her office and presented her with a very secret gift: a Time-Turner.
A Time-Turner was a magical, unique timepiece resembling an hourglass used for time travel,
usually issued by the Ministry of Magic under exceptionally extraordinary circumstances.
Professor McGonagall had convinced the Ministry to allow Hermione to use it because of her
heroism and intelligence; Hermione had figured out Slytherin’s monster was using the pipes and
had written down the answer right before she was petrified. Harry, thankfully, found the paper and
was able to save the day, but the mystery could have gone on months without Hermione’s research.
With the Time-Turner came a very serious set of rules and regulations that Hermione had to swear
to abide by. First and foremost, Hermione could NOT tell anyone about the Time-Turner. No one
could know about its existence. Hermione had to promise to be extremely careful not to tip anyone
off to the fact she was, literally, in two places at once. To accomplish this, she could not do
anything that would disrupt the time loop created by the Time-Turner. The second rule was that she
could only use it to get to multiple classes scheduled for the same time; in other words, Hermione
could only use it for educational purposes.
Using the Time-Turner was reasonably straightforward once all precautions were taken. The
number of times one turned the hourglass corresponded to the number of hours one travelled back
in time. However, users of the Time-Turner can only stay in the past for five hours at a time,
without the possibility of serious harm to the traveller or to time itself. Hermione initially found
this rule as not applicable - at most, her classes were two hours long. However, as Hermione
prepared to take the second-year exams she (and her classmates) would have taken, she found
herself going back in time for longer and longer.
In three days, Professor McGonagall was coming to proctor her exams in the Grangers’ little
cottage in Lavenham, Suffolk. Hermione was just getting to the Engorgement and Shrinking
Charms in The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 2) by Miranda Goshawk. Hermione’s eyes danced
over the pages as quickly as she could muster.
These straightforward but surprisingly dangerous charms cause certain things to swell
or shrink. You will be learning both charms together so that you can always undo an
over-enthusiastic cast. There is thus no excuse for having accidentally shrunk your
homework down to microscopic size or for allowing a giant toad to rampage through
your school’s flower gardens.
Hermione wistfully wished she could practise both spells but knew using magic outside of
Hogwarts was strictly forbidden. She was already using the Time-Turner outside of school (and
often). Hermione was pretty sure the Ministry wouldn’t be pleased to learn how often she had used
the Time-Turner that summer (not to mention doing it in the Muggle world). Hermione didn’t need
any added scrutiny.
She chuckled to herself as she mentally scrolled through the list of all of the rules she had broken
since learning she was a witch. Before becoming friends with Ron and Harry, Hermione wouldn’t
have considered taking one step out of line. Now she was actively wishing to break them; how
times have changed!
Speaking of time changing, Hermione bit the end of her pencil (she much preferred quills but was
running low on ink) and looked over at the clock. It was getting late in the afternoon. Soon, her
parents, Bert and Mary, would be home from their dental office in town and would expect
Hermione to join them for a family dinner.
Hermione absolutely adored her parents. They had been admittedly distant as Hermione grew up,
but their relationship had gotten much warmer over the last few years. One thing always remained
the same - academia was the shared love of all of the Grangers. Top marks, science, and rational
thinking were the pillars of the Granger family. When all else failed, facts and figures would
always succeed.
Nonetheless, much to Hermione’s chagrin, her parents insisted on family dinners regardless of
Hermione’s need to do her school work. She suspected her prior petrification during the attack
from Slytherin’s monster scared her parents much more than they let on. Hermione couldn’t
necessarily blame them - seeing their only child as a statue would be a terrifying thing, especially
when it took so long for them to bring her back to life.
Hermione had to admit Bert and Mary had been excellent sports with all of the magic. Family
dinners every night were a small price to pay to go to Hogwarts and finally feel as though she
belonged. That’s why she had yet to decline a family dinner all summer.
She also had a Time-Turner to make declining family dinners unnecessary.
Hermione did a quick calculation in her head: she had about two hours of work left before she
could be satisfied with her progress. Her parents were due home in half of an hour. It was
Hermione’s turn to cook dinner, so she definitely needed more time. If she turned the Time-Turner
three times for three hours, that’d give her ample time to do her work, double-check it, and prepare
a simple dinner. Hermione moved her school books, parchment, and pencils out into the den and
returned to her room to go back in time.
From beneath her robin egg blue blouse, Hermione pulled out a delicate gold chain with a circular
charm about the size of a golf ball (or Golden Snitch, one of the balls used in the Wizarding sport,
Quidditch). The Time-Turner was, indeed, a true piece of art. The gilded gold circular frame of the
hourglass had intricate etchings of stars and swirls. Around the innermost circle with the hourglass
were two rings that could each spin independently of each other.
Hermione grasped the tiny, delicate crown and spun it between her fingers once.
Twice.
Three times.
The faint tactile feedback of tiny, minute clicks as she turned was much more satisfying than the
feeling she knew was coming next. She immediately felt the familiar tug to her belly button as soon
as she finished the third wind. It was slightly nauseating but nothing Hermione couldn’t handle.
She figured she’d eventually get used to it with enough travel through time.
Around her, the room started to shift. Hermione learned very early on not to watch the echo of her
present self walking backwards around the room. It was one of the most disorienting things she had
ever experienced. That was also why she had moved her school work out to a different room of the
house - she didn’t want to share the room with her past self. That was one of the dangers of
manipulating time - could you imagine seeing your doppelganger moving about? You’d think you
were mad! In fact, Professor McGonagall had warned her of this very threat - there had been many
time-travelling wizards that accidentally killed their past selves. However, now that Hermione
knew about time travelling, the danger wasn’t as severe. If Hermione happened to see herself,
she’d just assume it was a future version.
Regardless, it was her personal preference not to watch herself. She tended to be quite critical of her
appearance lately, and seeing a version of herself right in front of her did not help curb her
criticism. Besides, time travel was a very tricky and finicky thing - it was much simpler to avoid
any past selves. It, quite frankly, made Hermione extremely anxious because she knew how much
she didn’t know about time travel. She knew just enough to realise that she knew basically nothing.
The idea of a time loop was almost too abstract for Hermione to comprehend.
Instead, Hermione focused on the sunbeams and shadows coming through her window. It never
ceased to amaze her to watch them shift so drastically as the sun moved backwards. Watching it
kept her grounded and focused until, finally, the feeling in her belly button subsided, and she
completed the travel through time.
Hermione allowed herself a quick glance at her past self sitting at her desk before going out to the
den to continue her work. Her hair, from the back, looked to be comparable to a bird’s nest.
Hermione’s hand instinctively went up to the back of her head. The bushiness was out of control.
She made a mental note to ask her mother for a different hair product she could use. Hermione
didn’t usually care much for looks but didn’t want to go back to school with anything that would
bring more attention to her than being a “Mudblood” would. With the amount of school work she
planned on doing, she hoped for a very mundane year with no added scrutiny.
Hermione settled down in the hard mahogany chair in the den and got back to work on her Charms.
“Engorgio,” Hermione said aloud but was careful to say it without any intention whatsoever. She
didn’t want to do any wandless magic accidentally. “Hard G’s,” she corrected herself. “En-GORgee-o.” Her eyes scanned the rest of the page.
To expand or grow. It appears as a circle of icy blue light emanating from the tip of
the wand, much like a torch. Anything within this circle will grow exponentially,
bouncing and shivering. If the caster attempts to engorge the target beyond a certain
point, it will violently explode. Although this spell is safe to use on animals, its use is
not recommended until the counter-charm has been perfected.
Hermione studied the illustrated wand movements on the page. She used her pencil in lieu of her
wand, drawing a circular motion starting and stopping at the top of the sphere. Hermione
effortlessly perfected it within a few tries. She used the eraser of her mock wand to turn the page to
the counter curse. “Re-DOO-see-oh. Reducio,” Hermione repeated. She read on:
The incantation is a Latin word meaning "to reduce" or "is reducable,” fitting for this
spell's effects. It is the counter curse to the Engorgement charm. The use of a
Shrinking Charm on a human was considered both complicated and dangerous.
The wand movement was fairly simple as well: a quick down then up motion, similar to the letter
“V.” Within three or four tries, Hermione was reasonably confident she would be able to correctly
perform both the Engorgement and the Shrinking Charms when Professor McGonagall came to
administer her exams.
Hermione was able to read through seven more charms before it was time to start making dinner.
The previous summer, she made a point to study the Latin dictionary front to back and found it
incredibly helpful, especially in Charms. Many of the spells in the Wizarding World had Latin
roots, so having the familiarity of Latin words kind of made up for the eleven years of hearing
spells Hermione missed out on by growing up in a Muggle family. Or, at least, that’s what she
hoped.
Whenever she doubted her knowledge and whether or not she “caught up” to her peers, she
reminded herself that the first time she met Ron, he was reciting a nursery rhyme instead of a real
spell. He was (unsuccessfully) trying to turn his rat, Scabbers, yellow… and he grew up with a
pureblood wizarding family.
Content with her day’s work, Hermione packed up her school work and put it back in her room.
Hermione glanced at her notes as she walked and nearly bumped into her past self, turning the
Time-Turner. As her past self disappeared right before her eyes, Hermione tried to quell the nowfamiliar anxiety that came with the Time-Turner. She had successfully ignored it for the last two
and a half hours. Still, the brevity of her current situation and the depth of her ignorance of the
mysteries of time travelling were utterly terrifying. They all came roaring back as a panic attack hit
her with full force. Her thoughts started to race.
How would she know for sure if her doppelganger was indeed her past self and not something (or
someone) more malicious?
What would happen if someone else saw her? Her doppelganger?
Was there a limit to how many times you could go back in time?
What if she didn’t close the time loop?
Each question led to even more questions.
As she walked to the kitchen to start dinner, Hermione forced herself to think of all of the positives
that came with time travel. Having unlimited time to study for her year two exams was absolutely
brilliant. Hermione couldn’t imagine cramming all of the information she missed while she was
petrified into three weeks without the Time-Turner.
Furthermore, Hermione knew how much work she’d have to prepare for her third year. She
planned on taking as many classes as possible (and the possibilities were exponentially increased
with the Time-Turner). She needed to be as prepared as possible before the start of term because
she’d have no time to waste. Even with the help of the Time-Turner, it was going to be a lot of
work.
The Grangers had also surprised Hermione with a family trip to France after Professor McGonagall
administered her exams. Hermione was excited to go, of course, but the trip was causing her more
anxiety than excitement. The trip would significantly cut into her studies. Hermione hoped she
would become more comfortable with the Time-Turner by then and did her best to remain cheery
whenever her parents brought it up. She planned on turning back time that evening to do a bit of
research into the different places they would visit. As luck would have it, one of the essays she had
to do for her History of Magic class was on witch trials - France had a long, sorted history with the
subject.
Hermione set the timer for the roast and went into the sitting room to wait for her parents to come
home. She had barely sat down when she heard the brass hinges on the front door squeak open.
“Remind me to oil that, would you, love?” came the deep yet slightly nasally voice of Bert
Granger.
Hermione smirked; she knew her mother would not, in fact, remind her father to oil the door.
They’d both forget about it within two minutes. They weren’t necessarily forgetful people; they
just were constantly thinking about hundreds of other things and had to make room in their heads
for everything else. Hermione was precisely the same way.
“Good day, Hermione?” asked Mary warmly as she came into her room. Hermione nodded. “Get
all of your studying done for the day?”
“Not yet,” Hermione replied. “I have a few more chapters I’d like to review this evening.”
“I’d be happy to help if I can,” Mary said as she put her briefcase and files down on the side table.
“Maybe,” Hermione said with a bit of scepticism.
“I learned quite a bit when you were-” Mary paused, “sick. We were at the school for days on end.
Many of your professors stopped by and shared different interesting tidbits about magic.”
“Quite fascinating stuff,” Bert added from down the hall in their bedroom. The first thing Bert did
every day after work was to change his clothes. It was like clockwork. “I still think about that chap
who said trolls in the wilds of Stockton-on-Tees captured him. Whatever came of him?”
Hermione took a quick breath - Bert was talking about her former Defense Against the Dark Arts
professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, who turned out to be a colossal fraud. He had written numerous
books of various heroic adventures and was incredibly charming and charismatic. All of the
witches in the Wizarding World, Hermione (unfortunately) included, had a crush on the goodlooking professor. It turned out that all of Lockhart’s adventures had been other peoples’
adventures. Lockhart would listen to their stories, perform memory charms on the real heroes, and
then hijack the accounts as his own. Hermione almost had herself convinced that she had only been
infatuated with him because she wanted to fit in with all of the other witches, but she was ashamed
to admit she was duped like everyone else.
“He got hit with a memory charm and has no idea who he is anymore,” Hermione said, crossing
her fingers that her father would drop the subject.
“He what now?”
Hermione groaned under her breath. Sometimes her family’s constant quest to know every single
thing worth knowing wasn’t nearly as endearing as she told herself it was. “In the Chamber of
Secrets - Ron and Harry made Lockhart go down to the Chamber with them since he was the
Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and claimed to know how to beat the monster. Lockhart
was lying, though, and stole Ron’s wand so he could escape. He tried to perform a memory charm
on Ron and Harry so they wouldn’t remember he was a coward, but Ron’s wand was broken.
Lockhart’s memory spell just bounced back and hit him.” Hermione took a deep breath. She tried to
give her dad all the details he would need to satisfy his need for facts but not go into anything that
would lead to more questions. It was a very delicate balance, and she really didn’t want to continue
to talk about such an embarrassing subject.
“Shame,” Bert said, walking back into the room. “Mary, did you happen to call the Leschinskys to
cancel wee Owen’s appointment for when we’re on holiday?”
Hermione let out the breath of air she had been holding. Bert had moved to a new topic, thank
goodness.
“No, I thought you did,” Mary said nonchalantly.
“Wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if we didn’t see Owen at Kings Cross waiting for the Hogwarts
Express,” Bert said as he sat down next to Hermione. “That lad just looks like a wizard.”
“And how does a wizard look, exactly?” Hermione asked, amused.
“Smart. Mischievous. Would look good in robes. I don’t know. The kid just looks magical,” Bert
concluded with a huff.
“How old is he?” Hermione asked.
“Ten, I think.”
“Maybe he’ll get his letter to Hogwarts next year then,” Hermione said.
“Wouldn’t be the least bit surprised,” Bert repeated as he picked up the newspaper folded on top of
the side table. “Mark my words.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Dad,” Hermione said with a smile.
“Didn’t you say you were going to take a new class this year? Divination?” Mary asked as she sat
down on the settee. “Maybe your father can be a guest lecturer since he can predict the future.”
“I’d be honoured,” Bert said with a wink. “Though I’d settle for predicting the Derby winners.”
“When did you start caring about the horse races?” Hermione asked.
“Had to have something to keep my mind busy last spring,” Bert said. His voice was light-hearted,
but the feeling behind it was heavy. “What other classes will you be taking this year?”
“Divination, Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of
Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, Ancient runes, Astronomy, History of Magic, and--”
Hermione said, counting off on her fingers. “I can’t think of the twelfth.”
“Twelve!” Mary exclaimed. “Will you be learning how to stop time to get to all of those classes
too?”
Hermione’s face flushed, and her head snapped towards her mother. Did she know Hermione’s
secret? Mary had a sarcastic grin on her face. Hermione instantly relaxed. It was just a joke. Just
then, the twelfth class immediately popped into her head. “Oh, that’s it! Muggle Studies! That’s
the twelfth!”
“Hermione,” Bert said with a severe tone. Hermione snapped her head back to her father. “Are you
sure you’re going to be able to get top marks in that class? You have absolutely no basis of
knowledge about Muggles. We won’t tolerate any failing grades in this family.” Bert couldn’t keep
his face straight anymore and started chuckling. “Honestly, Muggle Studies? Are you taking
classes just to take them?”
“I thought it’d be fascinating to learn about Muggles from the Wizard perspective,” Hermione said.
“Maybe you should be a guest lecturer like your dad,” Mary said with a smile.
“No one wants to hear what I have to say,” Hermione said.
“Rubbish,” Bert said. “You were the one who saved the school last year. Everyone should want to
hear what you have to say.”
“Should and would are two totally different things,” Hermione said.
“You’re going to be headmaster of that school someday,” Bert said. “Mark my words.”
Hermione smiled again. Little did her father know, she had much bigger plans. “Maybe I will,” she
said brightly. “But, no, I am not ‘just taking classes to take them.’ I genuinely want to learn as
much as I can.”
“Good on you, love,” Mary said with a smile. “Still don’t know how you will find all the time to
do it, but I know you’ll make us proud. Do us a favour, though?” she asked. “If you find yourself
not having enough time to do everything, promise me you’ll drop, at the very least, Muggle
Studies.”
“I promise, Mum,” Hermione said, fingers crossed behind her back.
“Good,” Mary said, and the subject was settled.
Hermione settled back down on the couch with her Charms textbook and tried to read another
chapter before the kitchen timer went off. The delicious smell wafting from the kitchen was getting
stronger, distracting her from reading. Finally giving in to her distraction, Hermione put her Charms
book down and picked up the French tour book the Grangers had on their side table.
There were so many sights to see in France. Of course, there were the usual tourist attractions: The
Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and the Palace of Versailles, to name a few. However, Hermione was
much more interested in some lesser-known historical sights with deep roots in the Wizarding
World. The southwestern region - Bordeaux specifically - was the site of the infamous Labourd
witch-hunt of 1609. Professor Binns, the History of Magic professor at Hogwarts, briefly
mentioned it right before Hermione was petrified, and she couldn’t wait to learn more.
Hermione was jarred out of the streets of the French town by the shrill ringing of the timer in the
kitchen. Within a few minutes, she had the steaming roast, potatoes, and glazed carrots on the
thick, wooden table in the Grangers’ dining room. As her parents sat down and discussed their day,
Hermione smiled. She watched them smile, laugh, and recreate their day. She touched the TimeTurner, silently thanking Professor McGonagall for giving her a way to spend more time with
them. Sometimes it took a bit of time to realise there were other types of magic in the world.
Hermione's Big Explosion
As time ticked by (sometimes twice or three times simultaneously), Hermione became more
anxious for Professor McGonagall’s visit and subsequent exams. She was also feeling increasingly
exhausted. Hermione soon realised that manipulating time was tiring work. No matter how hard
she tried, Hermione couldn’t seem to catch up on sleep. One morning, Hermione woke up and was
so tired that she turned the Time-Turner back five hours to sleep some more. When she woke up
the second time that day, she felt no different than the first. In fact, she felt slightly more tired, if
that was even possible.
But it obviously was possible, and Hermione didn’t understand it in the least. How was it possible
to extend the waking hours but not extend the time she could sleep? Hermione drowned out her
anxiety by militantly studying for her exams. She even accepted her mother’s offer to help. With
two days to go before her favourite professor visited, Hermione and Mary worked on some
flashcards.
The lingering smell of a delicious dinner of grilled chicken and courgettes swirled about as
Hermione paced back and forth in the sitting room.
“What is the ‘Dancing Feet Spell?’” Mary asked.
“Tarantallegra,” Hermione said.
“Where and when was it created?”
“In ancient Italy. Though, it is widely credited to Zaccaria Innocenti, who was credited with
conjuring a 'dance' within Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD, triggering its eruption,” Hermione said
without hesitation.
“What is necessary for a successful cast?” Mary continued.
“A clear, unobstructed view of the target.”
“Correct,” Mary said with a smile. “Shall I continue?”
“Yes, please,” Hermione said, continuing her pacing.
“Did I hear that right?” Bert interrupted from his usual after-dinner perch on the couch. “A random
spell caused the great eruption of Mount Vesuvius?”
“Yes,” Hermione said tersely. She didn’t want to get into it with him. “What’s the next flashcard,
Mum?”
“It makes you wonder how many other historical events were the cause of magic,” Bert continued
musing.
“Quite a few,” Hermione said, trying to quell his curiosity. “Mum? The next card?”
“What is the spell to turn an animal into a water goblet?” Mary asked, getting the hint Hermione
didn’t want to give Bert the chance to start chatting.
“Vera Verto,” Hermione answered.
“Correct. And what animals are susceptible to this spell?”
“Rats, birds, and cats.”
“How does one perform the spell correctly?” Mary continued.
“One must tap the animal sharply three times with their wand and then point their wand directly at
the animal whilst saying the incantation,” Hermione continued. “A successful cast will produce a
jet of nearly indiscernible, crystal-clear mist from the caster's wand, engulfing the animal and
quickly morphing it into a goblet with a quiet whooshing noise. An unsuccessful cast will produce
a spasm of greenish light from the wand with a crackling, whining noise, and the target will be
transfigured incompletely. It may still be furry or might possess a tail and, in some cases, may even
still emit vocal sounds.” Hermione took a breath and looked at her mother to see if she was correct.
Mary hesitated while she tried to skim the card. “Sorry, love, that was a bit of a long answer. Just
making sure you got everything. You said green light was a bad incantation, right?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, trying to be patient. She could feel the ball of anxiety in the centre of her
chest, growing with every tick of the clock on the mantle. She made a mental note to review the
Vera Verto charm when she used the Time-Turner later that night just to be sure. It wasn’t that she
didn’t believe her mother was capable of reading a flashcard, but she knew herself well enough that
she would have to double-check it for herself. Her self-doubt and anxiety trumped all rational
thought.
“Correct,” Mary confirmed.
“What other real-world events happened because of Magic?” asked Bert. “Now you have me
curious.”
“I’m sure we’ll get to some of them when we do the ‘History of Magic’ flashcards, dear,” Mary
said. Hermione gave her a small smile of thanks.
“Makes you read the newspaper in a different light, doesn’t it?” Bert said, examining the front
page of the Lavenham newspaper.
“Sure does,” Mary said, flashing a goofy smile at Hermione. Hermione was too anxious to return
the gesture. “Next one then, love?”
“Yes, please,” Hermione said, continuing to pace.
The study session went on for another two hours before Mary deemed it too late to continue.
“Honestly, Hermione, the only thing you need now is sleep. You’ve studied more than you could
possibly need.”
“But I missed so many weeks, Mum,” Hermione said with tears in her eyes.
“And you’ve more than made up for them,” Mary said a bit more sternly. “You’ve been working
yourself to death. You’re exhausted. At this rate, you won’t even be able to stay awake for your
exams.”
“Fine, I’ll go to bed,” Hermione said with no intention of going to bed. “But can we pick back up
tomorrow?”
“No, I think you should take a night off to relax and get into the right headspace for your exams.”
Hermione was stunned. “Did you just tell me NOT to study?”
“I did,” Mary said smugly.
“You? The woman who made me memorise the multiplication tables in preschool just told me to
take a night off from studying?” Hermione could feel herself losing control.
“Hermione!” Bert said sternly. “That’s uncalled for. Apologise to your mother.”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” Hermione said, but she could still feel the irrational anger just beneath the
surface.
“It’s ok,” Mary said, her voice heavy. Hermione stole a look over, and the hurt in Mary’s face cut
her like a knife. Hermione looked away quickly. Maybe she did need to take a break and get a good
night’s sleep.
“You’re right,” Hermione forced around the ball of anxiety that was still there. “I’m just going to
go to bed. I’m sorry again,” she said as she ran from the room.
Her guilt immediately mixed with her anxiety and, as soon as Hermione shut her bedroom door, a
full-on panic attack ensued. She pushed all of her textbooks off of her bed and flung herself in their
place.
Hermione could only take short gasps and tried as hard as she could to fill her lungs with air.
However, her chest felt incredibly heavy - it felt very similar, in fact, to being petrified. She had a
flashback to the heavy grey nothingness she experienced and her panic attack intensified.
She was becoming desperate. Hermione’s eyes scanned her room for anything that could help her
to calm down. Her heart felt as though it was beating against her chest. She could acutely feel the
Time-Turner’s cool metal with every thump. Rationally, she knew it wasn’t moving, but she
couldn’t help but think the Time-Turner had started to twitch in time with her rapid heartbeat.
Finally, her eyes fell upon her “Jess” stuffy. Jess was the black and white cat character from the
children’s television show, Postman Pat. Hermione loved watching the show as a child and would
tend to watch it when she became too overwhelmed with learning. Hermione scooped up the plush
cat in her arms and hugged it tightly.
She felt a tiny bit of calm wash over her but very quickly realized she could still feel the TimeTurner pressed against her skin. Hermione clawed at her neck and ripped the Time-Turner from her
neck. She heard a small thud as it hit the floor but paid no attention to where it landed. She instead
concentrated on Jess’s black and white fur. In her mind, she could see the “real” Jess on the
television screen in Postman Pat’s red Royal Mail van, driving along, and sang along between
gasps:
Postman Pat, Postman Pat, Postman Pat, and his black and white cat!
The simple rhythmic song soon calmed Hermione down enough for her to take a deep breath. It
took a few more minutes of petting Jess and focusing on the softness of his matted fur for her to
calm down enough to feel like she could start functioning again.
Hermione’s brain immediately tried to make sense of the panic attack. Yes, she was incredibly
stressed about the upcoming exams, but this instance felt different. She had never lashed out at her
parents like that before. The only logical cause Hermione could come up with was the utter
exhaustion that came from using the Time-Turner day after day. Adding up to five hours to her day
was taking a mighty toll on Hermione.
After vowing to herself to take a bit of a Time-Turning hiatus (especially in France) and to
apologize to her mother again in the morning, Hermione felt much better. She placed Jess, the
black and white cat, next to her pillow as she cleaned up the mess she had made. She stacked the
magical textbooks high up on her desk, taking a few moments to make sure they were all lined up
and flush with the edges. Her life may be a mess, but her books didn’t have to be.
Hermione discovered the Time-Turner slightly sticking out from under her bed and took it over to
her closet. She found her beaded handbag her Grandma had given her and placed the Time-Turner
gingerly inside. She vowed to herself she would not pull the necklace out until after her exams.
Then, taking a deep breath, she went back out to apologize to her parents.
----The hours started to tick by like minutes as Professor McGonagall’s arrival came nearer. Hermione
had banished herself out to her front yard to do some last-minute studying. That morning, an owl
had arrived at the Granger’s kitchen window with a letter from Professor McGonagall confirming a
three o’clock arrival time. Hermione glanced at her wristwatch - it was nearly two o’clock.
Hermione tried desperately to focus on the words on the faded page of her Potions textbook. One
of the last potions on her list to study was the Swelling Solution. They had been learning about that
particular potion last year during the same class that Hermione, Harry, and Ron had planned to
steal ingredients from Professor Snape’s storeroom to make the Polyjuice Potion. Harry created a
diversion while Hermione snuck into the side storeroom. Needless to say, Hermione hadn’t paid
much attention to the ingredients that day.
Hoping to change that, Hermione started repeating the ingredients over and over to commit them to
memory. “Two scoops of dried nettles, three puffer-fish eyes, and a bat spleen. Two scoops of
dried nettles, three puffer-fish eyes, and a bat spleen,” she repeated, shutting her eyes to try to
picture them as she said them.
“That’s an interesting recipe,” came a voice from the yard. “Remind me not to join yeh for dinner
if yer cookin’, eh?”
Hermione’s eyes flashed open to see Finnegan, the town’s postman smirking back at her. His sandy
blond hair and ocean blue eyes were striking, and Hermione felt her cheeks flush. His charming
good looks reminded her of Professor Lockhart, though Hermione knew Finnegan was much more
genuine and personable.
“Oh, it’s just for a class at school,” Hermione said.
“Interesting class yeh got there,” Finnegan said. “Sounds like a magic potion if yeh ask me.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She looked up at Finnegan and tried to read his face. His
blue eyes twinkled with a slight hint of mischief. They reminded her of the look in the Weasley
Twin’s eyes when they knew a secret. Hermione’s heart quickened slightly as she scrambled
through her head for an answer.
“I’m taking an alternative healing course with all kinds of natural remedies for ailments,”
Hermione blurted out. “This -- uh -- salve helps with swelling.”
“Very interesting,” Finnegan said with another glint of… something. “Next time me ankle swells
up, I’ll be sure to find yeh and your salve.”
“Uh, sure,” Hermione said in a choked voice.
“Got a letter for yeh,” Finnegan said, changing the subject. “Quite a peculiar one, if yeh ask me.
Take a look.”
Finnegan reached into his bag and pulled out a rather large envelope absolutely covered with
stamps: fat stamps, tiny stamps, and even stamps from different countries. Without even looking at
the return address, Hermione knew it had to be from a Wizarding family who had no idea how the
Muggle Royal Mail worked… and she would bet money it was from the Weasleys.
Finnegan passed her the letter, and Hermione looked in the corner. “Ronald Weasley,” it read.
“Thank you,” Hermione said. Finnegan looked at her as if he expected more of an explanation. She
searched for yet another answer. “My friend - he really wants to keep you employed, I guess,” she
said, surprising herself with the joke. Hermione never came up with jokes that easily.
“Tell him thanks for me, then,” Finnegan nodded with a twinkle in my eye. “With this raise, I’ll be
able to afford your Swelling Potion next time I need it.”
Something in the way Finnegan said “Swelling Potion” stopped Hermione cold. She hardened her
stare. He stared back. They held each other’s gaze for a moment too long until Finnegan dipped his
head in a slight nod. Hermione seemed to understand the meaning: Finnegan knew of the
Wizarding World!
“Are you?” she asked, still trying desperately to abide by the International Statute of Wizarding
Secrecy.
Finnegan’s head seemed to dip ever so slightly again. “Am I what? A postman? Of course.”
The spell was broken. Hermione didn’t know what to think.
“Right. That’s what I meant,” Hermione said.
“Well, I’m delivering this, ain’t I?” Finnegan said with one last wink as he indicated Ron’s letter.
“Right, well, I’ve got to be on my way. More letters to deliver,” Finnegan said with a wave.
“Thank you,” Hermione called out as he walked towards the street.
“Good luck with that potion,” Finnegan said over his shoulder as he headed to the next house.
Hermione could have sworn she saw him wink again.
All thoughts of last-minute studying had been entirely forgotten. Hermione couldn’t concentrate
whatsoever. Hermione sighed anxiously and tried to focus on Ron’s letter instead of the feeling of
impending failure. It was slightly tedious to open the envelope around all the stamps, but Hermione
finally found a way inside. She pulled out the sheet of parchment and read Ron’s horrendous
handwriting:
Dear ‘Mione.
Guess what? My dad won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw! 700
Galleons! We’re going to go on a trip to Egypt to visit Bill. I know that’s one of the
places you’ve always wanted to see. Want me to bring you back a mummy? Just
kidding. Don’t think mummies can use Floo powder. Hope you get this letter. Decided
to use the Muggle post since Errol flew into a tree last week and can’t fly straight. I
hope you’re having a good summer! Let’s meet up in London before term!
And this is the longest thing I’ve ever written. You’re welcome.
Ron
How exciting! Hermione smiled at the thought of the Weasley family taking a much-deserved
family vacation. Egypt was such a fascinating place, and she made a mental note to write back to
Ron with all of the exciting things he’d have to check out when they went.
She put the letter from Ron (with all of the stamps) in the beaded handbag along with the TimeTurner. Hermione checked her watch - a quarter of three. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror
and tried to run a brush through her bushy hair. Halfway through, she gave up, put the brush down,
and exchanged it for a brand new quill and ink.
Hermione made her way to the sitting room where Mary and Bert were sitting. She sat down, and
Mary threw her arm around her shoulders. “How are you holding up? Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Hermione said with half a smile.
“You’re going to be brilliant, sweetheart,” Bert said.
“Thanks, Dad,” Hermione said.
“It’s going to be Professor McGonagall who comes, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Hermione said, her voice slightly higher than it should be. She glanced over at the
mahogany clock on the mantle. “She should be here any moment now.”
As if on cue, the hearth of the fireplace started to glow a faint green colour. The glow grew as the
embers caught the green flame. Hermione heard a whooshing sound that got louder and louder
until it crescendoed into a sharp crack.
Professor Minerva McGonagall appeared in the exact instant the sound of the crack reached
Hermione’s ears. The professor’s long, emerald robes looked majestic in the afternoon sun
streaming through the window. Hermione felt the familiar flutter of her heart at her first bit of
magic since she had left Hogwarts. Magic was… magic.
“Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said with a warm smile. “Dr. Granger, Dr.
Granger,” she continued with a head nod to each Mary and Bert.
“Good afternoon!” Hermione squealed, not being able to contain all of the feelings she had at that
moment. It was nearly overwhelming.
“Good afternoon! So nice to see you! Nice trip?” Bert said.
“Oh, just a quick jump into the fireplace,” Professor McGonagall said. “I had entertained the idea
of taking a few days on the train instead - make a trip out of it - but other business at the school cut
my leisure time short.”
“That’s too bad,” Bert said. “I always fancy a train trip through the countryside.”
“Likewise,” the professor agreed. “As a young girl, my parents, brothers, and I would make a day
out of riding the trains through the West Highland Line. Little did I know I’d be taking that same
route to Hogwarts a few years later.”
“The whole of the Scottish countryside is stunning,” Bert agreed. “Whereabouts were you from?”
“On the outskirts of a little village called Caithness in the Scottish Highlands,” Professor
McGonagall said.
“My grandparents were from there!” exclaimed Mary. “It’s positively stunning countryside!”
“I agree,” said Professor McGonagall wistfully. Then, with a hefty sigh, the head of Gryffindor
house bristled and refocused her attention on Hermione. “Well, then. Are you ready for your
second-year exams, Miss Granger?”
“I hope so,” Hermione said with a gulp.
“May I take a moment to remind you that you and all of your classmates were given exemption
from exams? You do not have to take these, Miss Granger. I’m quite sure that you have learned all
of the relevant material, thus making the exams irrelevant,” she said sternly.
“Yes, I know,” Hermione said. She had anticipated the professor trying to talk her out of the
exams. “But I want to be able to test my understanding and make sure I am ready for my third
year.”
“Understandable,” Professor McGonagall said. “Where would you like to sit for them?”
Hermione was slightly surprised Professor McGonagall didn’t put up more of a fight. “Perhaps my
parents’ office would suffice?” she asked and led her favourite professor down the hall to the
office. Hermione and Mary had cleaned it out the weekend before so that both desks would be
available: one for Hermione and one for Professor McGonagall.
“Yes, this will do quite nicely,” Professor McGonagall said as they passed through the doorway.
She turned to face Bert and Mary, who had followed them down the hall. “We will need
approximately four hours for the exams. I am anticipating needing a break halfway through.
However, until then, we will need to be alone. There cannot be any outside influences.”
“Ok, well, good luck, honey!” Mary said.
“You’ll do great,” Bert said with a wink.
“We’ll have supper ready for you when it’s over!” Mary added as the two witches walked away.
Hermione’s anxiety had grown with each step down the hall but, peculiarly, stopped cold as soon
as Professor McGonagall shut the door after ushering her parents out. She placed her new quill and
ink on the desk and turned to face her favourite professor. She was ready.
Professor McGonagall gave her a small smile before opening her large satchel. Hermione hadn’t
even noticed it until just then. It was a worn leather bag about the size of Finnegan’s mailbag.
Professor McGonagall put her hand into the bag. And then her arm. And then half of her upper
body. Hermione couldn’t help but gasp.
Professor McGonagall pulled her arm out of the bag. “Oh, I should explain. I put a charm on my
bag to make it much larger than it looks. However, things tend to get jostled around in there.
Things like your exam, at the moment.” Professor McGonagall took her wand out of the pocket of
her robes and held it over the open bag. “Accio exam papers,” she said, and a stack of parchment
flew out of the bag and onto the desk.
“That’s brilliant!” Hermione gasped. “Can you show me?”
“Unfortunately, it’s an Undetectable Extension Charm,” said Professor McGonagall. “The ministry
controls its use quite heavily. I don’t think it would be prudent to ask the ministry for another
exception for you, Miss Granger, at this time. Do you agree?”
“Yes, professor,” Hermione said, feeling guilty for using the Time-Turner over the summer. She
searched her professor’s eyes. Did she know?
“I’ll show you once you give up the Time-Turner. One special exception at a time,” Professor
McGonagall said with a wink. Hermione smiled back.
The next few minutes went by in a blur of anxiety. Professor McGonagall explained each section of
the exams and went over all of the time limits on each. Additionally, Professor McGonagall
performed anti-cheating spells, even though she reassured Hermione she did not think they were
needed. It was just a formality and, like Hermione, Professor McGonagall loved rules. Lastly, the
deputy headmistress explained that starting as soon as her hourglass turned, the Trace would be
lifted from Hermione. The Trace was a charm that allowed the Ministry to know of magic cast in
the vicinity of wizards and witches under seventeen years of age.
Before long, it was time to start. Hermione’s heart was fluttering, but she wasn’t a complete mess
of nerves. As she waited for Professor McGonagall to turn the hourglass over to begin, Hermione
looked at the backside of the parchment with a confidence she didn’t know she could possess. As
soon as the ornate hourglass adorned with Griffins and Gargoyles thudded back down on the desk,
Hermione flipped her parchment. It was time for magic.
Hermione breezed through the written Charms section with nearly 10 minutes to spare. History of
Magic was surprisingly easy. Hermione didn’t want to admit it, but she learned loads more from
reading the history than listening to Professor Binns drone on and on. The Potions theory section
seemed easy as well. Perhaps too easy. Hermione took a few extra minutes second-guessing a few
of her answers. The only question she was sure of was for the Swelling Potion.
Before she knew it, it was time for the practical portions of the exams. The pair had collectively
decided to skip the break so as not to stop Hermione’s momentum. Hermione swished and flicked
her way through Charms and Transfiguration. She swirled and crushed through Potions. She dug
and scraped through Herbology. All the whole, Hermione felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration she had missed magic so much.
With one last flick of her wand, Hermione successfully performed the Slowing Charm (Arresto
Momentum) on one of the Cornish Pixies Professor McGonagall let loose out of her satchel. She
plucked them out of the air and handed them back to a beaming Professor McGonagall.
“Well done, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said.
“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said with a smile.
“That concludes your second-year exams,” Professor McGonagall continued. “They will be
graded, and the results will be sent to you by owl, probably with your third-year letter.”
“Can you at least tell me what I got on the practical part of the exams?” Hermione asked.
“I still have to add up your scores, but I’d be surprised if you didn’t get top marks. Really, Miss
Granger, you did brilliantly. I am so proud to have you in my house,” Professor McGonagall said
warmly. After a moment, she tapped the stack of exam papers and scoring sheets with her wand.
They disappeared from the desk with a faint popping noise.
Hermione’s heart felt like it could explode from happiness. The warm smile from Professor
McGonagall would stay with her for days to come.
“Right then,” Professor McGonagall continued. “I’ve been smelling something incredibly
wonderful through the door for the last hour or so. Let’s go and see what your parents have
whipped up in the kitchen.”
The two witches made their way out of the room and down the hall. Hermione felt as though she
had a weight lifted from her shoulders. She knew she would start to dissect and second guess all of
her answers in due time, but - at that moment - she was finally at peace.
The Bus from Nowhere
With her exams out of the way, Hermione was getting excited for her trip to Paris with her parents
at the end of the month. Since she had a bit of free time, she met with Mildred, the head librarian at
the Lavenham Library, to research the French weather patterns for July. Hermione and Mildred
completed a brief yet comprehensive graphical representation of Parisian weather patterns over the
last 75 years. Hermione was able to plan what she was going to pack and wear each day.
Time seemed to drag on forever, waiting for not only her exam results but also the return to her
magical home. Hermione finally decided to write back to Ron about his trip to Egypt. According to
a letter from Ginny (who was a much more descriptive writer), the Weasleys were leaving for
Egypt at the end of the week. She sat down at her desk with her favourite quill.
Dear Ronald,
Egypt! How incredibly exciting. Of course, you’d want to see the Pyramids of Giza,
Valley of the Kings, Karnak Temple, and the Memorial Temple of Hatshepsut, but I’ve
also so many off the beaten track attractions to explore! You simply must visit the
labyrinth shopping souk of Khan el-Khalili, where coppersmiths and artisans still have
their tiny workshops. Also, if you can make a day trip to Saqqara, there is a vast
necropolis of tombs and pyramids utilized during every era of pharaonic rule. Let me
know if you’d like me to create an itinerary for you and your family.
Speaking of itineraries, we are about to head off on holiday in France! My parents
made me promise to “just have fun” and not to create a detailed itinerary, but there
are so many fascinating places to visit!
Most notably, I want to visit some of the historic French Witch Trials sites to see what,
if any, history is related to the real Wizarding World. My dad was just remarking the
other day about all of the ways the Wizarding World has impacted the Muggle World.
Is that something that your dad deals with a lot in his job at the Ministry? Limiting the
impact of the Wizarding World has on the Muggle one?
In other news, I just took my second-year exams. Professor McGonagall came to
administer them. I wasn’t sure about one or two questions, but I think I did quite well
overall. I would assume you opted not to take the exams - really, Ronald, you should
take your studies a bit more seriously. You can be quite clever, you know. It’s time to
get the marks to prove it. Plus, you know your mom would be so proud of you!
I’m very excited for the upcoming term - there are so many great new classes to take!
Which ones will you be taking?
Hermione, of course, was not going to disclose to Ron (or anyone else for that matter, other than
Professor McGonagall) that she was planning on taking ALL of the classes offered to third-year
students. Hermione planned to plot out her schedule on a map of Hogwarts to identify possible
empty rooms to use the Time-Turner in. Hermione bit the edge of her quill; just thinking about the
logistics of it all made her stomach tighten into a massive ball of anxiety.
Hermione finished the letter to Ron and pulled out another sheet of parchment to write to Ron’s
sister, Ginny. Hermione sincerely hoped their friendship would grow this year - last year, things
were a bit rough for the youngest Weasley, to say the least. Hermione’s friendship with her
roommate, Parvati, was a bit strained since the whole mess of the Heir of Slytherin bit, so
Hermione welcomed a fresh start with Ginny.
That night, the school owl tapped at her window, and Hermione placed the two letters to the
Weasleys in its mouth. As she watched the owl fly into the moonlight, Hermione turned to her
wardrobe. Even with two weeks left before they left, there wasn’t much left to do now that her
exams were over. Hermione decided it was time to pack.
Before shutting her luggage, Hermione’s eyes drifted to the beaded bag on her desk that held the
Time-Turner. She had not used it since that last night before her exams and felt much more
refreshed. In her mind, Hermione wrote a quick pros and cons list for bringing the timepiece with
her on her trip. On the one hand, she’d be able to see more sights and linger for more research. On
the other hand, Hermione would be exhausted even before the start of term. In the end, her need for
knowledge trumped her need for sleep, and she tossed the bag in her luggage.
----The following two weeks ticked by slowly, but Hermione tried to make the most of her downtime
by reading a few fiction novels. Mildred had suggested a few from the bestseller list, and
Hermione was happy to give them a read. Reading was almost as magical as the Wizarding World.
Finally, it was time for the Grangers to take the familiar trip to King’s Cross Station but, instead of
boarding the Hogwart’s Express, they travelled onward to the platform for the train to Paris.
Hermione was bubbling with excitement and nearly missed the concern in her father’s face as he
read his morning paper on the platform, surrounded by their carry-ons.
“What’s wrong?” asked Hermione with a frown. “You don’t look nearly as excited as you should
be!”
“Nothing, love,” Bert said with a sigh as he placed the newspaper on the bench next to him. “Just
depressing news of the day. Glad to be out of the country for a bit.”
“Can I see?” Hermione snatched up the paper and looked at the headlines. It was slightly boring to
look at a Muggle newspaper - it was just so... unmoving. Just a week ago, Hermione had been
looking at the front page of the Daily Prophet - the Wizarding newspaper - and saw Ron, Ginny,
and the rest of their family waving back to her from Egypt.
The Muggle paper, however, not only didn’t move but also wasn’t as uplifting. “MURDERING
CONVICT ON THE LOOSE NEAR LONDON,” read the headlines. Hermione gasped - the
picture of the convict matched one she saw in a very similar article in the Daily Prophet that
morning before they left.
“Dad,” Hermione said in a whisper, “This Sirius Black is a wizard. He escaped from the Wizard
Prison the other day.”
“Well, that complicates matters,” Bert said with a frown. “It’s one thing to have a psychotic
murderer on the loose. It’s a whole other thing to have a psychotic murderer that can do magic on
top of it all.”
“I’m sure the Minister of Magic will find him,” Hermione said, but she had an odd, uneasy feeling
about the whole thing.
Her uneasy feeling moved to the back of her mind as the train to Paris rolled into the station. The
Grangers’ boarded the train and found their seats. Soon they were being whisked into the French
Countryside.
The country was absolutely stunning. Hermione couldn’t get enough of the beautiful sights,
extraordinary smells, and decadent food. With every turn, there was something new to explore.
Hermione was absolutely in love with all things France.
Their first days were spent getting to know (and love) Paris. Even though Hermione hated being a
“tourist,” she had so much fun seeing all of the “typical” sights and sounds. Around every corner,
she found something even more fascinating to see. With that said, she soon realized what she
wanted to see and do and what her parents wanted to see and do were two totally different things.
Hermione took out Ron’s most recent letter to occupy herself as her parents went for a wine tasting.
She received it on her first night in Paris. She didn’t really know why she was so compelled to read
it so many times, but she just couldn’t help herself. It read:
‘Moine,
I doubt I will be able to convince the family to go to all of those sites, but it seems
everywhere we look, there is something to see. Bill’s taken us round all the tombs, and
you wouldn’t believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum
wouldn’t let Ginny come in the last one. There were all these mutant skeletons in
there, of Muggles who’d broken in and grown extra heads and stuff. I hate to admit it,
but I am learning a lot. You definitely should come here someday. Maybe I could show
you around now that I’ve seen all of these things. I think we would have a lot of fun
together.
How is France? When do you leave again? I think you’re already there. I bet it’s
beautiful. Maybe I can show you around Egypt, and you can show me around France
someday? Oh, how’s the tower thingy? I never really understood why Muggles like
things like that.
Speaking of Muggles, I think I got Harry in trouble. I tried to call him on the Muggle
phone, and his uncle was totally mental about it all. Dad reckons I shouldn’t have
shouted into the thing, but how else would they have heard me from so far away?
One more thing: we got a bit of bad news. Percy got an early letter from Hogwarts. He
was made Head Boy. He’s insufferable already. I don’t know if I will survive a year of
this.
We will be getting back about a week before term starts. Do you want to meet up in
Diagon Alley to get all of our school supplies? Hopefully, we don’t have another git
for Defense Against the Dark Arts (sorry, but it’s true) who makes us buy all kinds of
books. My mum and dad won’t have much money left after this trip!
Don’t let the muggles get you down!
Ron
Hermione couldn’t help but smile every time she read his letter. She knew he’d hate to admit it, but
Ron was really a decent writer. If only he’d apply his skill to his school work.
After a few days of getting the lay of the land, Hermione finally convinced her parents to let her
make a day trip to Bordeaux in the Southwest of France. Pierre de l'Ancre, Lord of De Lancre, was
the French judge of Bordeaux who conducted the massive Labourd witch hunt of 1609, which,
tragically, resulted in the execution of 70 people in and around the area.
“Kind of a morbid day trip, don’t you think?” Mary asked as she put on her shoes to start their day.
Bert was planning on spending the day at a French dentist conference near Paris.
“I think it will be fascinating to find out if there are any correlations or connections to the real
Wizarding World,” Hermione answered. She was trying to pull her brush through her hair, but it
kept getting stuck. She gave up and put it up in a messy bun. She went over to her luggage and
pulled out her worn copy of Bathilda Bagshot’s famous book, A History of Magic. She had already
marked the page. “Actually, according to this book, it’s a certainty that some of those burned at the
stake were actual Wizards and Witches:
"Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of
magic in medieval times but not very good at recognising it. On the rare occasion that
they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or
wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with
pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed
being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty-seven
times in various disguises."
“Whatever you say,” Mary said with a hint of a smile.
“If you don’t want to go--” Hermione started.
“Of course I want to go,” Mary said. “Bordeaux should be positively lovely with this gorgeous
weather we’re having.”
Bordeaux, the capital of wine country, had a unique mix of vineyards and gothic architecture. The
smells of the city were utterly intoxicating. The city’s golden facades, its courtyards and
monumental squares, as well as its lively streets accompanied by its French-style gardens, were
almost too much beauty for Hermione to take in a single day. She reached into her beaded bag and
felt the cool metal of the Time-Turner; luckily, she’d have enough time to see everything she
planned on visiting.
Hermione and Mary stopped for a bite to eat before the majority of their sightseeing commenced in
a quaint little cafe. Hermione had been experimenting with all of the French cuisines she could each meal, she vowed to try something new, and with each meal, she fell more in love with the
tastes of France.
“Qu’est-ce que vous pouvez recommendez?” Hermione asked the waiter when he came over to
take their order. “What do you recommend?” was one of the French phrases she had learned. She
hoped her accent wasn’t as noticeable as it sounded to her.
“Ah, mademoiselle, I would be happy to recommend to you,” the waiter said in a thick French
accent. Hermione scowled. Her accent needed some work.
“Merci,” Hermione said, blushing slightly.
“I bring it back. A - how you say - surprise?” the waiter continued.
“Oui!” Mary said with a giddy clap. “Moi aussi! Apportez-moi aussi uni surprise!”
The waiter nodded his head with a smile and bobbed and weaved his way from the table.
“I wish my French was as good as yours,” Hermione said to Mary.
“Live in France for a year or two like me, and you’ll catch right up,” Mary said. She leaned in and
dropped her voice. “Is there a magic school here in France as well?”
Hermione was taken aback. “I -- I’m not sure,” she started. “To be honest, I’ve never given it much
thought. I suppose there must be.”
“There must be Witches and Wizards in places other than the United Kingdom,” Mary said.
“Maybe you can transfer to a school somewhere in France just like I did!”
Hermione couldn’t imagine not going back to Hogwarts, even if it meant she’d be able to move to
France. Hogwarts was her home, and she was never going to leave it.
The Granger pair made some small talk about one of Pierre de Lancre’s most famous works, On
the Inconstancy of Witches (if you could call that small talk), until the waiter reappeared with two
large steaming bowls. Hermione had no idea what was in them, but the smell alone was enough to
make her mouth water. Hints of saffron and citrus wafted over her as the waiter placed the bowls
on the table in front of them.
“Bouillabaisse!” Mary exclaimed. “Merveilleux! Merci!”
“What is Bouillabaisse?” Hermione asked as soon as the waiter left. However, she was quite
certain she’d eat whatever it was made of - it smelled heavenly.
“Bouillabaisse is a traditional fish stew,” Mary said, placing her napkin on her lap and grabbing the
basket of bread on the table. “It tastes divine with bread.”
Mary was right. It did taste divine with bread. It tasted divine on its own. It would taste divine with
anything. It was so good, in fact, that Hermione almost forgot why they were visiting Bayonne in
the first place.
Hermione was surprised to see almost two hours had passed since they first sat in the little cafe. A
momentary bubble of panic rose in her chest before Hermione remembered the Time-Turner in her
beaded bag. She’d be able to get those two hours back with a turn or two!
She excused herself from the table and made her way to the washroom. Luckily for her, there was
a back door near the ladies' room that she could use to get to the alley behind the cafe. After
confirming she was the only one in the washroom, Hermione took the Time-Turner out of her bag
and placed the long, gold chain around her neck.
One turn.
Two turns.
The lurch in her stomach seemed more substantial this time. Maybe it was because she hadn’t used
the Time-Turner in so long. Hermione could feel the bouillabaisse swish in her stomach. It was not
a pleasant feeling. At all.
As soon as the time travel was complete, Hermione lurched for the door. All she could think about
was the fresh air of the French streets. Her stomach wouldn’t stop swishing about.
Hermione took a few minutes to collect herself against an old oak barrel in the alley. She really had
to get used to time-traveling again before school started. She made a mental note to use the TimeTurner at least once a day. It didn’t need to be for long - just enough to get used to the feeling
again.
After her stomach calmed down, Hermione checked her watch and headed down the street. She had
approximately an hour and a half before she had to be back in the cafe. Her first stop was the
famed University of Bordeaux. Hermione could only imagine the scholars of the 1600’s pacing the
hallowed halls, trying to figure out if Pierre de l'Ancre had stumbled upon real witches (or
Sorginaks, as they were also called) or if it was just his prejudice against the Basque mythology of
the time. Perhaps Wendelin the Weird or her descendants were brought to trial here. Hermione
made a few mental notes to include her theories in her summer work for Professor Binn’s History
of Magic class.
Speaking of Hogwarts, as Hermione toured the university's public spaces, she couldn’t help but
make comparisons in its gothic arches to Hogwarts and was reminded of her mother’s question:
Were there other schools like Hogwarts around the world?
She started to run through all of the students she knew at Hogwarts. Were there any French
students? No, Hermione couldn’t think of any. Were there any Americans? Germans?
The chiming of a clock tower jarred Hermione back to the present. Well, kind of the present. She
glanced at her watch. She was nearly out of time! Hermione started to sprint back to the restaurant.
Just as she rounded the last corner, a vast wall seemed to appear out of nowhere. Hermione flew
backward as if by magic, barely missing the wheels of the Transports Bordeaux Métropole bus that
she almost ran in front of. Hermoine collapsed in a heap, the adrenaline coursing through her
veins.
She glanced to her left at a young woman conspicuously placing a long stick inside her cardigan.
The woman was maybe two or three years older than Hermione, with pale blonde hair and fair
skin. She caught Hermione staring and leaned towards her. “Ça va?” she asked. Hermione knew
enough French to know she was asking if she was ok. However, Hermione’s mind went blank
when it came to replying. There were no French words to be had anywhere in her head.
“I’m ok,” Hermione mumbled, trying to get up. She was shaking like a leaf. The mysterious girl
helped her to her feet. “Thank you,” Hermione said and then shook her head. “I mean ‘merci,’” she
corrected herself.
“It’s ok - I speak English too,” the young woman said in a thick French accent. “You must be more
careful.”
“I know - I was running late,” Hermione said and immediately put her hand to her neck in a panic.
The Time-Turner! It must have fallen off when she fell! Hermione scrambled to her knees and
started scanning the cobblestones for the necklace.
“Are you looking for this?” the woman asked, holding the Time-Turner up.
“Yes!” Hermione exclaimed, reaching for it. “Thank you so much!”
The woman’s pale blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the sunlight as she handed over the necklace,
temporarily blinding Hermione. Hermione grabbed the gold sphere and placed it back around her
neck and under her shirt. “That is a Time-Turner,” the woman said simply, yet accusingly,
pointing to Hermione’s neck.
“And you had a wand,” Hermione blurted out.
The pair stared at each other for a few moments. Neither moved. Hermione tried to search the
young woman’s face for any clues as to how to proceed. She didn’t know the proper etiquette of
confronting a fellow Witch in the Muggle world, especially without breaking the International
Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.
“It was just a stick,” the young woman finally said with a wink Hermione couldn’t miss.
“It is just a necklace,” Hermione replied, winking in return.
Both women scrambled to get up and moved off to the side of the road. They stood awkwardly for
a moment, not sure what else to say or do, before each going about their way in opposite directions
with a bit of wave.
Hermione remembered she was still running late but did her best to watch out for any more
Transports Bordeaux Métropole buses whipping around corners. She basically threw herself into
the back door of the cafe and just caught her past self going back in time. Hermione threw some
water on her face, so she wasn’t as flushed, and then went back to join her mother, who was all too
excited to continue their tour of the famous city.
Hermione decided against using the Time-Turner again that day - she’d just have to return to
France another time to hit all of the other places she had on her list to visit. Hermione was quite
certain she had enough information for her History of Magic essay (or, at least, that’s what she was
telling herself). She did her best to enjoy the rest of the day with Mary, visiting all of the typical
Muggle sites of one of France’s most beautiful cities.
----Later that evening, Mary and Hermione reunited with Bert. He was fresh off his dental conference
and was extremely excited to talk enamel with them. Mary was keen to hear all about it, but
Hermione didn’t find talk of hydroxyapatite percentages very engaging. She excused herself and
made her way to her hotel room. Her parents, understanding she was finally not a child anymore,
had graciously gotten Hermione her own adjoining hotel room in each town they visited.
Hermione flopped down on her bed. She was exhausted from the day’s travels (in more ways than
one). She definitely had to build up her endurance before the start of term. Hermione forced herself
to get up from the bed and over to the small desk closest to the window to write out a schedule for
time traveling. With the Time-Turner’s help, she’d be able to write her essay for Professor Binns as
well. Maybe she’d find some more information out about the Witch Trials in somewhere other than
Bordeaux.
Just as she started figuring out the formula for an exponential increase of the use of a Time-Turner,
a tap at the window pulled her out of her equations. There, on the window sill, was a brown owl.
Hermione instantly recognised it as one from the owlery at Hogwarts. After a few moments of
fumbling with the latch, Hermione finally was able to get the window open. The tawny owl hooted
his approval before hopping into the hotel room and shaking off the dampness of the night air.
Hermione smoothed out the owl’s feathers a bit before reaching for the packet in its beak. They
were her Hogwarts letters already! She quickly ran from her desk to her bag and grabbed her
planner. July 20th. It was almost Harry’s birthday! She had nearly forgotten!
It broke Hermione’s heart to know someone as sweet as Harry had to spend the summer with such
awful relatives. He never got anything of note from his aunt and uncle, so Hermione always made
it a point to get him something special. She knew she’d never make up for the years of neglect, but
she wanted to make sure her best friend felt loved, especially on his birthday.
Hermione went back to the windowsill to thank the owl before sending him back into the inky
black sky. Right before he flew off, Hermione had an idea. She held up one finger to the owl, who
seemed to understand she needed a moment. He hopped back inside with his head cocked to one
side, watching the Witch fly around her hotel room, looking under and around anything she could.
Hermione knew what she was looking for but had absolutely no idea what she had done with it.
Finally, after emptying her luggage, she found her copy of the Daily Prophet. She paused for just a
second to watch Ron smile back at her before opening the paper and scanning the articles and
advertisements within.
“A-ha!” Hermione cried. She found what she was looking for: an advertisement for a broom
servicing kit from Quality Quidditch Supplies. Luckily for Harry, she had saved the Daily Prophet
with Ron’s picture in it - usually, she just tosses the newspapers once she gets them (after ripping
them up so no Muggles would see the moving photos).
Returning to the desk, Hermione picked up her quill and quickly filled out the order form, only
pausing for a second to skim the description:
This modest Broomstick Servicing Kit comes in an elegant black leather case with
silver lettering. It contains a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a
pair of silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a brass clip-on compass, and a Handbook of Do-ItYourself Broomcare. A “must-have” for any Quidditch Enthusiast!
From her beaded bag, Hermione took out the small change purse where she kept her Wizarding
Money. She counted out three Galleons and nine Sickles. It was a hefty price tag, but Hermione
couldn’t think of a better gift for her best friend. She put the order form and payment into a spare
envelope and wrote “Quality Quidditch Supplies” on the front. The brown owl held out its leg - it
must have been too heavy to carry in its mouth. Hermione gladly complied and watched the owl fly
back into the night sky. She’d worry about how to get it to Harry later.
Hermione made herself finish her current equation before ripping open her envelopes from
Hogwarts (though ripping was definitely an exaggeration; Hermione liked to try to open her
Hogwarts letters without damaging the wax seal). The first thing Hermione noticed was her thirdyear welcome letter, handwritten in Professor McGonagall’s elegant handwriting. It read:
Dear Ms Granger,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts
Express will leave from King’s Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at
eleven o’clock.
Third-years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade at certain weekends.
Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign.
A list of books for next year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
A smile crossed her face as she started to read the second piece of parchment from the envelope:
THIRD-YEAR STUDENTS WOULD REQUIRE:
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3 by Miranda Goshawk
Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky (if studying Divination)
Intermediate Transfiguratio n by Emeric Switch
The Monster Book of Monsters (if studying Care of Magical Creatures)
Numerology and Grammatica (if studying Arithmancy)
Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles by Wilhelm Wigworthy (if studying
Muggle Studies)
Spellman's Syllabary (if studying Ancient Runes)
The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts by Arsenius Jigger
Hermione was, indeed, studying all of the additional classes and, therefore, would need all of the
books listed. A familiar flutter of excitement flew through her. She was going to learn so much!
Directly behind the supply list, Hermione found the permission slip. It was also printed on the
faded, heavy parchment Hogwarts letters came on. It read:
PERMISSION for VISIT to HOGSMEADE for Hermione Jean Granger
This document hereby serves to state the aforementioned
Third-year student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
is permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade at such a time
That the school arranges, and with the signature of the undersigned
parent or guardian.
The student shall abide by all such rules & regulations relevant
to such expeditions and set by the school as per article 528/Z
of the 1714 Edict.
Then, below the paragraphs, there was a section for parents or guardians to write their name,
relationship to the student, and sign their names to signify permission. Hermione had heard the
older students talk about Hogsmeade during her second year; the hospital wing was the final
destination for students who frequented Zonko’s Joke Shop a few too many times. She hoped Ron
and Harry were able to get their permission slips signed as well - it would be so lovely to get away
from the school every now and then, especially with how much (extra) time she would be spending
there. Hermione started imagining everything - lunch at the Three Broomsticks, laughing with the
boys and then doing a bit of shopping at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. It would be a divine
distraction.
Hermione begrudgingly shook the thought of good food and even greater quills from her mind and
went back to looking at the timetable she had been working on before the owl had arrived. She
stared at the parchment until her eyes crossed. She was too exhausted to do any more calculations.
With one last fleeting thought of Hogsmeade and her friends, Hermione fell into bed, falling asleep
as soon as her head hit the pillow.
----The next few days were a blur of sightseeing, eating, and time turning. Hermione got right back
into the swing of using the Time-Turner - it was easy to convince herself to use it when she was
rewarded with an extra hour or two in such a beautiful place (and managed to avoid any additional
run-ins with buses). She, in fact, learned quite a bit on her Time-Turning expeditions - enough to
write two extra rolls of parchment for her History of Magic essay! It was so wonderful to get back
to writing for Hogwarts again.
After a particularly tiresome day of sightseeing and time turning, Hermione was looking forward to
falling into bed and sleeping in the following day. She was utterly exhausted.
As soon as she snuggled into bed, however, Hermione heard a horrible bang at her window. It
startled her so much that she almost fell out of her hotel bed. Hermione sat up straight and looked
towards the rectangular window but couldn’t see anything other than the black sky and the dark
brick of the building next door. She started to ease back into bed when there was another loud
knocking on the window pane. This time, she saw movement outside. It was an owl! It was an
owl... with a very large package.
Hermione ran over to the window and opened it as quickly as she could. The poor owl heaved itself
and the large package it was carrying inside.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Hermione said, giving the owl a pet. “Can I get you anything? Food?
Water?” She knew the owl couldn’t respond, but she just couldn’t help herself.
She ran over to the sink, filled a small cup with water, and brought it back to the poor animal. The
owl sniffed it a few times and then started completely dunking its beak into the water. Hermione
took the moment of pause to look at the package the poor owl had carried in her window. The
package was a relatively sizeable rectangular box (in relation to the owl who delivered it, anyways)
wrapped in a simple brown butcher paper and tied with black twine. Hermione flipped it over. On
the bottom was a foil label that read “Quality Quidditch Supplies.” It was Harry’s Broomstick
Servicing Kit! Hermione completely forgot all about it!
She glanced down at her open planner. It was almost Harry’s birthday. How would she get it to
him in time? Hermione took another look at the poor owl who delivered the package. There was no
way it would be able to take the parcel back up in its beak and fly all the way back to England.
Hermione would have to wait for another owl.
As if by magic, she heard the whoosh of wind out the window. A white blur filled the air. Hedwig,
Harry’s snowy white owl!
“Hedwig! What impeccable timing,” she said with a smile. The brown owl paid Hedwig no
attention as it lapped up the water. Hedwig glanced at it with a tiny hint of disgust. Hermione
giggled. She always thought Hedwig was sassy for an owl and much wiser than most people. A
slight pang of envy coursed through Hermione - she had always wanted an owl, but her parents
were adamantly opposed. They never really explained why they were so anti-owl, but Hermione
always noticed a distinct change in their demeanor whenever an owl would arrive to drop
something off or pick something up.
Hermione took a few moments to pet Hedwig’s bright, soft feathers. “You’re just looking out for
Harry, aren’t you,” she said. “Don’t worry - I didn’t forget his birthday.” Hermione indicated the
Quality Quidditch Supplies package on the desk. “You think you’re up for carrying this back to
Harry?”
Hedwig tipped her head in a nod. Hermione expected the snowy owl to take the package and fly
off, but Hedwig just stared at her as if she was expecting Hermione to do something else.
“What else do you need?” Hermione asked. “You don’t need his address, do you?” Hedwig shook
her head and hopped across the desk. She pecked her beak at the pen sitting next to her planner.
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “You want me to write him a note! Good idea! Sorry, I’m exhausted
and not thinking straight.”
Hermione grabbed a piece of nicer parchment from her luggage and crossed back to the desk to
write.
Dear Harry,
Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I do hope
you’re all right.
I’m on holiday in France at the moment, and I didn’t know how I was going to send
this to you – what if they’d opened it at Customs? – but then Hedwig turned up! I think
she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought
your present by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I’ve been
getting it delivered, it’s so good to keep up with what’s going on in the wizarding
world). Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he’s learning
loads; I’m really jealous – the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.
There’s some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I’ve rewritten my whole
History of Magic essay to include some of the things I’ve found out. I hope it’s not too
long; it’s two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.
Ron says he’s going to be in London in the last week of the holidays. Can you make it?
Will your aunt and uncle let you come? I really hope you can. If not, I’ll see you on the
Hogwarts Express on September the first!
Love from
Hermione
P.S. Ron says Percy’s Head Boy. I’ll bet Percy’s really pleased. Ron doesn’t seem too
happy about it.
Hermione folded the letter in thirds and slipped it into a blank notecard; she always carried a few
with her for situations just like this one. She tucked the card under the black twine of the package.
Hedwig nodded her approval and started sizing up the package to, Hermione assumed, figure out
how to carry it back to Harry in Little Whinging, Surrey.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait a bit? Maybe recuperate from flying all the way here?”
Hermione asked. Hedwig seemed slightly miffed at the accusation that she was tired because,
before Hermione knew it, the snowy white owl had her talons securely wrapped through the twine
and was halfway out the window.
“Bye then,” Hermione said, slightly shocked at how quickly the owl took off.
She turned her attention back to the brown owl, who didn’t seem even to notice Hedwig’s arrival or
exit. It had stopped slurping water, but it hadn’t moved from the side of the cup. Hermione was
slightly concerned for its well-being. She didn’t know how to take care of an exhausted owl. Her
only experience with caring for owls was dealing with Ron’s elderly owl, Errol, and there wasn’t
anything anyone could do for that poor thing.
Hermione took a look at the pile of books she brought with her to France, but none of them dealt
with animals. She contemplated asking her parents for help, but based on their avoidance of all
things owl, she doubted they would be much help.
Resigning to not being able to do much, Hermione did all she could think of - she made a
makeshift nest from tissues and toilet paper and gently prodded the owl into the crevice. She
refilled the cup with water and found a bag of trail mix she had leftover from one of their hikes
through the French Countryside. She sprinkled the nuts next to the nest. Hermione also kept the
window cracked in case the owl wanted to leave in the middle of the night.
Convinced that was all she could do, Hermione gave the poor owl one last pet before heading back
into the bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, Hermione fell into a deep sleep. She didn’t even
hear the owl give her a hoot of thanks before flying away into the night sky.
The Leaky Cauldron
The rest of their French Holiday went by in a blur. Hermione didn’t want to leave but kept
reminding herself that she’d be going back to Hogwarts to be with all of her friends. She was a bit
apprehensive about all of the classes she would be taking, but her perfect marks on the exams she
had taken earlier in the summer made her a bit more confident in her abilities. The results had
come while the Grangers were eating dinner at the famous Au Pied de Cochon, nestled in the Les
Halles district of Paris. They were seated at a small outdoor cafe table under the red and white
awning, admiring the sights and sounds of the busy Parisian street.
Hermione was just about to tackle her escargot when a beautiful black and white spotted owl
landed gracefully on the table in front of her. Mary and Bert both gasped and pushed back from the
table. A strangled scream escaped from Mary’s lips.
“It’s ok!” Hermione said hurriedly to her parents and the other cafe patrons who had noticed the
strange occurrence. “It’s from school,” she added in a whisper to her parents. After quickly and
covertly taking the envelope from the owl’s beak and giving it a wink, Hermione made a big show
of shooing away the animal.
The Grangers made Hermione wait to open the envelope until they were safely back in their hotel
for the night. Enclosed with the marks was a personal letter from Professor McGonagall which
Hermione contemplated framing:
Miss Granger,
Congratulations on such an amazing accomplishment. I look forward to seeing your
work in the upcoming term and anticipate you will do just as well with all of your
upcoming third-year classes. I am incredibly proud to have you as a Gryffindor.
Sincerely,
McGonagall
Hermione did not frame the letter, but she planned to pack it in her school trunk to take with her to
Hogwarts. She knew she’d have a few bad days with all of the stress and physical toll of the TimeTurner during the school year, and that letter would be able to remind her of why she was doing it
all.
Since they’d be getting off the train home at Kings Cross Station, the Grangers decided to take
care of getting all of Hermione’s school supplies while they were there. Hermione thought it was a
brilliant idea - this way, she’d have time to read all of her books and get a head start on her insane
third-year schedule.
The day of their return, the Grangers had a beautiful breakfast of crepes and fruit before boarding
the train back to London. Hermione was so sad to leave France but kept reminding herself that she
would be in the Wizarding World of Diagon Alley before she could even begin to miss France. On
the train to Kings Cross Station, Hermione committed her supplies list to memory. She didn’t want
to waste any time looking up titles. She also made a list of miscellaneous supplies she’d need for
the school year:
-New robes at Madam Malkin’s (Hermione’s were getting a bit too small)
-New ink at Scribbulus
-New quills at Amanuensis Quills
-A new cauldron and a refresh of potions ingredients at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary
Hermione hesitated before adding one more item to her list:
-A pet owl at Eeylops Owl Emporium
She doubted her parents would allow her to get an owl, but Hermione was prepared to make the
case. Not only would it be a fantastic and practical early birthday present, but they also wouldn’t
have to deal with random owls interrupting them in the middle of a Muggle restaurant like in
France.
As they made their way through Kings Cross, the Grangers stored their luggage at the Left
Luggage service so they’d not be tied down with all of their things. Hermione’s heart quickened in
excitement as they neared the Leaky Cauldron, the secret entrance to Diagon Alley.
The pub wasn’t busy in the least, but it was, after all, a Tuesday. Hermione led the way through the
tavern to the brick wall that separated the Muggle World from the Wizarding World. She pulled
her wand out of her pocket. The cool, smooth wood felt so comforting in her hand. It truly felt as
though the wand was a natural extension of her hand. She took a moment to admire the beautifully
crafted, 10¾" long, vine wood wand with a dragon heartstring core and made a mental note to stop
at Ollivander's to get a wand polishing kit as well. Hermione wanted to make sure her wand was in
tip-top shape for the rigorous year ahead.
As soon as she placed the tip of her wand to the brick facade of the courtyard (from the rubbish
bin, three up and two across), the magic began. The bricks started to move, turn, and shift to reveal
a large archway and an alley full of magic. That first step into Diagon Alley always took
Hermione’s breath away.
“We should start at Gringotts,” Hermione said. “So we can exchange money.”
“Makes sense,” Bert agreed. “How much are we looking at this year? Do you have a list?”
Hermione gave her father the list of books. She hesitated before giving him the second list of
supplies she wrote on the train. She watched his face as he read it over and saw it turn to stone as
he read the last item on the list.
“Absolutely not,” Bert said sternly.
“Absolutely not what?” Mary asked, reaching for the list.
“Honestly, Dad, it makes sense if you’ll just listen,” Hermione started.
Mary read through the list. “I agree. Absolutely not,” she said.
“You’re not even giving me a chance to tell you why it makes so much sense,” Hermione said.
“Because I don’t want to hear it,” Bert said. “Nothing will change our minds about this,” he added.
“Why are you both so against owls?” Hermione asked, sulking.
Both of her parents paused and shared a look. “We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Mary said in a
sad tone.
“I’m nearly 14 years old,” Hermione said.
“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Bert echoed sternly.
There was a very uncomfortable pause. Hermione had so much to say, but she knew enough to
stop. It wouldn’t end well if she continued to push.
“Fine,” Hermione conceded. “To Gringotts then?”
The Grangers nodded curtly and followed Hermione as she made her way to the imposing snowwhite multistoried marble building. The Wizarding Bank was located partway down Diagon Alley,
near its intersection with Knockturn Alley, and towered over the neighbouring shops.
Hermione and her parents walked up the set of white stairs to the brass doors guarded by a Goblin
dressed in scarlet and gold. As they entered the smaller entrance hall, Hermione glanced at the sign
on the silver doors that lead to the main lobby:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
The thought of ever trying to steal from Gringotts was so preposterous, it almost made Hermione
giggle aloud. The Goblins who ran the Wizarding Bank were the best of the best. The protections
they had on the buildings and the vaults below were some of the best in the world. Anyone who
attempted to steal from the bank had to be completely mental.
Bert stood in the queue to transfer his Muggle check for Wizarding currency. Hermione stayed
back - she always felt guilty at the final price, even though the Grangers would probably be
spending much more if they sent Hermione to a proper English boarding school. Still, the sticker
shock of having to get enough for the entire term was a bit disconcerting.
Shaking the bag of coins like a tambourine, Bert walked back over to Hermione and Mary.
Hermione could tell he was trying to lighten the mood. He had clearly moved on over the whole
owl debacle. Still, Hermione knew better than to bring it up again. It was going to be a hard no to a
pet owl.
Hermione decided to save Flourish and Blotts for last for two reasons: first, she didn’t want to have
to lug all of her books around Diagon Alley the whole day; secondly, she had a bad experience in
the shop last summer and didn’t want it to happen again and ruin her entire day.
Their first stop was Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions on the North Side of Diagon Alley.
Madam Malkin, a squat but cherry woman, was bent over a table folding blouses when she heard
the tinkle of the small bell above the door as the Grangers made their way into the shop.
“Oh, hello there, dears!” Madam Malkin proclaimed. “What can I help you with today?”
“I’m here to get a few more Gryffindor Uniform Packs and robes,” Hermione said. “Please,” she
added with a smile.
Madam Malkin's face lit up. “Of course, young lady. Would you mind coming up over here so I
can measure you?”
Hermione nodded and zigzagged behind the shopkeeper through the storefront around all of the
miscellaneous displays of cloaks, dress robes, skirts, slacks, jumpers, gloves, and a mirage of other
things Hermione didn’t quite know the use of to the second-floor measuring area. Mary and Bert
entertained themselves with the Invisibility Cloak section. Hermione smiled as she heard her
parents giggle at their floating heads. Harry had an Invisibility Cloak from his father, but his cloak
seemed to be of better quality than the ones her parents were experimenting with. You could see
the slight shimmer of fabric where Bert’s torso should have been; with Harry’s, you saw absolutely
nothing once it was in place.
Hermione turned her attention back to Madam Malkin who’s tape measures started to dance in the
air like little snakes. They danced a bit in front of Hermione’s face before snaking their way around
her shoulders. Then they slithered down to her chest, waist, hips, and legs. The cloth strips tickled
a bit as they slid around, and Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. Madam Malkin had her wand out,
controlling both the measuring tapes and a quill which was writing down her measurements on a
piece of scrap parchment.
“Have you had many Hogwarts students yet?” Hermione asked.
“We usually get an influx of students right when the summer letters go out and then again the week
before term starts. It’s pretty steady in between, though,” Madam Malkin replied.
“Well, that’s good,” Hermione said. Small talk wasn’t her strong point.
“It is! It’s so fun to see the first years come in and then see them again when they’ve grown out of
their robes. They grow up so fast!” Madam Malkin eyed Hermione up and down. “Just like you.
Third-year, I’m guessing?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Magic,” Madam Malkin said with a wink. “That and that most thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds
grow like weeds. Puberty and all.”
“Makes sense,” Hermione said as the measuring tape uncurled itself from around her calf and flew
back to Madam Malkin’s mauve apron pocket.
“I’ll probably see you again one more time before you finish with Hogwarts,” the shopkeeper
continued. “Most students need three different sizes during their academic career. Gryffindor, you
said?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione replied.
“And you need the whole lot? Skirt, blouse, vest, robes, socks?”
“Yes, please.”
“Coming right up!” With a bit of wave, Madam Malkin disappeared behind a beaded curtain
towards the back of the store. Hermione glanced back at her parents, who had finally tired of the
invisibility cloak display and were now entertaining themselves with the self-ironing robes by
balling them up and then watching them unfurl like a raft being inflated.
Hermione was startled by the sound of the bell at the front door. “I’ll be right with you,” Madam
Malkin shouted from the back. Hermione glanced toward the entrance. A girl about her age and
her parents entered the shop. Hermione recognised her from Hogwarts but couldn’t quite place her.
She was definitely not in Gryffindor but was definitely a soon-to-be third-year student as Hermione
associated her with at least one or two shared classes. The actual class, however, was completely
eluding her at the moment.
The girl was about the same height as Hermione but with dark - almost black - hair cut in a straight
bob and dark-framed glasses. Her skin was on the fair side, though a splattering of freckles dotted
her face. She moved gratefully about the shop, gliding around the displays with her parents
(Hermione assumed) following her. Hermione couldn’t get a good look at her. As the girl ventured
further into the store and closer to the balcony, she finally looked up and stared at Hermione square
in the eyes.
Hermione recognised her all at once: Sophie Roper, a quiet yet fierce Slytherin in Hermione’s year.
A ball of anxiety immediately leapt to Hermione’s chest. She wasn’t prepared mentally to have to
deal with a Slytherin that day. Hermione glanced down at her parents, who were still messing
about with the self-ironing robes, clearly acting like Muggles and panicked. It was one thing for
her to be demeaned for being Muggle-born by Slytherins; it was an entirely different thing for her
parents to be harassed.
Hermione set off as if she were running track and field, and the pistol just fired. She wanted to
intercept Sophie before she had a chance to reach Bert and Mary and make any rude or snide
comments. A million scenarios were running through Hermione’s head. She was close to
panicking. As she took the stairs two at a time, she had already decided that she would resort to
dueling, if necessary. The threat of expulsion was completely worth it to save her parents from the
prejudice this Slytherin was about to spew out of her mouth.
Hermione was picking up an alarming amount of speed as she raced down the steps and couldn’t
manage to slow her momentum. She came to a dead stop inches away from Sophie.
“Whoa, watch it!” Sophie said with a disgusted look on her face.
“Why don’t you watch it!” Hermione replied (the comebacks in her head were so much better than
that).
“Interestingly enough, I wasn’t the mental arse running down the staircase towards an
unsuspecting shopper. You were,” Sophie said coolly. “Now, if you could please get out of my
bloody way, I’d like to buy some robes with my parents.”
“Yeah, well,” Hermione stuttered. “Fine. Just make sure to leave us alone.”
“Wasn’t planning on paying you all that much attention, Granger,” Sophie said. “The professors do
enough of that for a bloody lifetime.”
Hermione scowled but didn’t respond. She kept an eye on Sophie as she stalked up the staircase to
where Hermione had just been. Sophie’s parents didn’t seem to notice the interaction and just
followed their daughter up the steps without giving Hermione a second glance. Hermione walked
sideways over to her parents, keeping one eye on Sophie.
“All done, love?” Mary asked.
“Just waiting for Madam Malkin to bring me my robes,” Hermione said.
“What are we to do with your old robes?” asked Bert. “It just occurred to me we can’t just donate
them at the local thrift shop back at home. It seems a waste just to throw them out.”
“I can bring them back here with me at the start of term and drop them off at the Second-hand
Robes shop on the South Side of Diagon Alley,” Hermione said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Bert said.
With a rattle of the beaded curtain, Madam Malkin emerged with Hermione’s items. She addressed
Sophie and her family before coming down the steps to Hermione and hers.
“This should be it, dear!” Madam Malkin said. “Would you like it wrapped?”
----As soon as Hermione and her parents paid for the (unwrapped) uniforms, she ushered them out of
the store as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to take any more chances with her parents around a
Slytherin.
The Grangers made their way through the rest of the shops on Hermione’s list without any more
incidents. Hermione even lightened up enough to laugh at her parents’ reactions to the sights and
smells of the Apothecary. For some reason, the idea of dried doxy eggs disgusted Bert so much
that he was nearly sick in the middle of the store. He could barely get a word out without gagging.
His eyes would bulge out like a cartoon, and he’d turn a nasty shade of green. Hermione and Mary,
however, found it absolutely hysterical.
Finally, they arrived at Flourish and Blotts . Hermione took a deep breath and walked through the
front door. Similar to Madam Malkin’s shop, the little bell twinkled to announce their arrival.
Hermione looked around for the assistant that had been so ignorant a year ago but, thankfully,
didn’t see her. Maybe she had been let go! Hermione hoped so. She felt terrible wishing someone
would lose their job, but that woman was an utterly awful person.
A completely different, younger clerk glanced up as Hermione, and her parents approached the
desk. “Hogwarts student?” he asked.
“Yes!” Hermione said.
“What year?” he asked.
“I’ll be a third-year,” Hermione said.
The clerk’s face fell. “Bloody hell, you’re not taking Care of Magical Creatures this year, are you?”
Hermione shook her head. “Yes, I am taking all of the classes this year. Would you like me to tell
you them all?”
“Let me get this ruddy book first, and then, if I have arms left, I’ll get the others for ya,” said the
clerk. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick, and
proceeded towards the door of a large iron cage in the front window display.
About 100 copies of what Hermione assumed to be The Monster Book of Monsters were in the
cage , though if she didn’t know better, she’d just think they were mini-monsters without the book
part. The book, if you could call it that, was a deep green colour with gold embossed lettering on
the front. Reading what the gold letters spelled was another story - the books were scuttering about
and flapping the covers like a hungry beast.
Hermione and her parents watched as the assistant held the walking stick like a sword and threw
open the door to the cage. Thankfully, the door was about halfway up, and it appeared as though
the books could not jump (but Hermione decided right then and there that she’d never want to test
that theory). Swatting the books back with the stick, the clerk isolated one book near the right
corner near the door to the cage. With his other free arm, he slammed his hand down on the cover
of the book, effectively clamping its mouth shut. He quickly dropped the stick and, in one quick
motion, scooped up the book sandwiched between both hands. He placed the book on the top of the
cage with a waiting rock that he promptly put on top of the cover. The clerk then took the walking
stick out of the cage and shut the door.
“Bleedin’ hell,” the clerk said, mopping sweat off of his brow. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do
this for the rest of the summer holiday.” He took a deep breath and turned around to face
Hermione. “Do you have something to wrap it up in? Keep it shut?” Hermione shook her head no.
The clerk sighed. “I think I have another strap you can have in the back. Do you have a list of the
other books you need?”
Even though Hermione memorized the list, she quickly handed it over instead of inconveniencing
the clerk even more than she already had. He did a double-take. “You weren’t kiddin’ when you
said you were taking all the classes, were you!” he exclaimed and started searching the tall stacks
and shelves for all of the books on Hermione’s list. Hermione’s new copy of Monster Book of
Monsters on top of the cage shook violently. She hoped the clerk wouldn’t forget the strap as he
got all of her other books.
A few minutes later, Hermione and her parents walked out of Flourish and Blotts with eight new
books, one of which was wrapped tightly with a thick leather strap that cost more than the most
expensive book. Supply and demand at its finest.
The Grangers made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, through the magic barrier, and into
Kings Cross Station to get their bags. Hermione was sad to leave the Wizarding World but knew
she’d be back in just two weeks. Well, probably more like three weeks with the Time-Turner so she
could read all of the books. Hermione smiled. This was going to be a good year.
----“Hermione!” Mary called down the hall. “I think this phone call is for you!”
Hermione frowned. Who on earth would be calling her on the phone? She marked her page in The
Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3, and jogged down the hallway to the phone. Mary handed her the
receiver with an amused look on her face.
“Hello?” Hermione said into the phone.
“Hello? Hermione?” came a faint whisper.
“Hello? Yes? This is she,” Hermione answered.
“This is Hermione Granger?” whispered the caller.
“Yes, this is Hermione Granger. Who is this?” Hermione was losing patience fast. “And speak up.”
“It’s Ron.”
“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed. “Why are you whispering?”
“Because the last time I used this bloody thing, I got Harry in trouble by yelling,” said Ron gruffly
in a somewhat normal volume. “I didn’t want to be two for two with the muggle parents.”
“Just talk normally, Hermione said. “Oh, it is so wonderful to hear your voice! How was Egypt?!”
“It was bloody brilliant,” Ron said, taking a bite of something extremely loud. “You definitely
have to go there. You’d love it.”
“What are you eating?” Hermione asked.
“Oh, you can hear that?” Ron asked. “Sorry. Didn’t know sounds could go across a telephone too.
Hold on, let me swallow.”
Hermione’s ear was assaulted with loud crunching for the next ten seconds. She didn’t even try to
talk over it. Finally, it sounded as though Ron had finally finished the bite. “Have you already
gotten all of your stuff for school?”
“Nah, not yet,” Ron said. “We just got back two days ago. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you
about. We’re thinking of staying overnight at the Leaky Cauldron for the night before term starts
and getting all of our stuff then. Then we can just hop on the Hogwarts Express the next morning.
Reckon you want to come too? You can stay with Ginny.”
“I would love to!” Hermione said.
“Brilliant. I’ll let mom know,” Ron replied.
“What about Harry? Have you heard from him?”
“No, but get this: Dad found out through the Ministry that Harry tried to blow up his aunt with
magic and had to run away from home. He’s been staying at the Leaky Cauldron most of the
summer.” Ron nonchalantly took another bite of whatever loud food he had been eating early.
“He did what?!” Hermione shouted into the phone.
“I said, ‘Dad found out through the Ministry that--’”
“I heard what you said,” Hermione said. “I was just shocked.”
“Oh, ok,” Ron said. “I wasn’t sure if the telephone stopped working or not.” Ron took another bite.
“Yeah, he got a letter from the Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry and everything… but
I guess Fudge let it slide or something.”
Hermione remembered getting a letter last year from Mafalda Hopkirk at the Improper Use of
Magic Office; she had accidentally performed an Immobulus charm the previous summer when she
knocked an inkwell over. Hermione had never been so terrified in her life. The thought of being
expelled from Hogwarts was the worst thing that could ever happen.
“I wish I had known he was there,” Hermione said. “We were in Diagon Alley last week getting all
of my things.”
“Did you see all of the Sirius Black posters?” Ron asked. “I guess it’s a huge deal at the Ministry.
You know - that he escaped and whatnot.”
“I didn’t notice them, but I wasn’t looking for them either,” Hermione said. “But he definitely
made the Muggle news both here in Britain and France. Has your Dad heard anything more about
him? Do they have any clues?”
“Not that I know,” Ron said. “But he’s been pretty quiet about it all. Everything is probably top
secret.”
“That makes sense,” Hermione said, but there was only a muffled rustling as a response. “Ron?
Are you there?”
Finally, the rustling stopped. “So, do you have to ask your parents about coming to the Leaky
Cauldron with us?” Ron asked. “Mum just came in and asked.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine with it,” Hermione said.
“My Mum isn’t going to like that as an answer,” Ron said. “Can you just ask them?”
“Does your Mum just want to talk to mine?” Hermione asked. She figured playing a literal game of
telephone with Ron wouldn’t be the brightest idea.
“Yeah, that works. Hold on,” Ron said and put down the phone. “Mum, Mrs Granger wants to talk
to you!”
Hermione gave Mary (who was still sitting in the den listening to Hermione’s side of the
conversation) a quick explanation of what she and Molly Weasley would be discussing and gave
Mary the phone.
After a quick reminder to Mrs Weasley that she didn’t have to scream or whisper into the phone,
Mary discussed their plans and agreed to the trip. Everything was planned out and agreed on.
Hermione could hardly contain her excitement.
----Saying goodbye to her parents was difficult, but that was mostly because they made it so.
Hermione guessed they were a bit more apprehensive this year because of what happened last year,
which was completely understandable. Hermione did her best to promise them she’d be safe this
year; in reality, there’d be no way she’d even have time to get into any sort of trouble with her
schedule.
Still, it was a bittersweet moment as Hermione joined Molly Weasley in the Grangers’ fireplace
and yelled out “The Burrow” while throwing the Floo Powder down at their feet.
As soon as she and Molly landed in the Burrow, Hermione was overwhelmed with a cosiness that
she had never really experienced before. The Burrow fireplace was located in one of the warmest,
most inviting kitchens Hermione had ever been in. Even the worn wallpaper on the walls was
welcoming. Hermione, at once, noticed the peculiar clock on the wall opposite her. It had only one
hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to
feed the chickens, and You're late . Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with
titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts — It's Magic!
A tall, lanky redhead was sitting at the large kitchen table in one of the eight chairs, eating a
massive plate of eggs, tomatoes, and potatoes. His small, thin pet rat was perched on the side of his
plate, shivering even though the kitchen was quite warm. The boy turned towards the fireplace and
flashed a wide smile with flecks of yoke. “Hey ‘Mione!” said Ron.
“Hi!” Hermione said with an equally broad smile.
“Let’s put your things over there with the other kids’ things,” Mrs Weasley said, indicating a large
area near the door leading out to the garden. “That way, we can keep them all together to take to
the Leaky Cauldron.”
Hermione helped Mrs Weasley carry her trunk and bags from the large hearth with Ron’s help. She
stopped for a moment to give Ginny a colossal hug when the youngest Weasley came downstairs,
and then congratulated Percy on becoming Head Boy. Before she knew it, it was time to cram back
into the fireplace to go to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione was exhausted just watching the
Weasleys try to come together to do one simple task. She had no idea how Mrs Weasley kept
everyone in line.
It was another whirlwind as soon as the Weasleys and Hermione arrived at the Leaky Cauldron
fireplace. It was all very chaotic. They learned their rooms were not available yet, so there’d be
nowhere to store their luggage for the time being.
“Move all of the heavy stuff here, and I can stay with it,” Mrs Weasley volunteered. “Then you lot
can go with your father to buy your supplies.”
The Weasley children jumped into action and started stacking their trunks to take up the least
amount of space. Hermione felt really out of place - the Weasleys worked like a well-oiled
machine. “Here, dear,” Mrs Weasley said to Hermione. “Stand over here with me. The twins can
lift your trunk.”
Hermione watched the organized chaos from afar. The Weasley family streamed toward the door
as soon as the trunks were stacked in a neat pile. Hermione decided to stay with Mrs Weasley
instead of going with them throughout Diagon Alley. All of her books (in three separate bags)
would just weigh her down, and, quite frankly, she was overstimulated by the whole Weasley clan.
She had no idea how Molly Weasley did it all. After Ginny, Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Arthur
Weasley were all out of the pub, Hermione and Mrs Weasley drew a sigh of relief, and each
ordered an ice-cool Butterbeer while they waited in silence.
----After an hour or two, the rest of the Weasleys filed back into the pub with all of their supplies. Ron
was grinning from ear to ear. “‘Mione, look!” he said, pulling a thin box out of a bag. Ron opened
it to reveal a beautiful wand. “Brand new one,” he said with a grin. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“It is!” Hermione agreed.
“Have you seen Harry?” Ron asked.
“No, not yet,” Hermione said. “He must be out or something.”
“Let’s go grab some ice cream and see if we can find him or something,” Ron said and started for
the door.
“Ronald Weasley,” Mrs Weasley said sternly. “I know you are not going to leave all of your school
books here for me to watch, right?”
Ron sighed. “Right, Mum,” he said and grabbed the rest of his bags. Hermione juggled the three
bags of books and followed her best friend out the door.
Ron led the way to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and the pair put their order in.
Hermione had some extra Wizarding money from her parents - Bert had taken some extra money
out to give to Hermione for her upcoming birthday - but Ron put his hand over hers. “I got it,” he
said. There was an awkward pause, and his hand lingered just a second longer than Hermione had
anticipated it would.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks flush.
There was an empty table near the queue. Hermione dumped her knapsack down and waited for
Ron to join her. He handed over her cone and plopped down beside her. Hermione was suddenly
acutely aware of every single move she was making. She felt incredibly self-conscious as she tried
to figure out the least awkward way to lick her ice cream cone in front of Ron. Hermione was
confused - why would she care what Ron thought about anything she did? Just as she started to try
to dissect the thought, Ron jumped up.
“Harry. HARRY!” he yelled.
Hermione’s head snapped in the direction Ron was looking. It was Harry!
“Finally!” said Ron, grinning at Harry as he sat down. “We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they
said you’d left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin’s, and –”
“I got all my school stuff last week,” Harry explained. “And how come you know I’m staying at
the Leaky Cauldron?”
“Dad,” said Ron simply.
Hermione took a quick assessment of her best friend: Harry looked good. He looked well-rested
and not as skinny as he usually did at the start of terms, probably because he had been staying at
the Leaky Cauldron for most of the holiday instead of his awful aunt and uncle. That reminded
Hermione of why Harry had to stay at the Leaky Cauldron.
“Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?” said Hermione in a very serious voice.
“I didn’t mean to,” said Harry, while Ron roared with laughter. “I just – lost control.”
“It’s not funny, Ron,” said Hermione sharply. “Honestly, I’m amazed Harry wasn’t expelled.”
“So am I,” admitted Harry. “Forget expelled; I thought I was going to be arrested.” He looked at
Ron. “Your dad doesn’t know why Fudge let me off, does he?”
“Probably ’cause it’s you, isn’t it?” shrugged Ron, still chuckling. Hermione gave him a sharp
look. Where was this jealousy coming from? “Famous Harry Potter and all that. I’d hate to see
what the Ministry’d do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they’d have to dig me up first,
because Mum would’ve killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We’re staying
at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, too! So you can come to King’s Cross with us tomorrow!
Hermione’s there as well!”
Hermione nodded, beaming. “Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts
things.” Well, dropped her off at the Weasleys, that was. She was just too flustered to make any
sense.
“Excellent!” said Harry happily. “So, have you got all your new books and stuff?”
“Look at this,” said Ron. He pulled out the box that he had shown Hermione earlier. “Brand-new
wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair. And we’ve got all our books.
What about those Monster Books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two.”
Hermione was glad she wasn’t the only one, though she felt horrible for the poor clerk.
“What’s all that, Hermione?” Harry asked, pointing at all of her bags of books.
“Well, I’m taking more new subjects than you, aren’t I?” said Hermione, trying to be as nonchalant
as possible, but she could feel the anxiety building quickly, and the words topple out of her mouth.
‘Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Study of Ancient
Runes, Muggle Studies –”
“What are you doing Muggle Studies for?” said Ron. Hermione stopped cold. She hadn’t realized
how stressful it would be to keep the ruse up. “You’re Muggle-born! Your mum and dad are
Muggles! You already know all about Muggles!”
“But it’ll be fascinating to study them from the wizarding point of view,” said Hermione with a
shrug.
“Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?” asked Harry while Ron sniggered.
Hermione stopped cold. She hadn’t realized how stressful it would be to keep the ruse up, nor did
she think she’d be questioned before they even got to Hogwarts. Hermione decided just to ignore
them and change the subject.
“I’ve still got ten Galleons,” she said, checking her purse. “It’s my birthday in September, and
Mum and Dad gave me some money to get myself an early birthday present.”
“How about a nice book?” said Ron innocently (or, at least, so Hermione hoped).
“No, I don’t think so,” said Hermione composedly. She paused for a moment. She remembered her
list of things she wanted to get at Diagon Alley from the past week. Maybe her parents wouldn’t
find out. “I really want an owl. I mean, Harry’s got Hedwig, and you’ve got Errol –”
“I haven’t,” said Ron. “Errol’s a family owl. All I’ve got is Scabbers.” He pulled his pet rat out of
his pocket. “And I want to get him checked over,” he added, placing Scabbers on the table in front
of them. “I don’t think Egypt agreed with him.”
Hermione could tell right away that there was something wrong with the rat. Scabbers was looking
thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers.
‘There’s a magical-creature shop just over there,” said Harry. “You can see if they’ve got anything
for Scabbers, and Hermione can get her owl.”
Hermione gasped. This was her chance. Her parents would have no idea. Maybe Harry could take
her owl for the summer or something so they wouldn’t find out. Her mind spiralled as they walked
to the Magical Menagerie shop down the road.
The trio walked into the shop and could barely move. Every inch of the walls was covered with
various cages filled with very loud and very active animals of all shapes and sizes. A pair of
enormous purple toads sat gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a
jewel-encrusted shell was glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozing slowly
up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit kept changing into a silk top hat and back
again with a loud popping noise. Then there were cats of every colour, a noisy cage of ravens, a
basket of funny custard-coloured furballs that were humming loudly, and, on the counter, a vast
cage of sleek black rats which were playing some sort of skipping game using their long bald tails.
As Ron went up to the counter to ask about Scabbers, Hermione kept walking through the wall of
cages. She just knew, in her heart of hearts, she’d find her newest best animal friend. A tan and
black owl in the corner of the shop caught her eye. Hermione walked over and looked it up and
down. The owl gave a tiny little hoot and moved closer to the front of the cage towards Hermione’s
outstretched fingers.
Its feathers were the softest Hermione had ever felt. Its bright yellow eyes seemed to stare into
hers, trying to tell her something with just a glance. Hermione thought as though this owl had a lot
to say, and she wanted to hear it all.
Hermione stood there for a few minutes running the pros and cons to going behind her parents’
backs and wasn’t paying Ron and Harry any attention. All of a sudden, her thoughts were
interrupted by a loud crash from behind her. Hermione turned.
“NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!” cried the witch behind the counter, who was holding Scabbers to
examine him. A beautiful orange ball of fluff Hermione assumed could only be Crookshanks had
jumped onto Ron’s head and swatted at Scabbers. Scabbers slipped out of the witch’s hands and
shot out the door. Ron shook the beautiful orange cat off his head and chased after the decrepit rat
with Harry closely behind him. Crookshanks landed gracefully on all fours on the counter and
started licking its paws.
“Oh, Crookshanks,” the witch said with a shake of her head.
“What a beautiful cat!” Hermione said, coming closer.
“Oh, he’s beautiful, alright,” the witch replied. “But he’s been here for what seems to be forever.
He’s half-Kneazle and smarter than a whip, but he’s somewhat of a know-it-all. He can be kind of
pretentious, to be honest, but he’s a sweetheart deep down. I just guess no one has wanted to peel
back all of his layers and get to know the real Crookshanks, and he, likewise, hasn’t seemed to like
anyone either.
Hermione’s heart nearly exploded in her chest as she fell utterly head over heels in love with
Crookshanks. The cat was just like her: intelligent, reserved, a bit standoffish, but nice if you just
gave her a chance. Hermione approached the silky soft cat and put her hand off so he could sniff it.
Her heart was racing as Crookshanks took a step in her direction. Then, without warning, the
enormous ginger cat lept into Hermione’s arms. She clumsily grabbed him before he fell and held
him against his chest. She could feel and hear him purr.
“Well now,” the witch said with awe. “I’ve never seen Crookshanks do that to a person before.”
Hermione hardly heard her over the sound of Crookshanks’ purrs. They were so comforting and
soothing. “I’ll take him,” Hermione said without a second thought, not even one for the tan and
black owl in the corner.
“Oh my goodness, how marvellous! How exciting!” exclaimed the witch. “Crookshanks, did you
hear that? You’ve got a home!”
Crookshanks seemed to purr even louder and snuggled his beautifully smooshed face into the
crook of Hermione’s neck. He was the softest thing she had ever felt.
Hermione handed over the money and made it official: she was the proud new owner of the most
beautiful cat in the whole world. Before she left the store, the witch made sure to give her the Rat
Tonic Ron had left when he went chasing after Scabbers. She couldn’t wait to introduce Ron and
Harry to her new best friend.
She walked out of the shop just as Ron and Harry were about to walk in. Ron took one look at the
beautiful ginger cat in Hermione’s arms and gasped.
“You bought that monster?” Ron asked.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?!” Hermione replied.
“Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!” said Ron.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron could be so dramatic. “He didn’t mean to, did you, Crookshanks?’
said Hermione.
“And what about Scabbers?” said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. “He needs rest and
relaxation! How’s he going to get it with that thing around?”
“That reminds me, you forgot your Rat Tonic,” said Hermione, slapping the small red bottle into
Ron’s hand. She couldn’t believe how rude he was being. “And stop worrying, Crookshanks will
be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours. What’s the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that
witch said he’d been in there for ages: no one wanted him.”
“I wonder why,’ said Ron sarcastically, but Hermione chose to ignore him. Ron would eventually
get to know and love Crookshanks. She just knew it.
The Dementor
Ginny was much more receptive to Crookshanks when Hermione, Ron, and Harry returned to the
Leaky Cauldron. After a few awkward moments of ignoring Harry’s presence, Ginny turned her
attention to Hermione’s newest best friend.
“Look at his face!” Ginny exclaimed. “How can you not love that face! It’s so squishy!”
“Right?” Hermione said.
“And look at his bandy legs!” Ginny pointed out. “They’re adorable!”
“And he’s so soft,” Hermione added. “And just wait to see how smart he is.”
The ginger cat entertained the two friends most of the afternoon up in the hotel room they were
going to stay in that night. They also took the time to catch up.
“So, Egypt,” Hermione started as Crookshanks inspected every inch of the room. “Was it
amazing?”
“It was ok,” Ginny said. “A little too hot for me, to be honest. And it was a lot of family togethertime. Percy was insufferable when he found out he was Head Boy. Me, Fred, and George tried to
shut him up in a pyramid, but Mum caught us.”
“Being named school Head Boy is pretty incredible, though,” Hermione said.
“Well, yeah, of course it is,” said Ginny. “I reckon sure that when you’re named Head Girl, you
won’t be a dodgy prat about it.”
“I doubt I’ll be named Head Girl,” Hermione said. Crookshanks’ bottlebrush tale tickled
Hermione’s nose as he lumbered past in his room investigation.
“Rubbish,” Ginny said, running her hand down Crookshanks’ tail. “Hermione Jean Granger, if you
are not named Head Girl, then we will know for certain Dumbledore is off his rocker.”
Hermione blushed. “Well, it would certainly be an honour,” she said. “But what else? Tell me
more about Egypt!”
“There’s not all that much to tell. We walked a lot. It was hot,” Ginny shrugged. “There was this
really cute boy, though, that was staying in the same hotel as us.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but of course, Mr Fun Police had to ruin that,” Ginny laughed.
“Who?” Hermione asked.
“Your best friend Ron would rather see me an old, lonely spinster than have any fun with anyone
of the opposite sex,” Ginny said.
“I thought you liked Harry,” Hermione said in a whisper.
“Well, yeah,” Ginny said, blushing. “But do you honestly think I have any chance at all to be with
the ‘Boy Who Lived?’ Not to mention Ron’s issues with me being part of the ‘Golden Trio,’”
Ginny laughed.
“Is that what they call us?” Hermione asked.
“I don’t know, but that’s what I call you,” Ginny said with a smile. Hermione frowned. “Oh, relax.
It’s a joke,” Ginny said. “Besides, I like it better this way. We can have our own secret girls-only
parties in the dorms, and I won’t have to hang out with my dumb brother. We can make it a weekly
thing or something - make up for last year, yeah?”
“Sounds good to me,” Hermione smiled, slightly surprised Ginny brought up the previous year.
“So, how was France?” Ginny asked. Hermione suspected she was changing the subject on
purpose.
“It was brilliant!” Hermione exclaimed. “Honestly, everything about it was perfect. I want to live
there someday.”
“I’d have much rathered gone to France than dusty old Egypt. Paris boys are dreamy,” Ginny
giggled.
“Oh, I wanted to ask you,” Hermione said, suddenly remembering the bus incident. “Are there
other Magic schools like Hogwarts in other countries?”
“I have no idea. Why?”
“I think I ran into another witch in France that would have been in school age-wise but definitely
doesn’t go to Hogwarts,” Hermione said. “I just figured you’d know since you’re… you know.”
“I’m what?”
“Pureblood,” Hermione said, biting her lip. She hadn’t meant to bring up the whole “pure blood
heir of Slytherin” business, but Ginny did kind of bring it up first. Luckily, it didn’t seem to phase
the young Weasley.
“I actually have never thought about it,” she replied. “I suppose there has to be.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Hermione said.
“Speaking of school, what classes are you planning on taking? I know Ron was asking Bill for
suggestions while we were in Egypt.”
Hermione’s heart skipped a few beats, and she could feel the flutter of anxiety in her chest. She
tried to keep calm. “Oh, I think I am going to try to take as many as I can,” she said in what she
hoped was a light tone. “Professor McGonagall is going to help me with my timetable so I can stay
organised.”
“Judging by those bags of books, I’d say you wanted to take all of the classes,” Ginny laughed.
Hermione tried to laugh too, but it just came out as a strangled giggle. Hiding the Time-Turner was
going to be much more complicated than she thought it would be.
“So what about this Sirius Black character?” Hermione asked, blatantly changing the subject.
“Yeah, it seems pretty serious,” Ginny said with a grin. “Get it?”
“You’re getting more and more like the twins every day,” Hermione laughed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ginny said. “But, yeah, it seems like a pretty big deal. Dad was in
constant communication with the Ministry the whole time we were in Egypt.”
“He made the Muggle news as well,” Hermione said.
“I guess there’s going to be extra security until they find him,” Ginny added.
“Do you know what he did?”
“No, but Mum and Dad definitely do. They’ve been pretty tight-lipped about it, though. Me, Fred,
and George have been trying to trick them into telling us, though.”
“I assume you haven’t had any luck?” Hermione said.
“Nope,” Ginny grinned. “But there’s still a few hours before we get to school… and there’s
nothing I like more than a challenge.”
----That evening, at dinner, Tom the innkeeper put three tables together in the parlour, and the seven
Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione ate their way through five delicious courses. It was no French
Cuisine, but it came in at a close second. The company, however, couldn’t be matched. Dinner with
the Weasleys was something entirely different from every single life experience Hermione had
ever had. It was an absolute delight. Both she and Harry were treated like the eighth and ninth
Weasley regardless of their hair colour or lineage.
Even though Hermione wasn’t sure if she could eat another bite, the delectable chocolate pudding
was too delicious to ignore. As they were tucking into the bittersweet creamy dessert, Fred broke
the silence. “How are we getting to King’s Cross tomorrow, Dad?”
“The Ministry’s providing a couple of cars,” Mr Weasley answered in a very measured tone.
Hermione glanced up to try to decipher the elder Weasley’s facial expressions. She glanced over at
Ginny, who seemed to be doing the same.
“Why?” said Percy curiously.
“It’s because of you, Perce,” said George with a very straight face. Hermione saw Ginny stiffen
with laughter next to her. “And there’ll be little flags on the bonnets, with HB on them –”
“– for Humongous Bighead,” said Fred.
The whole table, Hermione included, snorted with laughter. Hermione felt bad for Percy, but she
had to admit the twins certainly had a way with words.
“Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?” Percy asked again in a dignified voice.
“Well, as we haven’t got one anymore,” said Mr Weasley, “and as I work there, they’re doing me a
favour…”
His voice was casual, but Hermione couldn’t help noticing that Mr Weasley’s ears had gone red,
just like Ron’s did when he was under pressure.
“Good job, too,” said Mrs Weasley briskly. “Do you realise how much luggage you’ve all got
between you? A nice sight you’d be on the Muggle Underground. You are all packed, aren’t you?”
“Ron hasn’t put all his new things in his trunk yet,” said Percy. “He’s dumped them on my bed.”
“You’d better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won’t have much time in the morning,” Mrs
Weasley called down the table. Ron scowled at Percy.
Hermione caught Ginny’s eye. They were hiding something without a doubt. But what?
After dinner, everyone felt very full and sleepy. One by one, they made their way upstairs to their
rooms. Ginny and Hermione were the last two other than Mr and Mrs Weasley. Ginny nudged
Hermione and gave her a conspiratorial look.
“Mum? Dad?” Ginny asked innocently.
“What’s that, dear?” Mrs Weasley said. Ginny got up and moved closer to her mother. She seemed
to shrink and become younger before Hermione’s eyes.
“Can I tell you something you won’t tell the boys?” Ginny asked with huge (completely fabricated)
tears in her eyes.
“Of course, dear. What is it?” Mrs Weasley asked worriedly.
“I’m really quite nervous about this whole mess about Sirius Black,” Ginny said. “I’ve been having
dreams about him and-”
“The ministry’s got it under control,” Mr Weasley said stiffly.
“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Ginny said. “But I was hoping you could, maybe… I don’t know… tell me
what’s going on with it all. You know how my imagination runs rampant and--”
“You’re not going to get us to tell you, Ginerva,” Molly Weasley said sternly.
“But with everything that happened to me last year--”
“Ginerva Molly Weasley, I was not born yesterday,” Mrs Weasley said. “I have had six boys
before I had you. You cannot fool me into telling you anything. Now upstairs, both of you!”
Ginny groaned and slumped past Hermione towards the stairs. Hermione stood up after a few
moments and awkwardly bid the two goodnight. She hoped they didn’t think she was part of the
ruse.
On her way up to their room, Hermione passed Harry, heading back down towards the parlour.
“Where are you going?” Hermione asked.
“Ron forgot his Rat Tonic downstairs,” Harry shrugged. “Percy’s having a meltdown because the
twins hid his Head Boy badge, so I offered to get it for Ron so I could get out of there for a bit.”
“Good luck down there, too,” Hermione said. “Ginny just tried to trick Mr and Mrs Weasley to tell
her about Sirius Black, and they weren’t too happy.”
Harry grinned, and his green eyes flashed. “Never a dull moment with the Weasley’s, eh?”
Hermione laughed. “Never!”
The two friends parted again, and Hermione headed up to commend Ginny on one of the best
performances ever to be performed in British history. Perhaps there was a thespian club at
Hogwarts Ginny could join.
----The next morning, Hermione and Ginny woke early and gathered all of their things. Hermione was
so excited to return to Hogwarts, even though it would be one of the most challenging years yet.
The two friends dragged their luggage down to the parlour, where Mr and Mrs Weasley were
already seated at the large table. Mr Weasley was reading the Daily Prophet and frowning. Mrs
Weasley was reading a magazine called Witch Weekly. Hermione was somewhat familiar with the
periodical - her roommates at Hogwarts subscribed. Witch Weekly was a weekly subscription that
included articles, quizzes, advice columns, and recipes. It also reported a great deal of celebrity
news. Last year, Gilderoy Lockhart was featured quite frequently.
“Good morning!” Hermione said as she dropped all of her bags with a thud.
“Good morning, dear,” Molly Weasley smiled. “Did you two sleep well?”
“Ok, I guess,” Ginny answered as she added her bags to Hermione’s pile. “I could hear one of the
twins snoring through the walls, though.”
“Oh, was that what that was!” said Hermione giggling. “I thought it was a fleet of trucks driving
round the building all night.”
“Merlin help whoever they marry,” Ginny said. “Hopefully, they’re deaf, or else they’re never
going to get any sleep.”
“Love will make you put up with a lot of things,” Mrs Weasley smiled, glancing over at Mr
Weasley. “For instance, do you know where the twins get their snoring from? That man right
there.” Mrs Weasley nodded towards her husband. “Snores like a freight train, he does.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Ginny says. “Snoring is like nails on a chalkboard to me.”
“Speaking of love,” Mrs Weasley said with a wink. “It says here they’re having a sale on love
potions in Witch Weekly . Either of you two fancy anyone at school?”
“Mum!” Ginny said, blushing.
“I’d much rather you buy one and not try to make it yourself,” Mrs Weasley chuckled. “When I
went to Hogwarts, I decided to try to brew a love potion. Disastrous!”
“What happened?” Hermione asked, giggling.
“I messed something up. The fumes were out of control,” Mrs Weasley said, chuckling. “Anyone
within a hundred feet of my cauldron suddenly thought I was the most attractive witch at
Hogwarts. Took a full day and a half for people to snap out of it, it did. I got a lot of gifts, though,
including an adorable Rubber Ducky from that man over there.”
“Can you imagine if we did that?” Ginny said with a laugh. “Knowing the boys we go to school
with, the best gift we’d get would be bogey flavoured jelly beans.”
“Neville would find us something sweet,” Hermione said, chuckling at the hypothetical love potion
scenario. “Probably poisonous, but not on purpose. Just because he has bad luck.”
“Oh, poor Neville,” Ginny laughed. “But you’re totally right.”
The rest of the Weasley boys and Harry trickled down to the parlour in various stages of
consciousness. The twins looked as though they might be sleepwalking. After a quick bite to eat,
they all started heaving all their trunks down the Leaky Cauldron’s narrow staircase and piling
them up near the door, with Hedwig and Hermes, Percy’s screech owl, perched on top in their
cages. Hermione had found a small wickerwork basket for Crookshanks to travel in. Crookshanks,
unfortunately, was not a fan.
“It’s all right, Crookshanks,” Hermione cooed through the wickerwork, “I’ll let you out on the
train.” She felt horrible at how miserable he seemed to be.
“You won’t,” snapped Ron. “What about poor Scabbers, eh?” He pointed at his chest, where a
large lump indicated Scabbers was curled up in his pocket.
Mr Weasley, who had been outside waiting for the Ministry cars, stuck his head inside. “They’re
here,” he said. “Harry, come on.”
Hermione looked over at Ginny. Why was Mr Weasley singling out Harry?
Mr Weasley marched Harry across the short stretch of pavement towards the first of two oldfashioned dark green cars, each of which was driven by a furtive-looking wizard, wearing a suit of
emerald velvet.
“In you get, Harry,” said Mr Weasley, glancing up and down the crowded street. Harry got into the
back of the car. Hermione followed, dragging her bags and the wickerwork basket with
Crookshanks.
In all of the chaos, Ginny and Hermione were split into separate cars. Ron and Percy joined
Hermione and Harry in the first car, and it seemed to be the rest of the Weasleys crammed in the
other. Percy’s presence really dampened their ability to talk, so they just sat in silence during the
ride to King’s Cross Station.
They reached King’s Cross with twenty minutes to spare; the Ministry drivers found them trolleys,
unloaded their trunks, touched their hats to Mr Weasley, and drove away, somehow managing to
jump to the head of an unmoving queue for the traffic lights. Mr Weasley kept close to Harry’s
elbow all the way into the station. Hermione found it all very peculiar but kept getting distracted by
the hustle and bustle of King’s Cross Station.
They went through the barrier between platforms nine and ten in pairs to avoid suspicion. Seven
flaming-haired, oddly dressed people running at full speed into a brick wall would probably raise
some eyes.
Once everyone had made it onto the Hogwarts Platform, Hermione joined Ron and Harry in
finding an empty compartment. They loaded the trunks onto it, stowed Hedwig and Crookshanks in
the luggage rack, then went back outside to say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Mrs Weasley
kissed all her children and, to Hermione’s surprise, kissed her and Harry as well. Hermione’s heart
swelled, and she gave the witch a massive hug in return.
Hermione jumped back on the train with Ron and Ginny. Harry was nowhere to be found, however.
“I’ll go look back on the platform,” Ron said. Hermione glanced out the window and saw Harry
and Mr Weasley talking. Suddenly, the train whistle sounded, and the train started rolling slowly to
a start. Hermione watched as Harry realised what was going on and started running to jump onto
the train before it left the station. Thankfully, Ron was there to help him up into the maroon car.
“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up
speed.
“Go away, Ginny,” said Ron.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Ginny huffily, but she gave Hermione a wink before sulking off. Hermione
didn’t think she minded much.
Hermione, Ron, and Harry set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all
were full except for the one at the very end of the train.
The car only had one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. The stranger was
wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes which had been darned in several places. He
looked ill and exhausted. Though he seemed relatively young, his light-brown hair was flecked
with grey. Hermione glanced at the luggage in the rack above the sleeping man. “Professor R. J.
Lupin,” it read. She thought it was quite curious as she had never before seen a professor on the
Hogwarts Express.
“Who d’you reckon he is?” Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats
furthest away from the window.
“Professor R. J. Lupin,” whispered Hermione, rolling her eyes.
“How d’you know that?”
“It’s on his case,” replied Hermione. Honestly, Ron could be so blind sometimes.
“Wonder what he teaches?” said Ron.
“That’s obvious,” whispered Hermione. “There’s only one vacancy, isn’t there? Defence Against
the Dark Arts.”
“Well, I hope he’s up to it,” said Ron doubtfully. ‘He looks like one good hex would finish him
off, doesn’t he? Anyway…” he turned to Harry, “what were you going to tell us?”
“Well,” Harry started, taking a look at their sleeping compartment mate and lowering his voice.
“Last night after I saw you, Hermione, I went downstairs to get the Rat Tonic, and I heard your
Mum and Dad arguing, Ron. So I guess Sirius Black went to Azkaban because he killed a whole
bunch of people in the middle of a street when Voldemort was in power. Then he just went and
escaped, and that’s why they were fighting. They were fighting whether or not to tell me that
everyone thinks he escaped to kill me. Your dad wanted to tell me, but your mom was absolutely
against it. Your dad ended up trying to tell me just now, but I told him I had heard their fight.”
“Sounds about right,” Ron said. “Mum always wants to protect us from things.”
“Then, get this,” Harry continued. “Your dad made me promise that I wouldn’t go looking for
Black myself.”
There was a long pause. Hermione couldn’t believe it.
“Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh, Harry... you’ll have to be really, really careful. Don’t
go looking for trouble, Harry,” Hermione pleaded.
“I don’t go looking for trouble,” said Harry, nettled. “Trouble usually finds me.” Hermione would
have laughed if the conversation weren’t so serious. Harry Potter, in her opinion, was the epitome
of a world-class meddler.
“How thick would Harry have to be to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?” asked Ron.
Apparently, Ron didn’t share Hermione’s opinion.
“They were talking about how there are going to be all kinds of guards at Hogwarts because of this
whole thing too. Dumbledore isn’t happy at all,” Harry continued.
“And that’s probably why the Ministry sent cars for us this morning,” Hermione said, her mind
going in all directions, trying to connect the dots.
“Exactly,” Harry said. “It also explains why Fudge let me off so easily for blowing up my Aunt.”
“But why is he coming after you?” Ron asked. Hermione and Harry just looked at him with
confused looks. Wasn’t the answer obvious? “I mean, other than the obvious ‘Chosen One’
blather,” Ron added, reading their stares. “Why now? I doubt Sirius Black just woke up in Azkaban
one day this summer and thought to himself, ‘You know what? That Harry Potter bloke is 13 now.
Time for him to die.’ No, that’s mental. There has to be another reason.”
“There seem to be quite a few people who want me dead for no reason,” Harry lamented. The three
friends reflected in silence on the heavy statement for a few moments.
“No one knows how he got out of Azkaban,” said Ron uncomfortably. “No one’s ever done it
before. And he was a top-security prisoner, too.”
“But they’ll catch him, won’t they?” said Hermione earnestly. “I mean, they’ve got all the Muggles
looking out for him, too…” Hermione was interrupted by a faint, tinny sort of whistle noise.
“What’s that noise?” blurted Ron. They looked all around the compartment. “It’s coming from
your trunk, Harry,” said Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack.
A moment later, he had pulled out a glass top spinning very fast in the palm of Ron’s hand and
glowing brilliantly.
“Is that a Sneakoscope?” said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better look.
“Yeah ... mind you, it’s a very cheap one,” Ron said. “It went haywire just as I was tying it to
Errol’s leg to send it to Harry.”
“Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?” said Hermione shrewdly. She knew that
Sneakoscopes only was activated when someone was doing something untrustworthy nearby.
“No!” Ron exclaimed, but Hermione stared him down. She knew he was lying. He had to be.
“Well, I wasn’t supposed to be using Errol. You know he’s not really up to a long journey... but
how else was I supposed to get Harry’s present to him?”
“Stick it back in the trunk,” Harry advised, as the Sneakoscope whistled piercingly, “or it’ll wake
him up.” He nodded towards Professor Lupin. Ron stuffed the Sneakoscope back into Harry’s
trunk under some clothing.
“We could get it checked in Hogsmeade,” said Ron, sitting back down. “They sell that sort of thing
in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and stuff, Fred and George told me.”
“Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” asked Hermione keenly. “I’ve read it’s the only entirely
non-Muggle settlement in Britain –”
“Yeah, I think it is,” said Ron in an offhand sort of way, “but that’s not why I want to go. I just
want to get inside Honeydukes!”
“What’s that?” said Hermione. She had heard of the joke shop but didn’t recognise Honeydukes.
“It’s this sweetshop,” said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, “where they’ve got everything
... Pepper Imps – they make you smoke at the mouth – and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry
mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills which you can suck in class and just
look like you’re thinking what to write next –”
“But Hogsmeade’s a very interesting place, isn’t it?” Hermione pressed on eagerly. She had read
all about it during one of her Time-Turner sessions the last week before term. “In Sites of
Historical Sorcery, it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the
Shrieking Shack’s supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain –”
“– and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you’re
sucking them,” said Ron.
Hermione scowled at him for ignoring what she was saying but decided it wasn’t worth the
argument. Hermione, instead, looked around at Harry. “Won’t it be nice to get out of school for a
bit and explore Hogsmeade?” she asked.
“‘Spect it will,” said Harry heavily. “You’ll have to tell me when you’ve found out.”
“What d’you mean?” said Ron.
“I can’t go. The Dursleys didn’t sign my permission form, and Fudge wouldn’t, either.”
Ron looked horrified. Hermione chastised herself for not thinking it through. Of course, Harry’s
aunt and uncle wouldn’t let him have any sort of fun. They truly were horrible people. Hermione
tried to think of a way to smooth things over as Ron blabbered on his discontent.
“You’re not allowed to come? But – no way – McGonagall or someone will give you permission,
or we can ask Fred and George, they know every secret passage out of the castle –”
“Ron!” said Hermione sharply, finally figuring out the right angle to look at it all. “I don’t think
Harry should be sneaking out of school with Black on the loose –”
“Yeah, I expect that’s what McGonagall will say when I ask for permission,” said Harry bitterly.
“But if we’re with him,” said Ron spiritedly to Hermione, “Black wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, Ron, don’t talk rubbish,” snapped Hermione. The more she thought about it, the more she
knew she was right. Nonetheless, being right in this instance made her much more anxious. She
needed to calm down. Maybe petting Crookshanks would help before the anxiety got out of
control. She started fumbling with the straps of Crookshanks’ basket. “Black’s already murdered a
whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street. Do you really think he’s going to worry
about attacking Harry just because we’re there?”
“Don’t let that thing out!” Ron said, but Hermione finally got the latch undone. Crookshanks leapt
lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron’s knees; the lump in Ron’s pocket
trembled, and he shoved Crookshanks angrily away.
“Get out of it!”
“Ron, don’t!” said Hermione angrily. Crookshanks was harmless and just wanted to explore his
new surroundings. Ron, as usual, just didn’t understand. Crookshanks jumped back over towards
Hermione’s lap and rubbed his beautifully soft face against her arm.
Just then, Professor Lupin stirred. They watched him apprehensively, but he simply turned his head
the other way, mouth slightly open, and slept on.
A little later in their ride, Draco Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, sauntered up to their
compartment. Some of the most outspoken Slytherins of the school, Draco and his friends had a
particular disdain for most Gryffindors, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the top of that list.
Harry and Draco had a sort of rivalry throughout the last two years and, judging by the sneer Draco
was giving them, it was going to continue into year three.
“Well, look who it is,” said Malfoy, pulling open the compartment door. “Potty and the Weasel.”
Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. “I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer,
Weasley,” said Malfoy. “Did your mother die of shock?’”
Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks’s basket to the floor. Hermione tried to grab him
to make him sit back down. Ron did not need to get detention before even arriving at Hogwarts,
but Professor Lupin gave a snort which made everyone pause.
“Who’s that?” said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backwards as he spotted Lupin.
“New teacher,” said Harry, who had got to his feet. “What were you saying, Malfoy?”
Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed; he wasn’t fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher’s nose.
“C’mon,” he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.
Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.
Boys.
“I’m not going to take any rubbish from Malfoy this year,” he said angrily. “I mean it. If he makes
one more crack about my family, I’m going to get hold of his head and –” Ron made a violent
gesture in mid-air.
“Ron,” hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, “be careful…”
But Professor Lupin was still fast asleep. Hermione surmised he must have had quite the bender
before settling down to be this year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Hermione looked out the window at the dreary countryside. The rain came down harder the more
north the train travelled. Less and less light found its way through the compartment windows until,
finally, the train lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and luggage racks. In the amber
glow of the lanterns, Ron started to fidget impatiently now that he could barely entertain himself
with the view.
“We must be nearly there,” said Ron, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now
completely black window. The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.
“Brilliant,” said Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside.
“I’m starving; I want to get to the feast…”
“We can’t be there yet,” said Hermione, checking her watch. By her calculations, they had at least
a half of an hour to go.
“So why’re we stopping?” Ron turned and asked.
The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain
sounded louder than ever against the windows. It was an eerie sound. Hermione shivered and held
Crookshanks a little tighter. Whatever the issue was, she felt moderately better having a professor
in the compartment with them, albeit a sleeping one.
Harry, who was nearest the door, got up to look into the corridor. The train came to a stop with a
jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without
warning, all the lamps went out, and they were plunged into total darkness. Hermione gasped.
“What’s going on?” said Ron’s voice. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in Hermione’s foot as if
someone had stepped on it. She tried not to squeeze Crookshanks too hard.
“Ouch!” gasped Hermione. “Ron, that was my foot!” The pressure eased immediately as, she
assumed, Ron took a step away.
“D’you think we’ve broken down?” he asked.
“Dunno,” came Harry’s very (un)helpful answer.
Hermione’s head shot to the left as she heard a sharp squeaking sound. She could barely make out
Ron trying to wipe a clean patch on the window to look out of.
“There’s something moving out there,” Ron said. “I think people are coming aboard...”
Just as Hermione leaned over to take a look for herself, she heard the compartment door open.
There was a thud as someone fell inside the compartment in Harry’s general direction.
Crookshanks lept out of Hermione’s arms
“Sorry! D’you know what’s going on? Ouch! Sorry –”
“Hello, Neville,” said Harry. Hermione would have greeted her good friend, Neville Longbottom,
as well if she wasn’t waving her hands everywhere in the dark trying to find Crookshanks.
“Harry? Is that you? What’s happening?” Neville said, his voice wavering.
“No idea! Sit down –”
There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks. Hermione
scooped up the soft cat and decided she had enough of it all. Thankfully, the wicker basket was still
next to her, so she poured the soft cat down into the basket for safekeeping.
“I’m going to go and ask the driver what’s going on,” she said. As soon as she started feeling her
way to the door, Hermione heard the compartment slide open again before an explosion of pain in
her head. Sparks of light flew everywhere, and it took her a moment to remember exactly what was
going on. Someone had banged their head into hers.
“Who’s that?” came the small voice in front of Hermione.
“Who’s that?” Ron asked almost at the same time.
“Ginny?” Hermione asked, trying to grab on to her. She thought she recognised the voice and the
speaker’s slight build.
“Hermione?” Ginny said from the dark.
“What are you doing?” asked Hermione. Everything was so confusing.
“I was looking for Ron –”
“Come in and sit down –”
“Not here!” said Harry hurriedly. “I’m here!”
“Ouch!” said Neville.
“Quiet!” said a hoarse voice suddenly.
Hermione nearly hit her head on the ceiling because she was so startled. Professor Lupin appeared
to have woken up at last.
There was a soft, crackling noise and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin
appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired grey face, but his eyes
looked alert and wary.
“Stay where you are,” he said, in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his
handful of fire held out in front of him.
But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it. Hermione’s attention snapped to the
door as a jet of cold air blew into the compartment. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the
shivering flames in Lupin’s hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was
completely hidden beneath its hood. Hermione had an intense yet curious feeling that if she were
able to see the face beneath the hood, she’d be sad forever. She shivered at the thought.
Hermione was acutely aware of the thundering of her heart beating in her chest. The dead quiet of
the compartment was amplifying the sound of each beat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
Harry’s pale face move. In the time it took Hermione to look to her right, Harry’s body had gone as
rigid as she was sure her body had gone when the Basilisk petrified her. He hit the floor with a
sickening thud and then started convulsing in a fit.
Total chaos descended upon the train car. Hermione cried out. Ron shouted. Ginny gave a
strangled cry. Neville whimpered in the corner. Crookshanks hissed from his basket. The only
person who didn’t falter was Professor Lupin. He took a step over Harry’s convulsing body and
faced the cloaked figure.
“None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go,” he said in a clear voice. The hoarseness
had waned. The cloaked figure did not move. From beneath his shabby robes, the professor drew
his wand and muttered an incantation that Hermione could not discern over the din of the car’s
chaos. A silver orb shot out of his wand and seemed to physically push the figure out of the
compartment and down the corridor of the train.
They all held their breath for a collective moment as Harry’s convulsions slowed and then finally
came to a stop. The lanterns flickered back on, illuminating the cabin’s disarray. Harry’s body was
still, as if he were asleep, but he started whimpering as if he was having a nightmare. There was
something about seeing Harry Potter, the “chosen one,” the “boy who lived,” laying on the ground
whimpering like a defenceless child that was even more terrifying than the hooded intruder.
Everyone’s eyes searched for some sort of explanation of what had just happened. The terror
etched on the faces of her best friends filled Hermione with dread.
Ron, thankfully, lept into action. He started smacking Harry’s face back and forth. Hermione knelt
down to help, though she had no idea how.
“‘Harry! Harry! Are you all right?” Ron said.
Harry started to stir. “W-what?” He tried to sit up, but Hermione could see he wouldn’t be able to
on his own. She and Ron helped him to the seat, hopefully not drawing too much attention to his
helplessness to Ginny and Neville.
“Are you OK?” Ron asked nervously.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “What happened? Where’s that – that thing? Who screamed?”
“No one screamed,” said Ron, more nervously still.
“But I heard screaming –”
A loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into
pieces.
“Here,” he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. “Eat it. It’ll help.”
Harry took the chocolate but didn’t eat it. “What was that thing?” he asked Lupin.
“A Dementor,” said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. Hermione took her
piece and put it straight into her mouth. She immediately felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of
her fingers and toes. “One of the Dementors of Azkaban,” he added. Everyone stared at him.
Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.
“Eat,” he repeated. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…” Professor Lupin stepped
past them all and disappeared into the corridor.
“Are you sure you’re OK, Harry?” said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously.
“I don’t get it ... what happened?” said Harry.
“Well – that thing – the Dementor – stood there and looked around – I mean, I think it did, I
couldn’t see its face – and you – you –” Hermione couldn’t get the words out.
“I thought you were having a fit or something,” said Ron, taking over, thankfully, and giving
Hermione a chance to find her voice again. “You went sort of rigid and fell out of your seat and
started twitching –”
“And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked towards the Dementor, and pulled out his
wand,” said Hermione with a bit more confidence. “And he said, ‘None of us is hiding Sirius Black
under our cloaks. Go.’ But the Dementor didn’t move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery
thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned round and sort of glided away …”
“It was horrible,” said Neville in a higher voice than usual. “Did you feel how cold it went when it
came in?”
“I felt weird,” said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “Like I’d never be cheerful again…”
Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry, gave a small sob; Hermione
went over, and the two friends held each other.
“But didn’t any of you – fall off your seats?” said Harry awkwardly.
“No,” said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. “Ginny was shaking like mad, though…”
Hermione felt Ginny stiffen beside her.
Professor Lupin reentered the compartment. He glanced down at Harry, who was still holding his
piece of chocolate. “I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know,” he said with a small smile.
Harry took a small bite, and Hermione immediately noticed a difference in his colour. “We’ll be at
Hogwarts in ten minutes,” said Professor Lupin. “Are you alright, Harry?”
“Fine,” Harry mumbled.
They didn’t talk much for the rest of the ten-minute journey. Finally, the train stopped at
Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get out. It was freezing on the platform but
not as cold as it felt on the train with the Dementors.
“Firs’-years this way!” came a familiar voice. Hermione, Ron, and Harry turned and saw the
gigantic outline of Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Hermione
focused on Hagrid and watched all of the first years line up near the boats instead of what had just
happened on the train. She remembered how exciting it was during her first year and what it was
like to see the Hogwarts castle for the first time. However, in looking at the soaking wet first years
who had just experienced Dementors on a train, Hermione had a feeling their first Hogwarts looks
would be slightly less magical than hers.
Hermione walked with Harry and Ron towards the horseless carriages that would take them to the
castle and climbed up. As the stagecoaches made their way up the mud track, Hermione kept an
eye on Harry to make sure he was ok, especially when she saw two hooded Dementors standing
guard on either side of the wrought iron gates to the castle. Harry looked pale but nowhere as pale
as he was on the train.
At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Hermione and Ron got out. Hermione looked back and,
to her dismay, Draco Malfoy was waiting for Harry to step down.
“You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?” he jeered. Malfoy
elbowed past Hermione to block Harry’s way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and
his pale eyes glinting maliciously.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.
“Did you faint as well, Weasley?” said Draco loudly. “Did the scary old Dementor frighten you,
too, Weasley?”
“Is there a problem?” said a mild voice. Professor Lupin had just got out of the next carriage.
Draco gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, taking in the patches on his robes and the dilapidated
suitcase. With a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said, “Oh, no – er – Professor,” then he
smirked at Crabbe and Goyle and led them up the steps into the castle.
Hermione prodded Ron in the back to make him hurry and hoped he wouldn’t fly off the handle.
Thankfully, Ron seemed to be satisfied with Professor Lupin’s intervention. The three joined the
crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors, and into the cavernous Entrance
Hall, which was lit with flaming torches and housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to the
upper floors.
The door to the Great Hall was open, and Hermione set forth towards it. In her mind, as long as she
got into the Great Hall and saw the enchanted ceiling, everything would feel better, and everything
would make sense.
“Potter! Granger!” came a voice. Hermione stopped dead in the middle of the Entrance Hall, her
blood running almost as cold as it did on the train. “I want to see you both!”
The voice belonged to none other but Professor McGonagall. Hermione would have recognised it
anywhere. She and Harry turned around and saw her calling to them over the sea of students.
Professor McGonagall came closer so she wouldn’t have to yell. “There’s no need to look so
worried - I just want a word in my office,” she told them. The professor glanced over at Ron, who
had stopped as well. “Move along there, Weasley.”
Ron just stared after them as Professor McGonagall ushered Hermione and Harry away from the
chattering crowd up the marble staircase and down the corridor towards her office.
Professor McGonagall’s office was small but cosy. A welcoming fire was blazing in the hearth.
The Hogwarts Headmistress indicated to Hermione and Harry to sit down. Hermione couldn’t help
but stare at her professor to figure out what was going on exactly. Professor McGonagall settled
behind her desk and said abruptly, “Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken
ill on the train, Potter.”
Before either Hermione or Harry could respond, there was a soft knock on the door. Madam
Pomfrey, the matron of the Hospital Wing, came rushing in, making a beeline towards Harry.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t need anything-”
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” Madam Pomfrey said. Hermione stifled a much-needed laugh. Harry was not
one of Madam Pomfrey’s favourite patients. “I suppose you’ve been doing something dangerous
again?”
“It was a Dementor, Poppy,” said Professor McGonagall. Hermione watched them exchange a dark
look.
“Setting Dementors around a school,” she muttered, pushing Harry’s hair back and feeling his
forehead. “He won’t be the last one who collapses. Yes, he’s all clammy. Terrible things, they are,
and the effect they have on people who are already delicate…”
Harry stiffened. “I’m not delicate!” he said crossly.
“Of course you’re not,” Madam Pomfrey said in a fake comforting tone.
“What does he need?” asked Professor McGonagall. “Bedrest? Should he perhaps spend tonight in
the hospital wing?”
“I’m fine!” Harry said, jumping up and shaking the Matron’s hand from his wrist. Hermione tried
to catch Professor McGonagall’s eye. While Harry wasn’t nearly as bad as he had been on the train,
he was far from “fine.”
“Well, he should have some chocolate, at the very least,” Madam Pomfrey said, still trying to
examine Harry, who was squirming about like a toddler in her parents’ dental office.
“I’ve already had some,” said Harry. “Professor Lupin gave me some. He gave it to all of us.”
“Did he, now?” said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. “So we’ve finally got a Defence Against the
Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies.”
Hermione successfully caught McGonagall’s eye and, she hoped, conveyed her concerns.
“Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?” asked Professor McGonagall sharply.
“Yes!” said Harry forcefully.
Professor McGonagall stared at the boy for a moment too long before sighing. “Very well. Kindly
wait outside while I have a quick word with Miss Granger about her timetable, then we can go
down to the feast together.”
Hermione’s heart sped up at the mention of her timetable. As Harry and Madam Pomfrey left
Professor McGonagall’s office, Hermione turned her full attention to her favourite professor.
“Ok, you can tell me now,” Professor McGonagall said as the door to her office shut. “How bad
was it on the train?”
“It was absolutely dreadful,” Hermione said. “Harry fainted and started convulsing. Then he started
whimpering and crying. We had to smack his face to get him to wake up.” Hermione shuddered at
the memory. “He was as pale as a ghost and very weak.”
“Professor Lupin’s letter didn’t go into that much detail, but I feared as much,” Professor
McGonagall stood and stared into her fireplace. “Dementors have a particularly worse effect on
people with tragic pasts like your friend Mr Potter.”
“Are they here because of Sirius Black?” Hermione asked, testing the waters.
“Yes,” Professor McGonagall said curtly. Hermione knew not to push further by the tone of her
voice. “Now, let’s discuss your timetable for the year. I have informed all of the other professors
that you are taking a full schedule of classes; however, I did not tell them of the Time-Turner. No
one but Professor Dumbledore and myself knows your secret and it must remain as such. You also
have an extension on your drop period so, if you decide to drop a class, you can do that up until the
Christmas Holidays.”
“That’s brilliant. Thank you so much,” Hermione said.
“However, I must reiterate how imperative it is not only to keep this a secret from your fellow
students and professors but also not to be seen.”
“Understood,” Hermione nodded.
“Here is a list of all of the classes you are currently enrolled in,” Professor McGonagall said as she
retrieved a roll of parchment from her desk and handed it to Hermione. “You’ll receive the official
timetable tomorrow with your classmates, so no one suspects anything. I’d suggest you work on a
plan for how, when, and where you will be using the Time-Turner to get to each class.”
“Right,” Hermione said, glancing at the parchment. She’d have to inspect it properly later.
“Remember, one turn is one hour, two turns are two hours, and so on,” Professor McGonagall
continued. “I am not remiss to believe you haven’t experimented with the Time-Turner this
summer, so I trust you will not need any assistance?”
Hermione’s cheeks turned hot. “No, ma’am,” she said. “I should be ok.”
“It’s always prudent to be prepared,” Professor McGonagall said with a wink. “Well, I believe
that’s settled, then, yes?”
“I think so,” Hermione said, relieved she hadn’t disappointed Professor McGonagall.
“Then I believe there is a feast to be had. Let’s go collect Potter. Maybe he has stopped being so
stubborn and had another piece of chocolate.”
Hermione, Harry, and Professor McGonagall made their way back to the marble staircase to the
Great Hall. It was a sea of pointed black hats; each of the longhouse tables was lined with students,
their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of floating candles. Professor Flitwick, the Charms
professor, was carrying an ancient hat and stool out of the hall.
“Oh,” Hermione said sadly. “We’ve missed the Sorting!”
Hermione and Harry sat down on either side of Ron, who had saved them seats. Just as Ron was
asking them what Professor McGonagall had wanted, the headmaster of Hogwarts stood to speak.
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had long, silver hair and beard, half-moon
spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. His presence demanded respect, even though he had
what Hermione would call a very peculiar sense of humour.
“Welcome!” said Dumbledore. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say
to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you
become befuddled by our excellent feast.”
Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued. “As you will all be aware after their search of the
Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who
are here on Ministry of Magic business.”
He paused, and Hermione realised the usual jovial glow of the headmaster was missing. Professor
Dumbledore did not look happy in the least. He looked… off. There was something different about
him this year - like he was altogether a different person. “They are stationed at every entrance to
the grounds,” Dumbledore continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that
nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises
or invisibility cloaks,” he added. Hermione pointedly looked at Harry, hoping that he was
listening.
“It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses,” Dumbledore continued.
“I, therefore, warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the
Prefects and our new Head Boy and Girl to make sure that no student runs foul of the Dementors.
“On a happier note,” he continued. “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this
year. Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the
Dark Arts teacher.”
There was some scattered applause for Professor Lupin, though Hermione noticed that she and the
others who were in the compartment with him were clapping quite enthusiastically. Hermione also
noticed Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all of the other teachers at the head table who
were wearing their best robes.
As her eyes scanned the rest of the professors, Hermione noticed Professor Snape staring
loathsomely at the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. If looks could kill, Professor Lupin
would undoubtedly be dead. Professor Snape was the head of Slytherin House and also the Potions
Master of Hogwarts. He was also Hermione’s least favourite professor. Snape, like most of his
Slytherin students, had an incredible dislike for the Gryffindors.
“As to our second new appointment,” Dumbledore continued, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts.
“Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher,
retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am
delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to
take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.”
Hermione, Ron, and Harry looked at each other, stunned. Then they joined the applause, which
was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Hermione looked up to the table to see Hagrid,
who looked pleased.
“We should have known!” Ron said, banging his hands on the table. “Who else would have set us
a biting book?”
Hermione giggled, nodding her head. Ron was right. They should have known.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, bringing order back to the Great Hall. Hermione, Ron, and Harry
were the last to stop clapping. “Well, I think that’s everything of importance,” said Dumbledore.
“Let the feast begin!”
The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. Hermione made it a
point to not look at the boys - they always ate like ravenous lions. It was disgusting to watch. She
turned, instead, to the staff table.
It was a delicious feast. Hermione felt at peace, even despite the previous events of the day. After
everyone had their fill, Hermione and the boys went up to the head table.
“Congratulations, Hagrid!” Hermione squealed.
“All down ter you three,” said Hagrid, wiping his tears of pure joy onto his napkin. “Can’ believe
it… great man, Dumbledore… came straight to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he’d had
enough… it’s what I always wanted.” Overcome with emotion, he buried his face in his napkin,
and Professor McGonagall shooed them away.
The “Golden Trio,” as Ginny referred to them, joined the rest of the Gryffindors streaming up the
marble staircase, down the corridors, and through the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower. A
large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress asked them, “Password?”
“Coming through, coming through!” Percy called from behind the crowd. “The new password’s
Fortuna Major! ”
“Oh no,” said Neville. He always had trouble remembering the passwords. Hermione made a
mental note to remind him of the notebook she had bought him to write down the passwords.
Hermione followed the spiral stairs to the top of the tower and entered into her familiar dorm
room. She was home. Not even Dementors or Time-Turners could ruin that feeling. She let
Crookshanks out of his basket and watched him sniff around. “Welcome home, Crookshanks,”
Hermione said.
Talons and Tea Leaves
Hermione slept better than she had in a long time, which, she knew, was good since she’d soon be
exhausted from all of her Time-Turning, studying, and other activities. May as well catch up on
sleep while she could!
The following morning, Hermione woke up refreshed and ready to start her third year. Her
roommates, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Fay Dunbar, and Alice Tolipan, had all stayed up until
the wee hours of the morning gossiping and now were paying the price that morning. Hermione
had been pretty close with Parvati during her first year, but their relationship grew thin during all of
the scandals of their second year. Still, Hermione was cordial with the girls and tried not to be too
chipper while they tried to wake up. She made sure Crookshanks had some dry food and fresh
water and started down the stairs.
A few minutes later, Hermione met Ron and Harry in the Gryffindor common room, and they
walked together to the Great Hall for breakfast. The first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy being a
git and clearly demonstrating how Harry had fainted on the Hogwarts Express.
“Ignore him,” said Hermione. “Just ignore him. It’s not worth it.”
“Hey, Potter!” shrieked Pansy Parkinson, another Slytherin. “Potter! The Dementors are coming,
Potter! Wooooo!”
Hermione noticed Sophie Roper from Madam Malkins sitting in the group as well, though she
wasn’t laughing nearly as loud as the other Slytherins. In fact, she looked rather bored.
The three friends sat down at the long table. Fred and George were already there. George started
passing some papers down to them. “New third-year timetables,” said George. “What’s up with
you, Harry?”
“Malfoy,” Ron answered on Harry’s behalf.
Hermione, however, didn’t follow the rest of their conversation. She was too excited to have her
official schedule right there in her hands. She had looked over the parchment Professor
McGonagall had given her, but it didn’t tell her much she hadn’t already known.
Having the actual timetable was a mixture of excitement and terror, but Hermione tried to just
focus on the excitement. She was going to learn so much! She looked at each day carefully,
mentally trying to plot it out on a map:
Monday:
-9 am Divination
-9 am Arithmancy
-9 am Muggle Studies
-10 am Double Transfiguration
Lunch
-1 pm Care of Magical Creatures
-2 pm Charms
Tuesday:
-9 am Double Care of Magical Creatures
-11 am Potions
Lunch
-1 pm History of Magic
-2 pm Defence Against the Dark Arts
Wednesday:
-9 am Ancient Runes
-10 am Double History of Magic
Lunch
-1 pm Double Herbology
-Midnight - Astronomy
Thursday:
-9 am Double Potions
-10 am Double Muggle Studies
Lunch
-1 pm Double Defence Against the Dark Arts
Friday:
-9 am Herbology
-10 am Double Ancient runes
-10 am Transfiguration
Lunch
-1 pm Double Charms
-1 pm Double Arithmancy
Hermione tried not to be overwhelmed. She tried to focus on one section at a time. Since it was
Monday, she zeroed in on that day of classes. One quick look told her Monday just happened to be
one of the trickiest. She took a deep breath. Three classes all at 9 am in various areas of the castle.
At least she wouldn’t necessarily be in danger of being seen in two places at the same time, she
thought.
She started to plan it out as logically as she could: it would probably be beneficial to keep the
transition on Thursdays from Divination to Transfiguration since she’d probably just walk from
one to the other with the boys; therefore, she’d have to go to Arithmancy first, then go back for
Muggle Studies, and then go back to start Divination with the boys. Then-“Hermione,” Ron said from over her shoulder, interrupting her logistics. Hermione nearly jumped
out of her seat. “They’ve messed up your timetable. Look - they’ve got you down for about ten
subjects a day. There isn’t enough time.”
Hermione’s anxiety shot up. “I’ll manage,” she said, trying to shield the paper away from Ron.
“I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”
“But look,” Ron said, pointing. “See this morning? Nine o’clock - Divination. And underneath,
nine o’clock - Muggle Studies. And--” Ron leant closer to the timetable. “Look! Underneath that,
Arithmancy - nine o’clock! I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re
you supposed to be in three glasses at once?”
Hermione tried to ignore the flush in her cheeks at Ron’s compliment and, instead, tried to focus on
not getting caught before her first class. “Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course, I
won’t be in three classes at once.”
“Well, then--”
“Pass the marmalade,” said Hermione.
“But--”
“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my timetable’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed
it all with Professor McGonagall.”
Ron opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by Hagrid entering the Great Hall. He was
wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absent-mindedly swinging a dead polecat from one
enormous hand. “Saved by the dead polecat,” Hermione thought to herself as she slipped her
timetable into her bag.
“All righ’?” Hagrid greeted them eagerly on his way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson!
Right after lunch! Bin up since five gettin’ everythin’ ready. Hope it’s ok. Me, a teacher.
Hones’ly!”
He grinned broadly at them and headed up to the staff table. “Wonder what he’s been getting
ready?” said Ron with a note of anxiety in his voice. He seemed to have forgotten entirely about
Hermione’s timetable, thankfully. He even pulled his own out to check and didn’t think to bring it
up again. “We’d better go. Look - Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take us ten minutes
to get there.”
Hermione made a big show of collecting all of her books, taking her time. Ron and Harry were
already starting for the door.
“Walk slow,” Hermione said as she gathered her things. “I’ll catch up in a second!”
As soon as Ron and Harry walked out of the Great Hall, Hermione ran towards the exit as well. To
the left of the main doors was a small, usually deserted closet that Hermione ducked into as
inconspicuously as possible. Argus Filch, the (very foul-tempered) caretaker of Hogwarts, usually
kept some of his supplies inside its dingy stone walls. Hermione glanced around and saw the ghost
of her past (or future) self shimmer away. This would be the perfect place to use the Time-Turner,
at least on Thursdays.
Hermione put down her knapsack and decided to leave the rest of her books here in “her” closet.
She pulled out Numerology and Grammatica , stuffed it in her bag, and took a deep breath. There
was no turning back now!
Hermione snuck out of the closet and started walking to Classroom 7A on the seventh floor of the
Hogwarts Turris Magnus (great tower). The dark oak door was slightly ajar as Hermione
approached the classroom, and she pushed it open with a loud creak. The classroom was unusually
bright from the early morning sun cascading through the large arched windows along the room's
west wall. The nine desks were spaced out precisely across the hardwood floors in three rows of
three. Hermione surmised that she’d be able to take a ruler to each, and there wouldn’t be a desk
even an inch off.
At the front of the classroom, a large dark green chalkboard with multiple sliding panels lined the
walls. The boards were chalk free, at the moment, except for “Professor Septima Vector” written
across the centreboard in beautifully crisp and precise script. Older students had been known to
gossip about Professor Vector, calling her strict and “very old-fashioned,” but Hermione thought
that sounded brilliant.
Hermione took a desk near the front of the room opposite the door and pulled out her textbook,
favourite maroon quill, inkwell, and a fresh roll of parchment. She took a deep breath, savouring
the somewhat musty smell of her new parchment. It reminded her of the smells of a library. She
was the first student so far and took the precious moment alone to take it all in.
A few moments later, Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst, two Ravenclaws, walked into the
classroom with their arms full of books and bags stuffed with supplies. Hermione knew Padma
relatively well through her twin sister, Parvati, but wasn’t as familiar with the other Ravenclaw.
Mandy had deep red hair and skin as fair as the Muggle fairy tale character Snow White and
appeared even lighter next to the golden brown glow of Padma’s.
The two girls smiled at Hermione as they took the other two desks in the front of the classroom
and started pulling out their supplies (all of which were in the dark blue and bronze Ravenclaw
colours). Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy for a quick moment; the Sorting Hat had contemplated
sorting her into Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw house was known for its academics. Hermione loved being
a Gryffindor, but the focus on academia was something she could always fall into easily.
The heavy oak door swung open a second time as three more Ravenclaws walked into the
classroom: Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, and Kevin Entwhistle. The three boys silently
went to the open desks behind Padma and Mandy. Hermione wondered briefly if she’d be alone
with the Ravenclaws - she didn’t know of any Gryffindors (or Hufflepuffs, for that matter) who
had mentioned Arithmancy as one of the classes they were interested in taking. Not that she
minded, of course, but it’d be nice to not be the only non-Ravenclaw in the class.
The door inched open once more, and, to Hermione’s surprise, her roommate Fay walked in. She
was under the impression Fay wanted to join Lavender, Parvati, and the other Gryffindors in
Divination. “Hi Fay,” Hermione said pleasantly.
“Hi Hermione,” Fay replied with a quick smile. She ducked around the Ravenclaws to the very
back row of desks. Hermione frowned. She had kind of hoped Fay would have sat at the desk
behind her.
There were two more empty desks, and Hermione, quite frankly, wondered if they’d be filled. She
glanced at her watch. Any other students coming to class had precisely three minutes to get to
class. Judging by the rumours about Professor Vector, Hermione presumed tardiness would not be
tolerated.
With a large bang, the door was pushed open again to reveal Megan Jones, a third-year Hufflepuff
with light brown hair and glasses. Her long legs and lanky arms made her look and move slightly
off-kilter. She lumbered into the classroom, nearly knocking over the gilded abacus on the corner
of the professor’s desk. Hermione was reminded of Neville immediately. He had a particular
affinity for clumsiness as well, especially when he was nervous.
She watched Megan take the last seat in the middle row, which still left the seat directly behind her
empty. She glanced at her watch—one minute. Maybe there would only be eight students in the
class instead of nine.
Just as the minute hand struck the hour, the oak door opened once more. Hermione glanced up,
expecting to see Professor Vector but was floored to see a flash of jet black and green strike
through the door like a snake.
Sophie Roper.
Hermione couldn’t believe her bad luck. Not only was the Slytherin in her class, but she also had to
sit directly behind Hermione. She doubted Fay would be any help in defending Hermione against
the Slytherin attacks on her blood status. Hermione would just have to take care of it herself.
As soon as Sophie sat down, Hermione turned around to glare at her. “I’m not sure what your
intentions for this class are, Sophie,” Hermione spat. “But I intend to learn Arithmancy without any
issues. I would appreciate it if you left me alone during this class.”
“There you go again, assuming all of these horrible things about me and how I’m gonna mess with
ya,” Sophie said with a scowl. “You damn Gryffindors, always playing the brave, righteous victim.
It’s a disservice to you, to be honest.”
“I just don’t want any problems this year,” Hermione quipped.
“I just got here, mate,” Sophie said, pulling a quill and parchment from her bag. “My only problem
right now is that you are talking, and she-” Sophie nodded her head towards the front of the
classroom, “-is not.” Hermione followed her gaze, and her heart dropped to her toes. Professor
Septima Vector was standing at the front of the classroom, staring at Hermione. The Arithmancy
teacher was relatively young by Hogwarts standards with coarse auburn hair pulled back in a plait.
Her robes were plain yet elegant, dyed to match the darkest lowlights of her hair. Her sharp green
eyes seemed to pierce Hermione’s heart.
“Sorry, Professor,” Hermione muttered, mortified.
Professor Vector nodded tersely before turning and addressing the rest of the class. “Good
morning, students,” she started. Throughout the room, the sound of quills scratching parchment
started. “In this class, your studies will be ruled by the most reliable commodity within both the
Wizarding and Muggle World: Numbers.” She paused and scanned the room. “Numbers and
patterns dictate all facets of our past, present, and future. Life as we know it, even on the molecular
level, is dictated by patterns and measurements. One can conclude, therefore, the prediction of
future life will, similarly, be dictated by patterns and measurements.”
Everyone’s quills paused as Professor Vector took a breath. “ Let me be clear, however:
Arithmancy should never be confused with Divination or other similar disciplines. The numbers do
not predict the future; they indicate the probability of future events, which can, in turn, influence
how you proceed.
“As the nine of you know, this is an elective discipline at Hogwarts. You all have chosen to be
here. You may also choose to leave. This will be your first assignment. Read chapter one of
Numerology and Grammatica and then calculate the probability of a passing grade in this class. It
is imperative you do not read ahead and try any of the more advanced calculations, nor do I want
you to try to calculate your actual score. All you must do is determine if you will pass or fail and
then decide how you would like to proceed. If you understand the assignment, please open your
textbooks and begin.”
Hermione eagerly put down her quill and opened her textbook as instructed. During the last month
of summer break, she had read the entire book, so she had to remind herself precisely what was in
the first chapter. Hermione glanced around at her fellow classmates and suspected they were doing
the same.
Hermione read the chapter quickly yet thoroughly, scratching down notes with her quill as she
read. Once she had a general grasp of the concept and equation she would need, she got to work
entering the proper integers. It was like a giant puzzle, and each number she wrote was another
piece. She truly enjoyed the challenge and, as she worked the last equation, Hermione felt herself
smiling from ear to ear. She hadn’t had this much fun academically in a very long time.
As the last equation took shape on her parchment, Hermione’s heart started to speed up. She was so
excited to find out the probability she’d pass the class. She carried the five and subtracted the sum
of the sixth formula.
98.5%.
Numbers didn’t lie. There was a 98.5% chance she would pass Arithmancy. Hermione smiled
widely. It looked like she was going to continue in this class.
She took a moment to look around the room. She surprisingly wasn’t the first one done with the
calculations. Sophie was sitting smugly behind her, hands folded on top of her parchment.
Hermione tried to peek at Sophie’s results, but the Slytherin’s hands were conveniently covering
the numbers.
A few moments later, Professor Vector stood and walked around to the front of her desk. “Time is
up. By raising hands,” continued the professor, “How many of you will be joining us for the next
class?”
All nine hands shot up.
“Congratulations. You have all determined and, therefore, predicted your futures. Read chapters
two through four and write three feet of parchment on the theories presented. Class dismissed.”
Hermione shot out of her seat as if she were a golden snitch on a Quidditch Pitch. She was giddy
with excitement. That was, without a doubt, the most exhilarating class she had ever had. She had
so much adrenaline coursing through her body, she almost forgot that she had two more nine
o’clock classes to get to.
Hermione gathered her books as quickly as she could and started for the door, accidentally
bumping Sophie. “Sorry,” Hermione said, too exhilarated to have any defences up.
“That was amazing, wasn’t it?” Sophie said with a massive grin on her face as she pushed her hair
out of her face.
“Absolutely brilliant!” Hermione agreed enthusiastically, forgetting who she was talking to.
“The way the square root of the integer brought the whole thing together - bloody amazing!”
“Yes!” Hermione said. “And the exponential increase of the variable in step 17-”
“-And how it corresponded with the coefficient?” Sophie finished the question.
“Yes!”
“It was-”
“Elegant!” Hermione finished.
“Yes. Elegant is the perfect word,” Sophie said.
There was an awkward pause as the adrenaline faded, and they realised who they were talking to.
“Well, I’ve got to get to my next class,” Hermione said.
“Same here,” said Sophie.
They both kind of danced in the corridor until finally settling on their respective directions.
Hermione glanced at her watch as she made her way back to the closet near the Great Hall and
immediately sobered; she only had seven minutes to get back to the closet.
She fought the sea of students as inconspicuously as possible until finally sliding inside the safety
of her closet. She swapped Numerology and Grammatica for Home Life and Social Habits of
British Muggles by Wilhelm Wigworthy in her knapsack and grabbed a few more sheets of new
parchment. Hermione took a deep breath and pulled the Time-Turner from underneath her robes.
One turn, one hour.
Hermione’s stomach lurched from side to side, and she almost lost her grip on her knapsack. Even
with all of her preparation, the time-travelling hadn’t gotten any easier. Hermione shook off the
lingering effects and snuck her way out of the closet.
She blended in with the stream of students once again, only this time going in the opposite
direction towards the Muggle Studies classroom on the first floor. She passed one of Myrtle’s
favourite bathrooms; Myrtle, or Moaning Myrtle as she was more commonly referred, was one of
the many ghosts of Hogwarts; Myrtle just happened to frequent the girls' lavatories.
As Hermione entered the Muggle Studies classroom, she was first struck by the spaciousness of
the expansive room. In Hermione’s opinion, it resembled a slightly askew Muggle museum with
artefacts from the current age. To the right, devices such as a printer, car, robot, and vacuum
cleaners were placed like a museum exhibit. To the left, a telephone, television, projector, lawn
chair, rubber duck, blender, newsstand, record player, computer, washing machine, roller skates,
and a cash register were scattered on different levels of pedestals. Hermione was fascinated by their
choices of items.
The desks and chairs were indeed peculiar and gave Hermione quite a chuckle. Drabby grey metal
folding chairs littered the centre area of the classroom floor and were paired with faux wood tin
television trays; both were collapsed down and lying on the ground. It would certainly be
entertaining to watch her fellow magical classmates try to open the chair and tray to sit down.
Hermione contemplated standing off the side to watch, but she wanted to make sure she was
prepared for when Professor Burbage arrived. She didn’t want a repeat of her mishap with
Professor Vector.
Hermione placed down her knapsack near what she assumed was the front of the room (there
wasn’t a definitive teacher’s desk or board). The folding chair was easy to open. The tray took a
little more work to get the clips into the stand because they were slightly bent from whoever had
used the tray last.
There had been a few Hufflepuffs in the room when Hermione entered, and she could feel them
watching her from across the room. She sat down on the chair and put her textbook and parchment
on the tray. Once she was settled, she watched the others try to set up their chairs and trays.
Wayne Hopkins and Ernie Macmillian, two third-year Hufflepuffs, tried to emulate Hermione’s
set-up with disastrous results. Wayne screamed in pain as the folding chair suddenly shut and
pinched his fingers. Ernie was able to open his tray but forgot to clip the tray into the metal bars,
and it collapsed as soon as he put his inkwell and textbook on it.
Hermione debated whether or not to offer her assistance, but Ernie was not the nicest of people to
her or Harry last year - he suspected Harry was the heir of Slytherin and was quite rude about it.
However, she vowed to help if they couldn’t manage to get it set up within the next minute.
Thankfully for her, they finally set up the tray and chair and took a seat.
Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw, was the next to come in. He had no trouble setting up the stand and seat,
though every time he shifted in his chair, the metal creaked and groaned. After a minute or two,
Terry got up and put together another set-up.
A few more students (no Slytherins) trickled into the room, some marvelling over the Muggle
relics adorning the classroom. They all struggled with the tray and chair. Sue Li, a Ravenclaw,
decided to just sit on the floor instead of dealing with all metal.
A faint bicycle bell chimed to Hermione’s left. She whipped her head round to see a blonde witch
riding a children’s tricycle through a curtained door behind the washing machine. Her legs were far
too long for the tiny bike, and her knees were hitting her chin with every pedal. “Good morning,
class!” Professor Charity Burbage said brightly. “Welcome to Muggle Studies!”
The professor pedalled the tricycle to the centre of the room and awkwardly unmounted it. She was
extremely tall and slight, though her shoulders were broad for her size. “In this classroom, we will
learn the importance of having a thorough understanding of the non-magical community and how
to work with them to create a better world for Muggles and Wizards alike. Likewise, in this
classroom, there will be absolutely no tolerance for any anti-Muggle thoughts or ideologies.
Muggles are not so different from Wizards and Witches, after all. We may possess magic, but they
possess other things of great importance and strength. They have adapted to their lack of magical
abilities with things such as electricity, machinery, and robotics, and we will cover much of that in
this class.”
Professor Burbage crossed the room over to the television set. “For example, this is a television set.
How many of you have seen this machine before?” Hermione and a few other of the students raised
their hands. “A television set is a Muggle invention that can take a photograph and extend its
duration longer with the addition of sound. Usually, gadgets such as these cannot work within
Hogwarts walls, but the headmaster has lifted the ban for this room. Let’s take a look at the
Muggle Television set and a short movie on the history of Muggles in Britain.”
Professor Burbage wheeled the television closer to the students and turned it on. Hermione noticed
it was an older model that needed a few moments to warm up. The familiar hum of the tube filled
the room. Burbage inserted a VHS tape into the dated VRR and pressed play.
Forty-five minutes later, the credits were rolling, and the rest of the class were clapping wildly.
The professor had just played an older Channel 4 documentary on the history of British innovation
Hermione had seen before.
“As you just saw, class, Muggles are amazing people with a knack for innovation. This year, we
are going to take a deep dive into the history of Muggle inventions and the progression of their
technology. We’re going to explore the adaptations Muggles have made in the face of adversity
and times of strife. We will break down the advancements Muggles have made in areas Wizards
may be falling behind. For example, did you know Muggles have built actual space travel
machines that go up to explore the stars?” Ernie Macmillan was shaking his head in shock, his eyes
wide with amazement.
“For homework, I’d like you all to read the first three chapters of Home Life and Social Habits of
British Muggles and plot out a rough timeline on the development of Muggle electricity.”
Thinking Professor Burbage was wrapping up, the class started collecting all their things from the
tray table. “Before you leave,” she said, interrupting their progress. “I want to suggest that
everyone take one lap around the classroom on a Muggle motorised scooter. It’s like a Quidditch
broom, but with wheels. It’s quite fun if I must say so myself.”
Hermione decided she’d pass on the scooter since she had been on one before and finished
gathering her things. Wayne was the first to step on the scooter and shot off across the room with a
shout.
“Miss Granger?” Hermione heard her name being called. She turned to see Professor Burbage
standing next to her.
“Yes, professor?”
“I understand you’re Muggle-born, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Unfortunately, the ministry feels it necessary to keep such records. However, I try only to use
them for educational purposes,” Professor Burbage sighed. “Seeing as this is only my second year
teaching this subject, and you are the only Muggle-born I’ve had as a student, I wanted to appeal to
you to please let me know if I ever misrepresent anything in class. I do not want to misconstrue
anything or give any false information. I have much too much respect for Muggles. It’s really an
honour to have a real Muggle in my class.”
“I really appreciate that,” Hermione said awkwardly. She wasn’t entirely sure what to say. “Uh,
sure, I can do that.”
“And if you ever want to present to the class, by all means, please do.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermione said.
“You know, I had a Muggle friend once. She was extremely intelligent, just like I hear you are.”
“That’s… erm… great,” Hermione said. She felt really uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Professor, but
I’ve got to get to my next class.”
“Of course, of course,” Professor Burbage said, stepping aside. “I’ll be excited to read your
timeline of electricity.”
Hermione pursed her lips and nodded stiffly. She turned and walked quickly out of the classroom.
While she was not, exactly, wowed with the class (and, to be honest, weirded out by Professor
Burbage), she told herself nothing would have lived up to Arithmancy. She wished she could use
the Time-Turner again to go back and experience that class one more time.
Hermione hustled back to her closet, shut the door before anyone could see her, and pulled out the
Time-Turner once more from beneath her robes.
One turn.
Hermione gripped the sides of the closet to steady herself. She counted to three and breathed
deeply. The nausea passed for the most part.
She made sure she had her copy of Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky and
Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch towards the top of her bag (since she didn’t have to
go back to the closet to Time-Turn, she was bringing all of her books with her) and hurried out of
the side storage room. Hermione stood on her tiptoes to find Ron and Harry as they started their
day. It was hard to believe how much time had passed for Hermione when it was only seconds for
them. She tried not to think about it. She sprinted through the entrance hall and caught up with the
boys as if no time had passed. She could only hope they didn’t notice how frazzled she was.
The three friends weaved down the corridors and up seven staircases. The journey definitely
helped their lack of attention to Hermione’s odd behaviour.
“There’s - got - to - be - a - short - cut,” Ron panted as they reached the top of the seventh staircase
onto an unfamiliar landing. There was really nothing there but a painting of a bare stretch of grass
hanging on the stone wall.
“I think it’s this way,” Hermione said, peering down the empty passage to the right. Hermione’s
sense of direction was all turned around; the fourth or fifth staircase kept moving, and she lost
track of which way they had been turned.
“Can’t be,” said Ron. “That’s south. Look, you can see a bit of the lake out of the window.”
Hermione was stumped. Her heart was beating too fast from the physical exertion to beat any faster
from the potential stress of being late for her first Divination class. Hermione looked at Harry for
help, but he was, instead, staring at a painting of the grass.
She followed his gaze and saw a short, squat knight in a suit of armour clunking into the picture
after his horse. “Aha!” the knight yelled upon seeing Hermione, Ron, and Harry. “What villains
are these that trespass upon my private lands? Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you
knaves, you dogs!”
They watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began
brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a
particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed face down in the grass.
“Are you all right?” asked Harry.
“Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!”
The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank into the
grass, and he couldn’t get it out again. Finally, he flopped back down onto the grass and pushed his
visor up to mop his sweaty face. Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the ridiculousness of
it all.
“Listen,” Harry said. “We’re looking for the North Tower. You don’t know the way, do you?”
“A quest!” The knight came to full attention. “Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our
goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!” He tried, once again, to mount his horse and failed.
“On foot, then, good sirs and gentle lady! On! On!”
Against her better judgement, Hermione, Ron, and Harry followed the knight as he ran, clanking
loudly, from picture to picture on the wall. “Be of stout heart,” the knight yelled from three
paintings ahead. “The worst is yet to come!”
They wheezed onward, following the stubby little knight until he reached a painting with a group
of alarmed women in crinolines in front of a narrow spiral staircase. They climbed the tightly
spiralled stairs, getting dizzier and dizzier until, at last, they heard the murmur of voices above
them. They had finally reached the Divination classroom.
“Farewell!” cried the knight. “Farewell, my comrades in arms! If ever you have need of noble heart
and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!”
“Yeah,” muttered Ron as the knight disappeared from a painting of sinister-looking monks. “We’ll
call you if we ever need someone mental.”
Hermione couldn’t help but agree as they climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny
landing. It seemed like most of the class was already assembled. However, no one knew where to
go - there were no doors off this landing. Hermione took the moment of mass confusion to think
logically about the logistics of the morning and whether or not she could find a better way to
manage those classes.
She was interrupted by a nudge. Harry happened to look up and saw a circular trap door with a
brass plaque on it. “Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher,” Harry read. “How’re supposed to get up
there?
As though in answer to his question, the trap door suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended
right at Harry’s feet. Everyone went quiet.
“After you,” Ron said to Harry, who started to climb. Hermione let Ron go up next before
beginning the climb herself.
She emerged into the strangest-looking classroom she had ever been in. Instead of proper desks
like her other two classes that morning, small circular tables were arranged haphazardly about the
room in a semi-circle (emphasis on the semi) with chintz armchairs and fat little pouffes to sit on.
The lighting was atrocious - a dim, crimson light from lamps draped with red scarves. Hermione’d
be surprised if anyone would be able to read in such light.
All of the windows were closed, and the roaring fire in the fireplace was making the room
uncomfortably warm, not to mention whatever was cooking in the copper kettle over the flames
was emanating a heavy, sickly sort of perfume that made Hermione’s nose crinkle in disgust. Along
the outskirts of the circular room were shelves crammed with absurd little knick-knacks, playing
cards, candles, feathers, crystal balls, and teacups.
Hermione was utterly disgusted with the farce of a classroom if it could even be called that. It
instead reminded her of a kichty tea parlour set in a seedy part of town. Before she could find
anything else with the set-up, a nauseatingly soft voice wafted from the shadows.
“Welcome,” it said. “How nice to see you in the physical world at last.”
Hermione looked towards the voice and was met with an insect of a woman. Professor Trelawney
(she presumed) was very thin, but her eyes seemed to be peering out from coke bottles. Her
oversized glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size. She was draped in a gauzy
spangled shawl that looked as though it had moth holes. Innumerable chains and beads hung from
her neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings in the most distasteful
fashion.
“Sit, my children, sit,” she said. Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat around the same table. Hermione
tried her best to ignore the urge to pinch her nose. She sat as straight as she possibly could in the
slouchy pouffe; this woman’s lack of decorum would not compromise her posture.
“Welcome to Divination,” said Professor Trelawney dramatically as she draped herself in a winged
armchair in front of the fire. “My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before.
I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my inner eye.”
Hermione tried to catch the eye of Ron or Harry, but they were giving the teacher their rapt
attention. “So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts.”
Hermione tried not to gasp in horror at the statement. “I must warn you at the outset that if you do
not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can only take you so far in
this field.”
Hermione couldn’t contain the gasp that time. She saw Ron and Harry give her a look with smug
grins on their faces while Professor Trelawney continued. “Many witches and wizards, talented
though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearances, are yet unable to
penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future,” Professor Trelawney went on, her enormous,
gleaming eyes moving from face to nervous face. “It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy,” she said
suddenly to Neville, who almost toppled off his pouffe. “Is your grandmother well?”
“I think so,” Neville squeaked out.
“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you, dear,” Professor Trelawney said in a pitying tone. Neville
gulped. “We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year. The first term will be
devoted to reading the tea leaves. Next term, we shall progress to palmistry. By the way, dear,” the
professor interrupted herself to address Parvati. “Beware of a red-haired man.”
Parvati gave a startled look at Ron who’s ears turned almost as red as his hair.
“In the summer term,” Professor Trelawney went on, “We shall progress to the crystal ball - if we
have finished with fire omens, that is. Unfortunately, class will be disrupted in February by a nasty
bout of the flu. I, myself, will lose my voice. And, around Easter, one of our number will leave us
forever.”
She let the class sit in a dramatic silence. Hermione took another scan of the room to see if anyone
else found this to be rubbish as well. The class seemed to be eating it all up with the exception of
Bem, a round-faced Gryffindor near the back of the room. He had a look of pure amusement on his
face.
“I wonder, dear,” she said to Lavender, who shrank back in her chair in fear, “if you could pass me
the largest silver teapot?”
Hermione could tell Lavender was relieved. She took the enormous teapot from the shelf and put it
down in front of Professor Trelawney.
“Thank you, my dear,” Trelawney said in her annoying sing-song voice that was starting to grate
Hermione’s nerves. “Incidentally,” she continued, “that thing you are dreading - it will happen on
Friday, the sixteenth of October.”
Lavender trembled.
“Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will
fill it. Then sit down and drink; drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three
times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside-down on its saucer; wait for the last of the tea to
drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages
five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and
dear –” she caught Neville by the arm as he made to stand up, “after you’ve broken your first cup,
would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I’m rather attached to the pink.”
Hermione watched Neville jerk with fear and start to walk stiffly and unnaturally over to the shelf.
Not surprisingly (because of the way he was overcompensating), Neville ended up dropping his
cup. Professor Trelawney swept over to him, holding a dustpan and brush, and said, “One of the
blue ones, then, dear, if you wouldn’t mind. Thank you.”
Ron and Harry paired up, so Hermione had to look elsewhere for a partner. She hated trying to find
a partner. In fact, any sort of group project was usually a waste of time. However, it looked like
there was no way around it. Hermione started looking around the room for a partner and locked
eyes with Bem across the room, who was doing the same.
Bem always seemed to do well in classes, so Hermione figured he’d be as good as any to pair up
with. She grabbed her books and cup and walked over to Bem’s table. “Do you want to pair up,
then?” Hermione asked. Her voice always seemed tense when she was nervous - she hoped Bem
didn’t take her the wrong way.
“Sure, pull up a poof,” Bem said with a bright smile. Hermione settled next to him and put her cup
on the small circular table. “Allow me,” he said, taking her cup and his own up to Trelawny to fill.
“Thank you,” Hermione said. He returned after a few moments and handed her her cup back. He
held his out to hers.
“Cheers!” he said, tapping his cup to hers.
“Cheers!” she replied with a smile and took a sip. Even the tea was perfume-y. Hermione made a
face.
“I take it you like the tea as much as you like this class?” Bem said.
“What are your thoughts on it all?” Hermione asked. She didn’t want to unload on Bem if he
wasn’t as sceptical as she was.
Bem shrugged. “Well, you know what they say,” he said. “It is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound
and fury, signifying nothing."
Hermione recognised the quote at once. “Macbeth?” she asked.
“I’m a bit superstitious,” Bem said with a wry smile, “So I prefer ‘The Scottish Play.’”
“Best class to be superstitious in, I guess,” Hermione replied.
“I guess we’ll see,” he said. “But, hey, thanks for coming over. Not many people like to be my
partner because they think I tell horrible jokes.”
“Like what?”
“What does a snail on the back of a tortoise say?” Bem asked.
Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know, what?”
“Slllooooowwww doooowwwnnnn,” Bem whined. Hermione’s tea nearly came out of her nose she
was laughing so hard. “You’re the first person to think that was funny,” Bem laughed.
“That’s because it’s hysterical!” Hermione said, still chuckling. It was nice to laugh. She knew
she’d probably be too busy later to even chuckle.
“I suppose we should try to read each other’s leaves?” Bem said.
“I suppose,” Hermione replied. They each followed the directions of the professor and swapped
cups. “Can you see anything?”
“A lot of tea dregs,” Bem said, comparing Hermione’s cup with pages five and six of his textbook.
“How about mine?”
“A big, black blob,” Hermione said, biting her lip with laughter. “This is pointless.”
“Indeed,” said Bem. “But it was either this or Arithmancy, and I thought this would be more
dramatic.”
“It will certainly give you more material for your jokes, that’s for sure,” Hermione said. She was
still trying to discern a shape in Bem’s cup, however. She still had respect for the institution even if
Professor Trelawney and her shoddy classroom didn’t.
Speaking of Professor Trelawney, she had been making her way around the room and settled at
Ron and Harry’s table. Of course, everyone’s attention turned to her. What would the “Chosen
One’s” future hold?
Professor Trelawney was holding Harry’s teacup, rotating it counter-clockwise. “The falcon,” she
sighed dramatically. “My dear, you have a deadly enemy.”
“But everyone knows that,” came a loud whisper. Hermione had no idea where the voice was
coming from until she saw everyone’s eyes snap at her. She had said it. She felt her cheeks flush,
but she couldn’t stop the sarcasm bubbling up for whatever reason. It was like her anxiety-riddled
ramblings but with sass. “Well, they do,” Hermione continued. “Everyone knows about Harry, and
You Know Who.”
Hermione glanced over at Ron who’s mouth nearly hit the floor. Everyone’s eyes were glued to
her. Hermione blushed. Everyone was still for a moment.
Finally, Trelawney broke the stillness by raising the cup again, ignoring Hermione. “The club. An
attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup.”
“I thought that was a bowler hat,” Ron said sheepishly. Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“The skull,” the professor continued, “danger in your path, my dear.”
Everyone in the room was transfixed except for Hermione and Bem. Hermione’s eyebrows were
raised so much with scepticism that they were nearly off the top of her forehead. Bem had the most
amused look on his face as if he were watching a particularly entertaining West End performance.
It made her wish Bem could join her in Arithmancy instead of this nonsense. Trelawney gave the
cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed.
There was another tinkle of breaking china from Neville (he had dropped his second cup in shock)
mixed with a whispered “Brava!” from Bem. The professor sank back into a vacant armchair, her
glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.
“My dear boy, my poor, dear boy - No - it is kinder not to say - no - don’t ask me...”
“What is it, Professor?” asked Dean Thomas. Everyone was crowding around Harry and Ron’s
table, trying to get a glimpse into Harry’s cup.
“My dear,” Trelawney said, staring at Harry. “You have the Grim!”
There was a pause. No one knew what to do. In fact, most people seemed not to know what it even
was.
“The what?”
“The Grim, my dear, the Grim!” cried Professor Trelawney because, clearly, repeating the word
would increase understanding. Thankfully for the class, she continued. “The giant, spectral dog
that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen - the worst omen - of death!”
Hermione scoffed loudly. She was done with the theatrics. This class was nothing compared to
Arithmancy. She couldn’t help herself. She was tired, and her patience was thinning quickly.
Hermione walked over to the table and looked over Trelawney’s shoulder into the cup. “I don’t
think it looks like a Grim,” she said flatly.
Trelawney turned to look at Hermione with a mounting dislike. “You’ll forgive me for saying so,
my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you,” she said. “Very little receptivity to the
resonances of the future.”
Hermione should have been insulted but, strangely, didn’t really feel anything. It was a welcomed
feeling because her anxiety would be spiralling out of control under normal circumstances in an
actual class. Maybe she was too tired to care… or maybe she knew there was nothing to
Trelawney’s words.
Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side. “It looks like a Grim if you do this,” he
said with his eyes squinted to mere slits. “But it looks more like a donkey from here,” he said,
leaning to the left.
“When you’ve all finished deciding whether I’m going to die or not!” shouted Harry, bringing
everyone to a halt. Hermione looked at him and could tell he was upset. She felt terrible.
“I think we will leave the lesson here for today,” said Professor Trelawney. “Yes, pack away your
things.”
Silently the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books and
closed their bags. “Until we meet again,” said Professor Trelawney faintly. “Fair fortune be yours.
Oh, and dear –” she pointed at Neville, “you’ll be late next time, so mind you work extra hard to
catch up.”
Hermione followed Ron and Harry down the ladder and the winding staircase in silence. Harry was
very deep in thought - she hoped he hadn’t taken too much of what the crazy bat had said to heart.
They finally reached the Transfiguration Classroom, and Harry walked straight to a seat in the back
of the classroom. Hermione and Ron joined him in solidarity, though Hermione wanted to sit a tad
closer to the front. The rest of the class streamed in, and all were shooting furtive glances at Harry.
Her heart ached for him. The rest of the class were almost as depressed as Harry seemed to be.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat at the front of the room, and Hermione’s eyes snapped
forward.
“Good morning, class,” Professor McGonagall said. “Welcome to your third year of
transfiguration. I trust you all had a restful holiday?” A few people nodded. “During your third year
of study, we will cover a range of topics, including but not limited to the Lapifors Spell,
transfiguring an owl to Opera Glasses, and even a section on Animagi. Can anyone tell me what an
Animagus is?”
Hermione’s hand shot in the air.
“Miss Granger?”
“An Animagus, plural Animagi, is a witch or wizard who could transform themselves into an
animal and back again at will. It is a learned skill, and the witch or wizard must register
themselves in the Animagus Registry so the ministry can keep track of those who had learned to
transform.”
“Correct,” said Professor McGonagall. “Ten points to Gryffindor. Training to become an
Animagus is a long and arduous process with the potential to backfire and cause the transformation
to go horribly wrong. However, once the skill is learned, the animagus can transform at will. For
example--”
With a blink of an eye, Professor McGonagall shrunk down into a beautifully elegant silver tabby
cat with spectacle markings around it's bright green eyes. The class lacklusterly looked on. Harry
was still looking off through the windows. The cat lept from desk to desk until returning to the
front of the room and transforming back into her human form with a faint pop.
“Really, what has got into you all lately?” said Professor McGonagall. “Not that it matters, but
that’s the first time my transformation’s not gotten applause from a class.”
Everybody’s head turned towards Harry again, but nobody spoke. Perhaps Professor McGonagall
could bring some clarity to the situation, thought Hermione. She raised her hand.
“Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves,
and-”
“Ah, of course,” said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “There’s no need to say any
more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”
Everyone stared at her.
“Me,” Harry said.
“I see,” said Professor McGonagall. “Then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has
predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died
yet. Seeing death omens is her favourite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that
I never speak ill of my colleagues-” Professor McGonagall broke off, and they saw that her nostrils
had gone white. She went on, more calmly, “Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of
magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare,
and Professor Trelawney -”
Professor McGonagall stopped again and then said in a very matter of fact tone: “You look in
excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I
assure you that if you do die, you need not hand it in.”
Hermione laughed. Leave it to her favourite professor to confirm Hermione’s suspicions about
Divination: that it was somewhat a joke. If nothing, it was one of the most subjective and, as
Professor McGonagall said, imprecise disciplines of magic.
The rest of Transfiguration was brilliant, as usual. Professor McGonagall had such an amazing
presence about her. Hermione would be hard-pressed to choose between Arithmancy and
Transfiguration as her favourite subject. She told herself to give it a bit longer before making up
her mind.
When the Transfiguration class had finished, they joined the crowd thundering towards the Great
Hall for lunch.
Ron still looked worried and was barely touching his food which was completely out of character.
Hermione knew he was just being dramatic. “Ron, cheer up,” said Hermione, pushing a dish of
stew towards him. “You heard what Professor McGonagall said.”
Ron spooned stew onto his plate and picked up his fork but didn’t eat.
“Harry,” he said in a serious voice. “You haven’t seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?”
“Yeah, I have,” said Harry. “I saw one on the night I left the Dursleys.”
Ron let his fork fall to the table with a clatter. Hermione shook her head dismissively. “Probably a
stray,” she said calmly.
Ron looked at Hermione as though she had gone mad. “Hermione, if Harry’s seen a Grim, that’s-that’s bad,” he said. “My - my Uncle Bilius saw one and - and he died twenty-four hours later!”
Hermione shook her head again and poured herself some pumpkin juice. “Coincidence,” she said
simply.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Ron, his voice getting louder with anger.
“Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!”
Was he implying she wasn’t scared because she wasn’t a real wizard? Hermione started to get
angry herself. “There you are, then,” said Hermione in what she hoped was a stern yet still cordial
tone. She tried to apply the concept of Arithmancy. “They see the Grim and die of fright. The
Grim’s not an omen; it’s the cause of death. And Harry’s still with us because he’s not stupid
enough to see one and think, ‘Right, well, I’d better pop my clogs then!’”
Hermione internally cringed. She knew she went a bit too far based on Ron’s face, but it was no
matter. She was right, and he’d be better off to understand that now before he was duped even
more by Professor Trelawney. She pulled her Arithmancy book out of her bag and propped it open
against the juice jug on the long table.
“I think Divination seems very woolly,” she said, thumbing through the textbook. “A lot of
guesswork, if you ask me.”
“There was nothing woolly about the Grim in that cup!” said Ron.
“You didn’t seem quite so confident when you were telling Harry it was a sheep,” said Hermione
coolly. They thought she hadn’t been listening to their initial predictions.
“Professor Trelawney said you didn’t have the right aura!” Ron pouted. “You just don’t like being
rubbish at something for a change!”
Hermione snapped. She slammed her Arithmancy book down on the table so hard that bits of food
flew everywhere. “If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a
lump of tea leaves, I’m not sure I’ll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish
compared to my Arithmancy class!”
Hermione snatched up her bag and stormed out of the Great Hall. Halfway to the Library, she
realised what she had said about already having Arithmancy. She hoped Ron and Harry didn’t
catch her slip.
----Hermione spent the rest of her lunch in one of her favourite places in the castle: The Library.
Madam Irma Pince, the librarian, was definitely not as nice as Mildred at the Lavenham Library,
but Hermione didn’t mind her too much. Mostly she sat at her desk and shushed unruly students.
Soon, it was time for Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. Hermione ran up to her dorm in the
Gryffindor Tower and swapped out her morning books for The Monster Book of Monsters (which
now was bound with spellotape because the beast broke out of the overpriced strap she got at
Flourish and Blotts) and her copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3.
Hermione caught up with Ron and Harry and started walking down the sloping lawns to Hagrid’s
hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Ron wasn’t speaking to (or even acknowledging)
Hermione, so Hermione reciprocated. If he wanted to be an infantile prat, so be it.
The three, however, all noticed the black and green robes of the Slytherins and realised they must
be having these lessons with the Slytherins. Hermione noticed Sophie standing off to the side,
seemingly avoiding Draco and his group of miscreants. She hoped that meant Sophie wasn’t as
dreadful as the rest of the people in her house - their connection over Arithmancy was exciting.
“C’mon, now, get a move on!” Hagrid called from the door of his hut. “Got a real treat for yeh
today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”
The class followed him around the edge of the trees to a kind of paddock. There was nothing there.
Everyone was looking around, confused.
“Everyone gather round the fence here!” Hagrid called them over. “That’s it - make sure you can
see. Now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books-”
“How?” sneered Draco coldly.
“Eh?” Hagrid paused, not expecting the question.
“How do we open our books?” Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of The Monster Book of
Monsters, which he had bound shut with a length of rope similar to Hermione’s strap. Other
students took theirs out too; some had their book belted shut; others had crammed them inside tight
bags or clamped them together with bull clips.
“Hasn’ - hasn’ anyone bin able ter open their books?” said Hagrid, looking crestfallen.
The class all shook their heads.
“Yeh’ve got ter stroke ‘em,” said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Look.”
Hagrid reached over and grabbed the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite his massive
hands, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine. The book shivered and then fell open and
lay quiet in his hand.
“Oh, how silly we’ve all been!” Malfoy said sarcastically. “We should have stroked them! Why
didn’t we guess!”
Hermione saw Hagrid stiffen in embarrassment next to her. “I… I thought they were funny,”
Hagrid said.
“Oh, tremendously funny!” said Draco. “Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands
off!”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Harry quietly. Hermione could see the rage burning inside him and knew
he was really trying to control his emotions.
“Righ’ then,” said Hagrid. His bulbous nose and ears had turned a deep shade of scarlet, and
Hermione could tell he was flustered. “So… so yeh’ve got yer books an’... an’... now yeh need the
Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ‘em. Hang on.”
He strode away from the students into the Forest and out of sight.
“God, this place is going to the dogs,” said Malfoy loudly. “That oaf teaching classes? My father’ll
have a fit when I tell him-”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry repeated, slightly less measured this time.
Hermione was about to intervene when Lavender Brown interrupted everything. “Oooooooh,” she
squealed, pointing towards the other side of the paddock.
Trotting towards them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Hermione had ever seen. They
had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and head of what seemed to
be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-coloured beaks and large, brilliantly orange eyes. The talons on
their front legs were half a foot long and deadly-looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather
collar around its neck, which was attached to a long heavy chain, and the ends of all of these were
held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.
“Git up there!” he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures towards the class. Everyone
drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence.
“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them to present them to the class.
“Beau’iful, aren’ they?”
Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half-horse, half-bird, you could
start to appreciate the Hippogriffs’ beauty. Their coats gleamed in the afternoon sun, changing
smoothly from feather to hair and each of them a different colour: stormy grey, bronze, a pinkish
roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.
“So,” Hagrid said, rubbing his hands together and beaming around. “If yeh wan’ ter come a bi’
nearer…
No one moved. Hermione, Ron, and Harry took a cautious step towards the fence.
“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ Hippogriffs is they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily
offended, Hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do.”
Hermione followed Harry’s angry gaze to Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, who weren’t listening in the
slightest. They were talking in an undertone back and forth. Hermione had an uneasy feeling about
the three of them.
“Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite, see?
Yeh walk towards him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed to touch him.
If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ‘cause those talons hurt.” Hagrid paused and
grinned at the class. “Right - who wants ter go first?”
Most of the class, Hermione included (though not as drastically), backed away in answer. The
Hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings; they didn’t seem to
like being tethered. However, Hermione couldn’t help but admire their fierce beauty. She just
planned on doing it from this side of the paddock.
“No one?” said Hagrid with a pleading look.
“I’ll do it,” said Harry.
There was an intake of breath from behind him, and both Lavender and Parvati whispered, “Oooh,
no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!”
Hermione gave them a dirty look. Harry just ignored them. He, instead, climbed over the paddock
fence. “Good man, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Right then - let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.”
Hagrid untied one of the chains, pulled the grey Hippogriff away from his fellows and slipped off
his leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath.
Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed maliciously.
“Easy, now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink –
Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much.”
As Harry inched towards the majestic beast, the Hippogriff’s nostrils flared, and he stared coldly at
the raven-haired boy. “Tha’s it,” said Hagrid. “Tha’s it, Harry. Now bow…”
Harry bent at the waist slowly. The Hippogriff didn’t move an inch.
“Ah,” said Hagrid, sounding worried. “Right - back away, now, Harry. Easy does it-”
But then, to everyone’s surprise, the Hippogriff suddenly bent his scaly front knees and sank into
what was an unmistakable bow.
“Well done, Harry!” said Hagrid, ecstatic. “Right - yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!”
Harry stepped slightly closer to the beast with his hand extended. The class watched as he patted
the beak several times. Buckbeak the Hippogriff even seemed to enjoy it. Everyone broke into
applause (except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle).
“Righ’ then, Harry,” said Hagrid. “I reckon he migh’ let yeh ride him!”
Harry took a few steps backwards.
“Yeh climb up there, jus’ behind the wing joint,” said Hagrid, “an’ mind yeh don’ pull on any of
his feathers out, he won’t like that.”
Harry tentatively put his foot on the top of Buckbeak’s wing and hoisted himself onto his back.
Buckbeak stood up. Then, all of a sudden, Hagrid slapped the Hippogriff’s hindquarters. “Go on,
then!” he shouted. Hermione grabbed Ron’s arm and buried her face in his shoulder. She couldn’t
look.
She heard the flap of the beast’s twelve-foot wings and the collective gasps of her fellow
classmates. Hermione chanced a look. Harry and Buckbeak were about 20 feet in the air, circling
the paddock. The Hippogriff’s gleaming grey wings were beating up and down eloquently. The
pair started losing altitude in a shallow dive. Hermione buried her head again but heard the soft
thud and excited cheer as Buckbeak landed safely on the ground.
“Good work, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Ok, who else wants a go?”
The rest of the class were emboldened by Harry’s success. Hermione and Ron scaled the paddock
together and approached the chestnut Hippogriff. They each took turns bowing slowly to the beast,
and the gorgeous beast replicated the act. Hermione clapped her hands with glee.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Ron said, petting the side of the Hippogriff.
“Stunning,” Hermione agreed.
“This is very easy,” Draco said, his voice travelling across the paddock from next to his
Hippogriff. “I knew it must have been if Potter could do it. I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are
you?” he said to Buckbeak. “Are you, you ugly great brute?”
It happened in a flash of steely talons; Draco let out a high-pitched scream, and, the next moment,
Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled
in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.
“I’m dying!” Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. “I’m dying. Look at me! It’s killed me!”
“Yer not dyin’!” said Hagrid, though he had gone very white. “Someone help me - gotta get him
outta here-”
Hermione sprang to action and ran to open the paddock gate while Hagrid lifted Malfoy. Hermione
noticed there was a long, deep gash in Draco’s arm. Blood splattered the grass as Hagrid ran up the
slope towards the castle with Draco in his arms.
After a few moments of shocked silence, the rest of the class started the walk back to the castle.
The Slytherins were all shouting about Hagrid.
“They should sack him straight away!” said Pansy Parkinson.
“It was Malfoy’s fault!” snapped Dean Thomas.
Hermione caught Sophie’s eye. She shrugged. Did that mean she agreed that it was Draco’s fault?
As the class climbed the stone steps into the deserted Entrance Hall, Pansy kept scaling the marble
staircase. “I’m going to see if he’s ok!” she said. The rest of the Slytherins walked the other way
towards their dungeon common room. The Gryffindors headed towards their own common room in
the tower.
“Do you think he’ll be all right?” said Hermione nervously. She didn’t necessarily care about
Draco; she cared about the future of Hagrid’s class.
“Course he will. Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second,” said Harry, who had had far
worse injuries mended magically by the matron.
“That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid’s first class, though, wasn’t it?” said Ron, looking
worried. “Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him…”
They walked together to Charms as the 2 pm hour drew. Professor Flitwick flitted about, discussing
the various charms they’d be learning during their third year: Cheering Charms, Freezing Spells,
Banishing Charms, and others. Hermione, however, was too exhausted and too worried about
Hagrid to pay much attention. Five classes in one day were definitely her limit.
Hermione, Ron, and Harry were among the first to reach the Great Hall at dinnertime, hoping to
see Hagrid, but he wasn’t there.
“They wouldn’t sack him, would they?” said Hermione anxiously. Though she was famished, her
steak and kidney pudding was still untouched on her plate.
“They’d better not,” said Ron, who wasn’t eating either. “Well, you can’t say it wasn’t an
interesting first day back,” said Ron gloomily. Hermione nodded in sad agreement.
After dinner, they were in the crowded Gryffindor common room trying to do their homework, but
Harry interrupted them all. “There’s a light on in Hagrid’s window!” Harry said suddenly.
Ron looked at his watch. “If we hurried, we could go down and see him. It’s still quite early.”
Hermione’s mind immediately went to Sirius Black. He could be hiding in the shadows on the way
down to Hagrid’s Hut. “I don’t know,” Hermione said slowly and glanced at Harry despite herself.
“I’m allowed to walk across the grounds,” he said pointedly. “Sirius Black hasn’t got past the
Dementors here, has he?
So they put their things away and headed out of the portrait hole, glad not to meet anyone on their
way to the front doors, as they weren’t entirely sure they were supposed to be out.
When they finally reached Hagrid’s hut, they knocked three times. A voice growled, “C’min.”
Hagrid was sitting at his large wooden table with Fang, his boarhound, at his side. One look at the
large man told them he had been drinking a lot.
“Spect it’s a record,” he said thickly. “Don’ recon they’ve ever had a teacher who on’y lasted a day
before.”
“You haven’t been sacked, Hagrid!” gasped Hermione.
“Not yet,” said Hagrid miserably. “But ‘s only a matter o’ time, i’n’t it? After Malfoy?”
“How is he?” Ron asked. “It wasn’t serious, was it?”
“Madam Pomfrey fixed him best he could,” said Hagrid dully, “but he’s sayin’ it’s still agony…
covered in bandages… moanin’.”
“He’s faking it,” said Harry at once. “Madam Pomfrey can mend anything. She regrew half my
bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it’s worth.”
“School gov’nors have bin told, o’course,” said Hagrid miserably. “They reckon I started too big.
Shoulda left Hippogriffs fer later - done Flobberworms or summat - jus’ thought it’d make a good
firs’ lesson. ‘S all my fault.”
“It’s all Malfoy’s fault, Hagrid!” said Hermione.
“We’re witnesses!” Harry added. “You said Hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It’s Malfoy’s
problem he wasn’t listening. We’ll tell Dumbledore what really happened.”
“Yeah, don’t worry, Hagrid, we’ll back you up,” said Ron.
Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid’s eyes. He grabbed both Harry and Ron and
pulled them into a bone-breaking hug. Hermione was so glad she had sat at the opposite side of the
table.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Hermione said. She took the tankard from the table and went
outside to empty it. She didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was smelled like lighter fluid.
Hermione was pouring the liquid out of the stein near a giant water barrel when she heard Hagrid
stumble behind her. She ducked out of his way as he beelined for the barrel and stuck his whole
head up to his shoulders in what she would assume was the ice-cold water.
Hermione let Hagrid to it and walked back into the hut. “What’s he done?” said Harry nervously.
“Stuck his head in the water barrel,” said Hermione as she rinsed and put the tankard away.
Hagrid came back, his long hair and beard sopping wet. “Tha’s better,” he said, shaking his head
like a dog and drenching them all. “Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an’ see me, I really-”
Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Harry as though he’d only just realised he was there.
“WHAT D’YEH THINK YOU’RE DOIN’, EH?” he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a foot in
the air. “YEH’RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN’ YOU
TWO! LETTIN’ HIM!”
Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door.
“C’mon!” Hagrid said angrily. “I’m takin’ yer all back up ter school, an’ don’ let me catch yeh
walkin’ down ter see me after dark again. I’m not worth that!”
The Boggart in the Wardrobe
On Wednesday morning, Hermione had another one of her elective classes, Study of Ancient
Runes, with Professor Bathsheda Babbling. Thankfully for Hermione, she hadn’t had any doublebooked class slots since that first day. She did, however, use the Time-Turner a few times on
Tuesday to get some of her work done in between some of her other classes of the day.
Hermione went down to the Great Hall for breakfast by herself - Ron and Harry were sleeping in
since Double History of Magic didn’t start until an hour later. Quite frankly, it was nice to have a
quiet meal to herself where she could prepare for her day of studies. The Great Hall was pretty
empty, as none of the core classes was taking place.
As Hermione studied her copy of Spellman’s Syllabary and ate her porridge, she heard someone sit
down across from her and glanced up. It was Neville!
“Mornin’,” he said with a big grin.
“Good morning!” Hermione said. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I signed up for Ancient Runes,” Neville said. “Gram said I needed to expand my horizons and
learn something more than just Herbology.”
Neville’s grandmother was a stern witch with high expectations for her Grandson. Hermione knew
she meant well, but sometimes she thought the pressure she put on Neville really inhibited him.
“That’s great!” Hermione said. “I’m in that class too! We can go together and study together too!”
“I’ll definitely need help,” Neville said with a sigh.
“Neville,” Hermione said sternly. “You really are quite smart. You just second guess yourself too
much.”
“I suppose,” Neville said without much conviction.
“So, tell me how your summer holiday was!” Hermione said, changing the subject.
“It was pretty good,” Neville said. “Me and my Great Uncle Algie spent a lot of the holidays in his
garden. He’s really good at Herbology, so he was giving me some pointers.” He took a sip of his
juice. “What about you? Did you have a good holiday?”
“It was brilliant,” Hermione said happily. “We took a trip to France after I took my exams. France
was-”
“Your exams? What do you mean?”
“I asked Professor McGonagall to administer my second-year exams over the summer,” Hermione
said nonchalantly.
“I thought we were excused from our exams last year!” said Neville with alarm.
“We were,” Hermione explained. “But I wanted to take them to evaluate how much I missed while
I was petrified.”
“Oh,” Neville said. “I thought I had missed them.”
“No, you’re fine,” said Hermione.
“That was scary, you know,” Neville said.
“What? Thinking you missed the exams?”
“No - well, yes, but - when you were petrified,” Neville said. “Hogwarts just wasn’t the same
without you.”
Hermione didn’t know how to respond. She put her hand over Neville’s and smiled. He blushed
and looked away. “Do you reckon Ancient Runes are going to be hard? Gram said it’d just be like
decoding secret messages or something.”
“I think that will be part of it,” said Hermione. “I guess we will see!”
“And you’ll really help me study and all that?” Neville asked.
“Of course!” Hermione said.
“Good. I feel much better about it then.” The slight awkwardness was interrupted by a high pitched
croaking noise. Neville reached inside his robes and pulled out his pet toad.
“Trevor!” Hermione said. “How is he doing?”
“He’s been great!” Neville said with a smile. “He hasn’t been trying to escape nearly as much
lately!”
“That’s good to hear,” Hermione said. That was, in fact, how she met Neville in their first year.
The two friends finished their breakfast and walked together to the Ancient Runes classroom, 6A.
The classroom had a handful of desks, a huge bookcase filled with old-looking books, a chalkboard
on wheels, and a lectern at the front of the room. Hermione and Neville took seats near the front of
the room just as Professor Babbling was organising her notes on the podium. Hermione glanced
around - there were more students in this elective than some of her others (though, sadly, not as
many as Arithmancy).
Professor Babbling, an older woman, spoke slowly, which certainly helped Hermione keep up with
her note-taking. Her teaching style was similar to that of Professor Binns, who was known around
Hogwarts as somewhat long-winded. However, Hermione didn’t mind; it gave her more time to
copy the Elder Futhark Runes from the board into her notes more precisely and accurately.
The Elder Futhark Runes, also known as Germanic Futhark or Old Futhark, is the oldest form of
the runic alphabet, even in the Muggle World. Hermione had remembered seeing a book on it at
the Lavenham Library. It has twenty-four Runes, often arranged in three groups of eight. Old
Futhark inscriptions were found on artefacts scattered between the Carpathians and Lappland, with
the highest concentration in Denmark.
Hermione glanced over to Neville’s parchment. Some of his Runes looked a little sloppy, though
they were all technically accurate. She made a mental note to help him with the sketches - she
didn’t want him to memorise them the wrong way. However, Neville seemed to have really
enjoyed drawing them and was pleased with the progress he made. At the end of class, Professor
Babbling assigned them three simple translations using the Elder Futhark Runes.
“I rather liked that,” Neville said as they walked into the corridor and down a set of moving
staircases.
“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” Hermione said. She was trying to figure out how to bring up Neville’s
errors without destroying his confidence. “How about we work on copying those Runes today after
dinner? We can use a straight edge and get all of the angles precise. Maybe use some different ink
colours too? Make it fun?”
“That’d be brilliant! I think I’m going to like that class,” Neville said, brightening even more.
They then made their way to a double period of History of Magic with Ron, Harry, and a few
other Gryffindors. No one, particularly, seemed to be very enthused for two hours with Professor
Binns, but Hermione was excited to turn in her essay from the summer about the Witch Trials in
France. She tried to engage Professor Binns after class, but the ghostly professor just floated
through the wall and out of sight without even as much as a glance at Hermione.
That afternoon, Neville was in his glory in a double Herbology class. It made Hermione smile to
see him so happy and so at ease.
After dinner, Hermione kept her promise to Neville and met him in a cosy corner of the Gryffindor
Common Room to work on their Ancient Runes. Hermione knew she’d have to use the TimeTurner to work on some of her other homework, but spending quality time with Neville was worth
it.
“So it goes like this, not this?” Neville asked Hermione, holding up his parchment with two
examples
“Exactly!” Hermione said. “It’s supposed to look like an uppercase ‘R’, but that one is right
because it doesn’t attach in the middle.”
“Ok,” Neville said, looking at it one more time. “I think I can remember that.”
“I’m thinking that now we have the shape down, we should make flashcards so we can memorise
them. Then, that way, when Professor Babbling assigns translations, they won’t take us nearly as
long since we will be able to recognise and name each Rune without looking them up.”
“I’m all for saving some time!” Neville said.
“You and me both,” Hermione said. If only Neville knew how true that was.
That evening, everyone had a midnight astrology class in Hogwarts' tallest tower. Hermione was
utterly exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open. She cursed the Time-Turner for not
working for sleep purposes once again.
Thursday, unfortunately, started with Double Potions. All of the Gryffindors walked to class as if
they were walking to a funeral. Neville looked almost as if he were being led to his death.
Professor Snape did seem to save his most malicious taunts for the poor boy. Hermione likened
Professor Snape to a wild animal - he could smell Neville’s fear and, therefore, picked on him the
most. If the man wasn’t a genius at Potions, Hermione didn’t know if she could stomach his
classes.
The class had been working on the Shrinking Solution for about an hour when none other than
Draco Malfoy came through the heavy double doors. He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm
covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting like he was the heroic survivor of some
dreadful battle.
“How is it, Draco?” asked Pansy in a pathetic sing-song voice. “Does it hurt much?”
“Yeah,” said Malfoy, pretending to grimace.
“Settle down, settle down,” said Professor Snape idly.
Hermione glared at him as Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, to, no doubt,
get them in trouble. She glanced over at Sophie, who was at the table behind Harry and Ron, to
read her reaction. Sophie rolled her eyes and grinned ever so slightly before dropping her gaze.
Hermione smiled. Maybe not all Slytherins were terrible.
The class continued preparing their Shrinking Solution ingredients as Malfoy made a big
production of taking his items out of his bag. He threw a massive grin in Crabbe and Goyle’s
direction. “Sir,” Malfoy called, dropping the grin and grimacing again instead. “Sir, I’ll need help
cutting up these daisy roots because of my arm-”
“Weasley, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him,” said Snape from his desk without looking up.
Ron’s ears went red. “There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” he hissed at Malfoy.
Malfoy smirked and pushed the ingredients towards Ron. “Weasley, you heard Professor Snape,”
he sneered. “Cut up these roots.”
Ron seized his knife, pulled Malfoy’s roots towards him, and began to chop them roughly.
“Professor,” drawled Malfoy. “Weasley’s mutilating my roots, sir.”
Snape approached their table and gave Ron a very unpleasant smile. “Change roots with Malfoy,
Weasley.”
“But sir!”
Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into precise, equal
pieces.
“Now!” said Snape.
Ron shoved his roots across the table in a huff. Hermione felt horrible for him. She knew how hard
he had worked.
“And sir,” Malfoy sneered again with a disgusting grin. “I’ll need this Shrivelfig skinned.” He
stared at Ron, daring him to speak up.
“Potter, you can skin Malfoy’s Shrivelfig,” said Snape.
Hermione shut her eyes and wished as hard as she could that Harry wouldn’t blow up and get
detention. Thankfully, he remained as calm as he could in spite of the situation. Maybe he (and
Ron) were becoming more mature this year.
Hermione turned her attention back to her table, which she was sharing with Neville. He was
having a lot of issues. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned“Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape, scooping some up and allowing it to splash back into the
cauldron so that everyone could see. “Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick
skull of yours?” Snape spat. “Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What
do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”
Neville was trembling. Hermione cleared her through. “Please, sir,” Hermione said. “Please. I
could help Neville put it right-”
“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” said Snape coldly. She felt her cheeks
burn. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson, we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad
and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”
Snape slithered off, leaving Neville breathless with fear.
“Help me!” he moaned to Hermione. He looked like he was going to faint.
Hermione glanced at Snape to make sure he wasn’t looking. His back was turned. Hermione
glanced at the mess of ingredients in front of Neville and then flipped through her Potions book as
quickly as she could. It seemed as though Professor Snape was purposefully lying to Neville - the
orange colour of his potion wasn’t because of the leech juice; it was because his Shrivelfigs hadn’t
produced enough juice.
“Ok, get another Shrivelfig out of your bag, take your knife, and skin it, but just on one side so that
you have something to hold on to when you juice it,” Hermione instructed.
Neville took his knife in his trembling hands and cut off a thick sliver. Hermione would have kept
the cut closer to the skin, but she knew Neville only needed about half the juice of the whole plant.
“Good, Neville,” Hermione whispered. “You’re doing good.”
“I cut too much,” he said in a high pitched, panicked voice.
“No, it’s ok because you don’t need all of the juice. Just a little bit,” Hermione said. “Now put your
thumb and pointer finger on the top and bottom part where that fuzzy skin still is, and squeeze it
into a container to collect the juice.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Snape turn around and start walking back to their table.
“Professor, I have a question for you,” Sophie said suddenly, distracting Professor Snape. Did she
just run interference for them?
“Ok, I squeezed it,” Neville squeaked. “Now what?”
Hermione glanced at how much liquid was in his cup and did some mental calculations in her head.
“Pour about half of that liquid into your cauldron while you stir counterclockwise seven times,”
Hermione whispered.
Neville’s hand was shaking so much, he almost spilt the deep purple Shrivelfig juice all over the
table, but he finally got it into his cauldron and started to stir. He counted the rotations out loud.
He and Hermione watched the orange start to change to a bright yellow and then slowly transition
to a yellow-green colour, similar to a cat-eye.
“Brilliant, Neville!” Hermione whispered enthusiastically. “You’re doing great. Look, it’s almost
there! I think all you need to do now is increase the temperature and stir slowly.”
Neville took a deep breath and twisted the knob on his flame. The potion started to boil rapidly, but
as soon as he began to stir, the liquid calmed down and changed to a bright green.
“I did it!” he said with an exhausted smile.
“You did it,” Hermione smiled warmly.
“Trevor and I thank you,” he said, patting his pocket.
Toward the end of the lesson, Snape stalked over to their table.
“Everyone gather round,” said Snape, his black eyes glittering with a sick anticipation, “and watch
what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will
shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”
The Gryffindors all held their breath. The Slytherins (except for Sophie, who was busying herself
with cleaning up her table) looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor roughly and grasped it in his
left hand. The poor toad looked as though it was being squeezed to death.
Snape dipped a small spoon into Neville’s potion with his other hand and trickled a few drops
down Trevor’s throat. Hermione shut her eyes.
There was a moment of hushed silence until a small pop echoed around the dungeon. Hermione
opened her eyes. Trevor, the tadpole, was wriggling in Snape's open palm.
The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape looked genuinely disappointed. The look on his face
made Hermione sick to her stomach. She watched as he pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his
robe and poured a few drops on Trevor, who, in turn, reappeared fully grown.
“Five points from Gryffindor,” said Snape, glaring at Hermione. “I told you not to help him, Miss
Granger. Class dismissed.”
He was a horrible, sadistic man. Hermionie was utterly disgusted. She had half a mind to tell
Professor McGonagall. Preying on someone’s pet was crossing some sort of sick line.
Hermione and the rest of the class collected their supplies and walked out of the dungeons. She
knew she had to get somewhere inconspicuous to use the Time-Turner to get back to 10 am to
make it to her Double Muggle Studies class and then back here before Ron or Harry missed her.
It’d be close, for sure.
She saw a large tapestry on the wall in the corridor that led to the Great Hall and slipped behind it.
She pulled out the Time-Turner and turned the dial once.
A few moments later, she exited out into the empty corridor. She glanced at her watch as her
stomach calmed back down. She had five minutes to make her way to the Muggle Studies
classroom and showroom.
Hermione sprinted down the hall to the first-floor classroom and tossed her extremely heavy and
bulging bag down next to one of the chairs and television trays. She quickly glanced around and
saw that she was one of the last students to arrive. The rest of the class had figured out how to set
up their television trays without incident, it seemed.
Hermione pulled her timeline out of her bag (after fishing around for it for a few moments too
long) and placed it on her desk in anticipation of class. She tried to eye the lengths of her
classmates’ parchments to see if she was on par with them all. After her interaction with Professor
Burbage last time, Hermione didn’t want to stand out; it was the only time Hermione didn’t want to
be at the front of the class.
The class, thankfully, went by without much incident. Professor Burbage used a projector and
transparencies instead of a chalkboard which the other students found utterly fascinating. Ernie
Macmillian nearly blinded himself by looking into the magnified neck while the lightbulb was lit.
As soon as class was over, Hermione grabbed her things and darted for the door. Not only did she
not want to be stuck talking to Professor Burbage, but she also needed to get back to the tapestry.
Hermione had to get back to the eleven o’clock hour to catch up with Ron and Harry for lunch
before they realised she was gone.
Thankfully, she made it to the tapestry without being seen and gave the Time-Turner a twist.
Hermione’s stomach lurched, as usual. She was going to take a moment to recover, but she thought
she heard Ron saying her name over the din of the students who had just finished Double Potions
and was on their way to the Great Hall for lunch.
Hermione flew out from behind the tapestry and raced to the spot she had left Ron and Harry.
“There she is!” Harry said, pointing. Hermione was panting slightly, running up the stairs. Her
stomach was swishing from side to side. She felt a thud against her chest as she ran - the TimeTurner! She had forgotten to tuck it back under her shirt. She got it underneath just as she caught
up with the boys.
“How did you do that?” said Ron.
“What?” Hermione said, playing dumb.
“One minute, you were right behind us, and the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the
stairs again.”
“What?” Hermione put on her best confused face. “Oh, I had to go back for something - oh no!”
A seam had split on Hermione’s bag. All of her books scattered across the marble floors.
“Why are you carrying all these around with you?” Ron asked her.
“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” said Hermione breathlessly, only half listening. She
handed a few of the books to him to get them all re-organised and muttered Reparo under her
breath to fix the rip. She had a few extra books in her bag for a planned study session later that
afternoon. “Couldn’t hold these for me, could you?”
“But-” Ron was turning over the books she had handed them, looking at the covers. “But you
haven’t got any of these subjects today. It’s only Defence Against the Dark Arts this afternoon.”
“Oh yes,” she said, still half-listening. She packed all of the books back in her bag, grabbing the
last from Ron’s outstretched hands. She realised he was trying to figure it all out and panicked for a
moment. Her best chance to stop Ron from thinking too deeply about it all was to change the
subject, especially if the subject was food. “I hope there’s something good for lunch. I’m starving!”
she said, standing and walking towards the Great Hall. She was too afraid to look behind her to see
if Ron and Harry were following.
----Ron forgot all about Hermione’s classes as soon as he took his first bite of lunch. Hermione used
the two hours to catch up on re-reading the syllabus and the first few chapters of The Essential
Defence Against the Dark Arts by Arsenius Jigger.
Professor Lupin hadn’t been available for their first scheduled class on Tuesday for some reason,
and Hermione was afraid he’d miss the second class since he was not in the classroom when she
and the other students arrived. They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and
were talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old
briefcase on the teacher’s desk. Hermione couldn’t help but notice how shabby Lupin (and his
classroom) looked compared to Professor Lockhard’s impeccable appearance last year. She hoped
that where Lupin lacked in appearance, he made up with skill (unlike Lockhart). She tried to block
Lockhart from her mind and concentrate on her new teacher.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags? Today’s will
be a practical lesson. You will only need your wands.
A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. So far, Hermione thought,
so good. As long as he didn’t pull out a cageful of pixies, he’d be far ahead of Lockhart.
“Right then,” said Professor Lupin. “If you’d follow me.”
A few more curious looks were exchanged as the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin
out of the classroom, down the corridor, and around the corner. Professor Lupin came to a stop in
front of Peeves, the poltergeist, who was floating upside-down in midair and stuffing the keyhole
of Hermione’s secret closet with chewing gum. Hermione quickly tried to remember if she had left
any of her things in the room.
Peeves looked up and grinned at the professor.
“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang. “Loony, loopy, Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin-”
Hermione was disgusted. Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually showed
some respect towards the teachers. Everyone looked at Professor Lupin to see how he’d react; to
their surprise, he was smiling.
“I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” he said pleasantly. “Mr Filch won’t be
able to get into his brooms.”
Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin except to blow a loud wet raspberry. Hermoine gasped,
but Professor Lupin just gave a small sigh. He took out his wand.
“This is a useful little spell,” he told the class over his shoulder. “Please watch closely.”
He raised his wand, so his wand arm was shoulder height, said, “Waddiwasi,” and pointed the
wand at Peeves.
With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down
Peeve’s left nostril; he whirled right way up and zoomed away, cursing.
”Cool, sir!” said Dean Thomas in amazement. Bem was standing next to him, laughing heartily.
“Thank you, Dean,” said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away. “Shall we proceed?”
They set off again. The respect for their new professor was palpable. He led them down a second
corridor and stopped, right outside the staff room door. “Inside, please,” said Professor Lupin,
opening it and standing back.
Hermione had never been in the staff room before. It was a long, panelled room with all kinds of
mismatched chairs from various classrooms and offices. It was empty except for one teacher:
Professor Snape. He was sitting in a low armchair, looking extremely miserable. His eyes glittered,
and there was a nasty smirk in his mouth. Hermione scowled, re-vowing to mention the Double
Potions incident to Professor McGonagall.
After the rest of the class streamed in, Professor Lupin stepped in to close the door behind him.
“Leave it open, Lupin,” Snape said. “I’d rather not witness this.” He got to his feet and strode past
the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway, he turned on his heel and said,
“Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise
you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his
ear.”
Both Neville and Hermione went scarlet. Her head whipped to stare at Snape. She never liked to
say anything mean about anyone’s appearance (since people always made fun of her frizzy hair and
rather large teeth), but Snape's greasy hair and large hooked nose looked even worse than they
usually did in the dim light of the staff room. Hermione had half a mind to tell him so (and then
realised that exhaustion made her filter almost non-existent, so she’d have to be careful).
“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” Lupin said,
interrupting Hermione’s internal struggle. “And I’m sure he will perform it admirably.”
Hermione stopped herself from clapping. Snape’s lip curled, but he left without another word.
“Now then,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class towards the end of the room, where there
was nothing except an old wardrobe in which the teachers must have kept spare robes or
something. As Professor Lupin stepped near it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble and banged off
the wall.
Quite a few people jumped in alarm.
“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly. “There’s a Boggart in there.”
Half of the class stiffened in fear. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus
Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.
“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gaps beneath beds,
the cupboards under sinks. I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one
moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my
third-years some practise.” He paused. “So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a
Boggart?”
Hermione had just re-read all about it during lunch! She put up her hand.
“It’s a shape-shifter,” she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin. Hermione glowed. “So the Boggart
sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten
the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is
alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.” Neville
let out a splutter of terror. Lupin continued without acknowledging his fear. “This means that we
have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”
Hermione glanced at Harry, who didn’t immediately react. Instead, she put her hand back up in the
air, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet.
“Er - because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shape it should be?” Harry said.
Hermione tried not to be too shocked he had the correct answer.
“Precisely,” said Professor Lupin. “It's always best to have company when you’re dealing with a
Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become? A headless corpse or a flesh-eating
slug? I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake - tried to frighten two people at once and turned
himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.
“The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that
really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape you find
amusing.” He paused, putting his wand in his robe pocket. “We will practise the charm without
wands first. After me, please. Riddikulus!”
“Riddikulus!” said the class together.
“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that's the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word
alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville.”
The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as if he were to be
walking to his death at the gallows.
“Right, Neville,” said Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that
frightens you the most in the world?”
Neville’s lips moved, but no noise came out.
“Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” said Professor Lupin cheerfully.
Neville shot a pleading look at Hermione, but she didn’t know how to help him. Then, in barely
more than a whisper, he said, “Professor Snape.”
There were quite a few chuckles from the rest of the class. Even Neville grinned apologetically.
Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful.
“Professor Snape… hmmm… Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?”
“Er, yes,” said Neville nervously. “B-but I don’t want the Boggart to turn into her either.”
“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Professor Lupin, now smiling. “I wonder, could you tell us
what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”
Neville looked startled and confused but said, “Well… always the same hat. A tall one with a
stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress… green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf.”
“And a handbag?” prompted Professor Lupin.
“A big red one,” said Neville with the hint of a grin.
“Right then,” said Professor Lupin. “Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you
see them in your mind’s eye?”
“Yes,” said Neville uncertainly. Hermione was wondering where this was going.
“When the Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of
Professor Snape,” said Lupin. “And you will raise your wand - thus - and cry ‘Riddikulus’ - and
concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be
forced into that vulture-topped hat, that green dress, and that big red handbag.”
There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled violently in response.
“If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to turn his attention to each of us in turn,” said
Professor Lupin. “I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you
the most and imagine how you might force it to look comical…”
Hermione closed her eyes and tried to imagine the scariest thing she could think of. Rationally, she
knew she should be thinking of the Basilisk as the most frightening thing she encountered, but
Hermione kept picturing a horrifying scene in her head: Professor McGonagall telling her she
failed all of her classes and taking the Time-Turner from her. She shivered at the thought.
“Everybody ready?” said Lupin, shaking Hermione out of her nightmare. “Neville, we’re going to
back away. Let you have a clear field, all right? I’ll call the next person forward. Everyone back,
now, so Neville can get a clear shot-”
They all retreated, backing against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked
pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and held his wand at the ready.
“On the count of three, Neville,” said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the
handle of the wardrobe. “One - two - three - now!”
A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin’s wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe
burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville.
Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him,
reaching inside his robes. Hermione was silently urging Neville to just think clearly enough for a
moment to say the spell.
“R-r-riddikulus!” squeaked Neville.
There was a noise like a whip-crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress
and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture and swinging a huge crimson handbag from
his hand.
There was a roar of laughter; the Boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Parvati!
Forward!”
Hermione knew her roommate was terrified of mummies (she would NOT have had fun in Egypt)
and, with another crack, Boggart Snape turned into a bloodstained, bandaged mummy. It began to
walk towards her, very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising“Riddikulus!” cried Parvati.
A bandage unravelled at the mummy’s feet; it became entangled and fell, its head rolling off.
“Seamus!” roared Professor Lupin.
Seamus darted past Parvati. Crack! Where the mummy had been was a woman with floor-length jet
black hair and a green-tinged skeletal face. It was a banshee! If there were any questions to what
she was, they were answered as she opened her mouth and filled the room with a long, wailing
shriek.
“Riddikulus!” shouted Seamus.
The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice was gone.
Crack! The banshee turned into a rat. Crack! The rat became a rattlesnake. Crack! The rattlesnake
became a single, bloody eyeball.
“It’s confused!” shouted Lupin. “We’re getting there! Dean!”
Dean hurried forward. Crack! The eyeball became a severed hand which flipped over and began to
creep along the floor like a crab.
“Riddikulus!” yelled Dean. There was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.
“Excellent! Ron, you’re next!”
Ron leapt forward. Crack! The hand grew three more fingers and morphed into a giant six-foot-tall
spider. It was covered in hair and eyes, advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. Ron
froze for a moment.
“Riddikulus!” bellowed Ron, and the spider’s legs vanished. Its body hit and bounced off the floor
like a ball, rolling and bouncing over and over across the staff room floor. Lavender squealed and
ran out of its way. It came to a halt at Harry’s feet. He raised his wand. Hermione held her breath would Harry’s Boggart be He Who Must Not Be Named?
“Here!” shouted Professor Lupin suddenly, hurrying forward and placing himself between Harry
and the Boggart.
The legless spider had vanished. For a second, everyone looked wildly around to see where it was.
Then they saw a silvery-white orb hanging in the air in front of Lupin, who said “Riddikulus!”
almost lazily.
Crack!
“Forward, Neville, and finish him off!” said Lupin, as the Boggart landed on the floor as a
cockroach. Crack! Snape was back. This time Neville charged forward, looking determined.
“Riddikulus!” he shouted, and they had a split second’s view of Snape in his lacy dress before
Neville let out a great “Ha!” of laughter, and the Boggart exploded, burst into a thousand tiny
wisps of smoke, and was gone.
“Excellent!” cried Professor Lupin as the class broke into applause. “Excellent, Neville. Well done,
everyone. Let me see ... five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the Boggart – ten for
Neville because he did it twice – and five each to Hermione and Harry.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” said Harry. Hermione felt the same way.
“You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry,” Lupin said
lightly. “Very well, everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on Boggarts
and summarise it for me ... to be handed in on Monday. That will be all.”
The class started to stream out of the staff room full of excitement.
“Did you see me take that banshee?” shouted Seamus.
“And the hand!” said Dean, waving his own around.
“And Snape in the hat!”
“And my mummy!”
“I wonder why Professor Lupin’s frightened of crystal balls?” said Lavender thoughtfully.
Hermione sincerely doubted it was a crystal ball, but his Boggart was quite curious now that she
thought of it.
“That was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson we’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” said Ron
excitedly as they made their way back to the classroom to get their bags.
“He seems like a very good teacher,” said Hermione approvingly. “But I wish I could have had a
turn with the Boggart –”
“What would it have been for you?” said Ron, sniggering. “A piece of homework that only got
nine out of ten?”
Hermione resisted the urge to trip the redhead as they walked up the stairs.
The Flight of the Fat Lady
On Friday, Hermione had another exhausting day with Herbology, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration,
Charms, and Arithmancy. Arithmancy was shaping up to be her all-time favourite class (not to be
confused with her all-time favourite professor, which was, without a doubt, Professor McGonagall).
However, she felt as though after five full days of her class load, she didn’t have the energy to
enjoy the class as much as she could.
She literally dragged herself up to her dorm room after Arithmancy to take a kip before dinner with
Ginny and then used the Time-Turner to study for the rest of the evening. She knew the nap
wouldn’t really work, but she could barely keep her eyes open. Her anxiety was at an all-time high
- she was too tired to think of rational arguments to talk herself down. The overwhelming voice in
her head kept screaming that there was no way she’d be able to keep this schedule up all year
which, in turn, made her anxious, which, in turn, amplified the voice in her head and so on and so
forth. It seemed to be a never-ending cycle. Hopefully, she thought, it would pause if she kipped
for a bit.
She opened the door and nearly tripped over Crookshanks, who was rubbing a “hello” against her
legs.
“Oh, hi, Crookshanks,” she said tiredly and scooped the bandy-legged ginger ball of fluff into her
arms, swapping him for her knapsack. She was on her fifth Reparo charm on the poor bag.
She and Crookshanks dropped onto her bed, and Hermoine drew the curtains around them. The
darkness and the silence enhanced the feel of Crookshanks’ fur against her face. It was so soft, and
the slight vibration his body made as he purred started to calm Hermione down. Crookshanks
seemed to know how Hermione felt because he just curled up in the crook of her neck and let her
squeeze him as hard as she wanted. Hermione started humming the Postman Pat song, even though
Crookshanks wasn’t black and white. His purring seemed to sync up with her hums.
The voice in her head slowed to a stop and was drowned out by their song. Hermione’s heavy
eyelids drooped to a close.
A second later, the curtains on Hermione’s beds were pulled open, and light stung her eyes.
Hermione could vaguely hear her name being called. For a moment, she thought she had been
petrified again and was slowly coming out of her stone prison. She had a distinct mental snapshot
burned into her mind’s eye of Professor McGonagall standing over her petrified body, grabbing the
Time-Turner. The image made her heart quicken in her confusion. Why was Professor McGonagall
taking it? What had she done wrong? She had to open her eyes.
“Hermione, are you ok?” came a female voice. “Hermione?”
Hermione forced her eyes open and tried to focus on the silhouette talking to her. Slowly, details
came into shape: dark hair, caramel skin, and doe-like eyes. It wasn’t Professor McGonagall. It
was Parvati, squinting down at her from above. She looked worried.
“Hi, yeah,” Hermione mumbled, confused. Crookshanks got up and stretched. She was acutely
aware of how cold her chest was where Crookshanks had been laying. “Yeah, Hi,” she repeated.
“I’m here. What’s wrong?”
“Well, nothing. At least I don’t think so,” Parvati said. Hermione could make out Lavender behind
her. “It’s just that Ginny Weasley came looking for you, and it’s just so out of character for you to
miss things… and then we heard you kind of yelling in your sleep… so we thought we should
wake you up to make sure you were ok.”
Hermione sat up, alarmed. She was wide awake now. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “What was I yelling?”
She braced herself for Parvati’s answer. If she had been talking in her sleep about the Time-Turner,
it’d all be over. Parvati was clever and would definitely put two and two together.
“Nothing we could make out,” Parvati said. “But it was going on for a while. You sure you’re all
right?”
“Yes, thank you,” Hermione said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine. Sorry to
have bothered you.”Hermione could feel her cheeks burning.
“It’s nothing,” Parvati said. Her eyes lingered a second longer than was necessary before mouthing,
“Are you sure you’re all right?” so Lavender wouldn’t hear. Hermione smiled. Maybe things
weren’t as strained between the two old friends as she thought. Hermione nodded, and Parvati
smiled.
“Right,” Hermione said, gathering her wits about her. “What time is it then?”
“About half-past seven, I think?” Fay said in a dreamy voice from across the room.
“Half-past seven!” Hermione shouted. She had only meant to sleep for half of an hour at most, not
four!
“There’ll probably be food still in the Great Hall,” Lavender said. “If you’re hungry,” she added.
Hermione was too upset to be hungry. Her whole evening plan had been ruined, which, in turn,
threw off her weekend plans. If she didn’t stick to a rigid schedule, everything would fall apart. Her
anxiety spiked again, causing Hermione to jump up from the bed towards her wardrobe. All she
could think of was to get her books and get somewhere to start studying.
“Whoa, easy mate,” Parvati said, stepping aside.
“I need to study,” Hermione said in a panicked voice. She couldn’t think straight.
“We have the whole weekend,” Parvati said, concerned. “Hermione, you need to calm down.
Hermione!”
Hermione froze. Something in Parvati’s worried voice penetrated her panic. She took a shaky
breath. She needed to call down. That should be her only focus now. One breath. Two breaths.
Three breaths. Hermione felt a little less panicked. She took a fourth, deeper breath.
“You’re definitely not ok,” Parvati said, taking Hermione’s elbow and leading her to the far side of
the room away from Fay, Alice, and Lavender. “What’s going on?”
Hermione desperately wanted to tell her (anyone for that matter), but she knew she couldn’t.
Whatever kinship she and Parvati had shared in their first year changed, not to mention the simple
fact she couldn’t tell anyone about the Time-Turner.
“It’s nothing,” Hermione said. “I’m just taking a lot of classes and still trying to catch up from last
year and all. Well, you know. Being petrified and such.” Hermione knew bringing up the events of
their second year would make it awkward. Hopefully, Parvati would try to avoid the subject and
leave her alone.
Her plan worked flawlessly. Parvati averted her eyes and shuffled backwards slightly. “Right,
makes sense,” she said stiffly. “If you need anything, just let me know,” she said, walking back to
the other girls.
Hermione would have felt terrible for manipulating her, but she was too anxious and exhausted to
care. She grabbed some of her books from her Wardrobe and walked out of the room. She had to
reassess her plan for the rest of the evening and weekend. Hermione walked to her favourite
“secret” spot in the girls’ dormitory tower. Near the last room on the right, a large window
overlooked the castle grounds, and the sill was just wide enough to sit on and (and put her legs up
if she kept them bent).
Hermione dropped her bag and pulled out a roll of parchment and a quill to draw up a studying
timetable for the weekend. Just the simple act of writing it down and putting together the pieces
like a puzzle calmed Hermione down. The only way she was going to survive the year would be to
be absolutely as organised as possible. Hermione vowed: another day like today wouldn’t happen
again.
----After a week or two of tweaking her timetable after that horrible Friday, Hermione thought she
finally had a handle on things, and it seemed to be slightly easier to keep up. Better, at least, than
that first week. The exhaustion was still present but manageable. For her, that was the perfect
birthday gift.
Defence Against the Dark Arts had easily become most people’s favourite class. Hermione was
still partial to Arithmancy but definitely saw the appeal of Professor Lupin’s lessons and was
enjoying them immensely. After Boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures
that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed, in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of
deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had got lost. From Red Caps, they moved on
to Kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to
strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.
Ron and Harry were actually somewhat eager to work on their homework for Lupin’s class, and it
was nice to have them around during the time Hermione allotted for that subject’s studying.
Potions, on the other hand, was absolutely dreadful. Snape had caught wind of the Boggart
assuming his shape and how Neville had dressed it up in his Grandmother’s clothes. His bullying
of Neville was worse than ever. Hermione kept trying to tell Professor McGonagall about his
behaviour, but the witch brushed off her concern. It was frustrating, to say the least.
Professor McGonagall was, however, extraordinary in class. They were learning so much about
Animagus and different transformation techniques for common, everyday items. Professor
McGonagall just had a knack for logically explaining things in a way Hermione could understand
the first go around. Everything seemed to be tied together in a cohesive way that made it easy to
follow.
Muggle Studies, on the other hand, was shaping up to be a bit of a waste. Hermione thought it
would be fascinating learning about her Muggle life from the Wizard perspective, not to mention
potentially continuing the education she’d be getting if she had stayed in school at home; however,
it just seemed like an extremely disorganised mess. Hermione couldn’t figure out the logistics of
their progression through each Muggle invention or theory. Professor Burbage meant well - that
was the only thing Hermione was certain of - but didn’t seem to know the best way to go about it.
It was only her second year of teaching, so, hopefully, she’d find her groove.
Divination was still an absolute joke. Every time Professor Trelawney looked at Harry, her eyes
would well up with tears; every time Professor Trelawney looked at Hermione, she shook her head
and made a “tsk tsk” sound. Hermione was trying very hard to give the class her all, but there was
something maddening about staring at tea leaves for hour after hour. Bem, at least, kept her from
being completely miserable. His so-bad-they’re-funny jokes were a welcome diversion to the
theatrics of the pessimistic seer.
Parvati and Lavender, however, had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney’s tower room at
lunchtimes and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew
things the others didn’t. They had also started using hushed voices whenever they spoke with
Harry, as though he was on his deathbed. Hermione would hear them whispering about it in the
dorm at night as well and had to fight the urge to tell them how stupid they sounded.
Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had
become incredibly dull. Hagrid lost his confidence which was unbelievably sad. Hermione knew
his heart was in the right place. Hermione also knew Hagrid knew an unbelievable amount of
information about Magical Creatures. Not being able to tap into that knowledge was extremely
frustrating. They were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after Flobberworms,
which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence. With Hermione’s caseload, it was
really hard for her to not view the entire thing as a waste of her very precious time.
Ancient Runes with Neville was a lot of fun. It was nice to have dedicated time spent with her firstever friend at Hogwarts. The more they worked on their translations, the more Neville had
excelled. He had a knack for memorising the shapes and finding different patterns within the
Runes. He was also brilliant at Herbology, a class Hermione liked but certainly wasn’t her
favourite.
Arithmancy was still an absolute dream. She and Sophie were nearly giddy at the start of every
class. It was so odd to spend so much time with a Slytherin that wasn’t forced, but Hermione was
still slightly wary of her green-uniformed friend. She tried to keep Sophie at arm's length, but it
was getting harder and harder. They just seemed to click in so many ways.
Hermione’s new plan for Fridays was to drink a few cups of coffee at lunchtime and bring some
with her in a canteen for the afternoon classes so she could stay awake and actually enjoy the
Double Arithmancy class Friday afternoons. She briefly considered swapping the order of the two,
but she had gotten into the habit of eating lunch with the boys and then walking with them to
Charms. Ron already suspected something as it was - Hermione didn’t want to give him any other
reason to be suspicious. Hermione took to keeping a few snacks in her bag to distract Ron if he
started asking too many questions.
The morning of the 19th, Hermione woke a little later than usual. It was her birthday, and she
decided her birthday gift to herself would be a few minutes of much-needed sleep. The extra fifteen
minutes were absolutely glorious. Crookshanks was extra cuddly. She reluctantly got up from the
cosy bed, hurriedly got ready, and went to breakfast. Hermione wasn’t the biggest fan of her
birthday - she didn’t like all of the attention. What was one supposed to do, for example, when
people started singing the birthday song to you? Smile? Sing along? Cry?
Thankfully, growing up, Hermione’s parents never really made a big deal about birthdays. It was
just another day with a special treat or book, which was perfectly fine with her. Hermione planned
on spending the day leisurely studying and preparing for the week ahead.
The last two years, she celebrated alone at Hogwarts. She never told anyone it was her birthday
and, quite frankly, rather liked it that way. She was utterly gobsmacked, therefore, when she got
down to breakfast only to see Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Neville, sitting at her usual breakfast table,
all wearing fancy hats.
“Happy birthday, ‘Mione!” A still half asleep Ron said, blowing a paper horn.
“Happy birthday!” came the others.
“We promise we won’t sing,” Ginny said with a grin.
“I can’t believe this!” Hermione said, her face flushing. “How did you know it was my birthday?”
“Well, when your parents were here last year, we talked a lot,” said Ron. “And I kind of ran out of
things to talk about, so I just started asking them questions.”
“And when they told us when your birthday was,” Harry continued, “I made sure to write it down
so we wouldn’t forget. You know how bad I am at dates.” He was right - Harry’s grades in History
of Magic were pretty dismal.
“You really didn’t have to do anything,” Hermione said.
“‘Course we do,” Ron said simply. “You’re our best friend.” Hermione’s heart soared. She sat
down and joined her best friends for a birthday breakfast. Each had a small gift for her: Neville
gave her a small Shrivelfig in a light purple ceramic pot, Ginny gave her a beautiful tiny leather
diary (“I promise it’s not possessed,” she joked), Harry bought her a gorgeous new quill and ink
set, and, finally, Ron handed her a small package wrapped in brown paper. It had Egyptian
hieroglyphics stamped on it.
“That spells out your name there,” he said smartly, pointing to the top row. “And then right there, it
says ‘From Ron.’”.
Hermione smiled and ran her fingers carefully around the spellotape holding the paper on, being
extra careful not to rip the paper and ruin the hieroglyphics. Inside was a beautiful papyrus scroll
depicting a pharaonic battle scene. Like most magical photos, the ancient characters acted out a
small portion of the battle on the papyrus.
“Ron, it’s brilliant!” Hermione whispered.
“Figured it’d tide you over ‘til you can get to Egypt,” he said, his ears turning a deep shade of
burgundy.
“Thank you so much,” Hermione said, fighting back tears. “Thank you all so much. Really.”
It was the best breakfast Hermione had ever had at Hogwarts. All of her favourite foods showed up
at the table. Ron said Fred and George had something to do with it but wasn’t sure how. They gave
Hermione a little birthday wave from down the table.
Harry made her keep her birthday hat on all through breakfast so, before long, most of Hogwarts
knew it was Hermione’s birthday. Bem came over to sit for a spell. “I didn’t get you anything, but I
do have a few birthday jokes for you,” he said with a smile. “What sort of cake do ghosts prefer?”
Bem paused. “I Scream Cake.”
Hermione giggled.
“Here’s another. Potter, listen up,” Bem said. “What did the Dementor say after his third slice of
cake?” Bem looked around, waiting for anyone to answer. “He said, ‘Please, no more… I couldn’t
eat another mor-soul!”
Even Harry had to laugh at that one.
Parvati and Lavender (who seemed to be now joined at the hip) came over to wish Hermione a
happy birthday as well. Professor McGonagall also stopped by the table on her way to the staff
table, which completely made Hermione’s day. Just as she thought things could not get much
better, a beautiful chestnut owl flew through the open window and dropped a letter in front of
Hermione. Her full name and “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” was scribbled on the
envelope in minute, messy writing that she would recognise anywhere - it was her father’s
atrocious handwriting.
“This is from my parents!” she exclaimed, turning the envelope over and sliding her finger along
the flap.
Dearest Hermione,
Happy birthday, love! Can you believe it? We figured out how to use your owl system
to send you this letter. It nearly bit our fingers off but, hopefully, it’ll be worth it. We
just wanted to write you a quick note to tell you how much we love you and how proud
of you we are. Have a wonderful birthday and remember to take a break or two so you
can write home!
Much love,
Mum and Dad
Xxoo
“I can’t believe they sent me this by owl post,” Hermione mused. “They hate owls!” She smiled,
completely overwhelmed by all of the love and attention. She had to excuse herself at one point to
pull herself together, but the day was overall one of the most magical ones of her life, second only
to the day she learned she was a witch.
----At the start of October, Hermione found herself alone quite a bit with Ron. Quidditch season was
approaching, and Harry spent most of his free time training with Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor
Quidditch captain and star Keeper.
There were seven people on a Quidditch team: three Chasers, whose job it was to score goals by
putting the Quaffle (a red, football-sized ball) through one of the fifty-foot-high hoops at each end
of the pitch; two Beaters, who were equipped with heavy bats to repel the Bludgers (two heavy
black balls which zoomed around trying to attack the players); a Keeper, who defended the
goalposts, and the Seeker, who had the most challenging job of all, that of catching the Golden
Snitch, a tiny, winged, walnut-sized ball, whose capture ended the game and earned the Seeker’s
team an extra one hundred and fifty points.
Harry was the team Seeker. In fact, he was the school’s youngest seeker when he was picked for
the team in their first year. Fred and George Weasley were also on the team as Beaters, as well as
Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell rounding out the team as the three Chasers.
Hermione had no genuine interest in “sports ball”, but, she must admit, attending Quidditch games
was entertaining. It was easy to get swept up in the excitement of cheering her house team on.
One cold October night, Harry was off practising, and Hermione found herself alone with Ron in
the Gryffindor Common Room, completing some star charts for Astronomy. The Common Room
was buzzing with excitement: Percy had just posted the flyer for the first Hogsmeade weekend.
“I was able to save a Galleon from this summer,” Ron was saying as he used the compass on his
chart. “I can’t wait to go to Honeydukes and load up. What about you, ‘Mione?”
“I suppose I’ll need some new quills and parchment,” Hermione said. “But, honestly, I’ll just be
happy to get out of the castle for a bit.”
“Too bad Harry can’t come,” Ron said sadly. “Can’t you talk to McGonagall or something?
Convince her to let him go?”
“She’d never agree,” Hermione said dismissively. “Not with Sirius Black out there still.”
“Did we ever tell you what Malfoy said when he came back from faking his injury?” Ron asked.
“About Hagrid?”
“No, about Black,” Ron said seriously. “He kept saying that he couldn’t believe Harry wasn’t
going after Black himself. That if it were him, no one could keep him away from Black.”
“Why on earth would Harry want to go after Black himself?”
“I dunno,” said Ron, taking a bite of a roll he must have nicked from dinner. “And you know how
Malfoy gets… but it was curious, that’s for sure.”
“What did Harry say?” Hermione asked.
“He and I were trying not to knock Malfoy across the room, so didn’t really say much,” Ron said,
muffled from the doughy bread.
“How bizarre,” Hermione said.
“Yeah, but I reckon he may have just been saying stuff to be an arse. He was threatening to have
Hagrid sacked too.”
“Poor Hagrid,” Hermione said, frowning. “I think he could be a brilliant teacher if he just had
confidence, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he never trusted himself again after all that.”
“Right? He’d be bloody brilliant! We’d be learning about all kinds of cool creatures. Maybe even
get to pet a dragon!”
“Hagrid’s history with dragons isn’t really on the up and up,” Hermione said, referencing their first
year when Hagrid tried to hide a fire-breathing pet dragon in his wooden hut.
“Can you take a look at this for me?” Ron asked, handing over his Astronomy chart. Hermione
took a look, expecting it to be utter rubbish. She did a double-take; however - it was surprisingly
almost all correct!
“This is really great, Ron!” she said, smiling. “Just fix this star here, and you should be fine.”
“Thanks, I worked really hard on it,” Ron said with a shy grin.
“I can tell!” Hermione said. The two smiled at each other a moment too long. Hermione’s stomach
fluttered a bit.
“What’s happened?” Harry interrupted them, plopping down next to them. It took Hermione a
moment to realise he was talking about everyone’s excitement for Percy’s posted flyer.
“First Hogsmeade weekend,” Ron said, pointing at the notice. “End of October. Halloween.”
“Excellent,” said Fred, who had followed Harry through the portrait hole and rolled over the back
of the couch. “I need to visit Zonkos. I’m nearly out of Stink Pellets.”
Hermione noticed Harry’s face had fallen. “Harry, I'm sure you’ll be able to go next time,”
Hermione said. “They’re bound to catch Black soon. He’s been sighted once already.”
“Black’s not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade,” said Ron. “Ask McGonagall if you can
go this time, Harry. The next one might not be for ages-”
“Ron!” said Hermione. She couldn’t understand why he refused to let his Professor McGonagall
idea go. “Harry’s supposed to stay in school-”
“He can’t be the only third-year left behind,” said Ron. “Ask McGonagall, go on, Harry-”
“Yeah, I think I will,” said Harry.
Hermione was just about to reiterate why asking McGonagall was a pointless endeavour when
Crookshanks jumped onto her lap. A large, dead spider was dangling from his mouth.
“Does he have to eat that in front of us?” said Ron, scowling.
Hermione ignored him. “Clever Crookshanks, did you catch that all by yourself?” said Hermione,
petting his soft fur.
Crookshanks slowly chewed up the spider and seemed to fix his yellow eyes on Ron to Hermione's
amusement. It was as if Crookshanks knew Ron didn’t like him OR the spider and wanted to flaunt
it.
“Just keep him over there, that’s all,” Ron said irritably, turning back to his star chart. “I've got
Scabbers asleep in my bag.”
Crookshanks’ ears perked up, and he went stiff. Hermione absentmindedly ran another hand down
his silky fur. Harry pulled out his star chart out of his bag and started to work.
“You can copy mine if you like,” said Ron with a grin and a sideways look at Hermione. He knew
she hated when they copied each other’s work and was just trying to get a reaction from her.
Hermione pursed her lips but said nothing. Crookshanks was still staring unblinkingly at Ron,
flicking the end of his beautiful bushy tail. Then, without warning, he pounced.
“OY!” Ron roared, seizing his bag as Crookshanks sank four sets of claws deeply into it and began
to knead her sharp paws ferociously. “GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!”
Ron started flinging the bag back and forth with Crookshanks clinging on to it.
“Ron, don’t hurt him!” squealed Hermione. Ron kept swinging the bag round, and Crookshanks
kept hanging on. All of a sudden, a grey ball flew out of the top - Scabbers.
“CATCH THAT CAT!” Ron yelled as Crookshanks freed himself from the bag, sprang over the
table, and started to chase Scabbers.
George Weasley made a lunge for the cat but thankfully missed. Everyone watched as the rat
scurried under an old chest of drawers. Crookshanks skidded to a halt, crouched low on his bandy
legs, and started swiping his paw beneath the chest of drawers - a natural cat reaction to a rat.
Hermione and Ron both ran over. Hermione grabbed poor Crookshanks around the middle and
heaved him up to her chest. The poor thing was shaking. He must have been so scared!
Ron threw himself onto his stomach and, with great difficulty, pulled Scabbers out by the tail.
“Look at him!” he said furiously to Hermione, dangling Scabbers in front of her. She felt
Crookshanks lurch in her arms. “He’s skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!”
“Crookshanks doesn’t understand it’s wrong!” said Hermione, her voice shaking. “All cats chase
rats, Ron!”
“There’s something funny about that animal,” Ron said, trying to stuff Scabbers back into his
pocket. “It heard me say that Scabbers was in my bag!”
“Oh, what rubbish,” said Hermione impatiently. “Crookshanks could smell him, Ron. How else do
you think-”
“That cat’s got it in for Scabbers!” said Ron, ignoring the people around him who were starting to
giggle. “And Scabbers was here first, and he’s ill!”
Ron marched through the common room and out of sight.
Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to pretend she wasn’t as upset as she was.
----Ron was still in a bad mood with Hermione the next day. He barely talked to her throughout
Herbology even though he, Hermione, and Harry were all working together on the same Puffapod.
Hermione decided to be the bigger person and try to be nice. “How’s Scabbers?” Hermione asked
as they stripped fat pink pods from the plants and emptied the shining beans into a wooden pail.
“He’s hiding at the bottom of my bed, shaking,” said Ron angrily, missing the pail and scattering
beans over the greenhouse floor.
“Careful, Weasley, careful!” cried Professor Sprout as the beans burst into bloom before their eyes.
They had Transfiguration next. There was, for some reason, a queue outside of the classroom.
Lavender was crying. Parvati had her arm around her and was explaining something to Seamus
Finnigan and Dean Thomas.
“What’s the matter, Lavender?” said Hermione anxiously.
“She got a letter from home this morning,” Parvati whispered. “It’s her rabbit, Binky. He’s been
killed by a fox.”
“Oh,” said Hermione. “I’m sorry, Lavender.”
“I should have known!” wailed Lavender tragically. “You know what day it is?”
“Er-”
“The sixteenth of October! ‘That thing you’re dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of
October!’ Remember? She was right, she was right!” Lavender broke down in tears.
The whole class was standing around Lavender now, listening to her theatrics and, sadly, believing
them. Hermione tried to make them see the logic - or lack of logic - with Trelawney’s prediction
coming true. “You - you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?”
“Well, not necessarily by a fox,” said Lavender, looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes. “But
I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn’t I?”
“Oh,” said Hermione. Another hole in the story she could poke. “Was Binky an old rabbit?”
“N-no!” sobbed Lavender. “H-he was only a baby!” Parvati tightened her arm around Lavender’s
shoulders.
Hermione pushed some more. “But then, why would you dread him dying?” said Hermione.
Clearly, someone else saw it, right?
Parvati glared at her, but Hermione pushed on. “Well, look at it logically,” said Hermione. “I mean,
Binky didn’t even die today, did he? Lavender just got the news today, and she can’t have been
dreading it because it’s come as a real shock-”
“Don’t mind Hermione, Lavender,” Ron said loudly. “She doesn’t think other people’s pets matter
very much.”
Hermione felt as though she had been slapped across the face. It took all of her power not to run
from the room in tears. Instead, she channelled her frustration into anger and stared down Ron as
angrily as she could muster.
Professor McGonagall opened the door at that exact moment, snapping Hermione into action. She
stormed into the classroom and took her seat before she did something she’d regret.
Hermione fumed all through Transfiguration. She could feel Ron’s eyes on her but refused to give
him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Parvati also gave her a few dirty looks as well, but she
couldn’t be bothered by either of them. As the bell rang at the end of the lesson, Hermione
gathered her things as quickly as possible.
“One moment, please!” Professor McGonagall called out. “As you’re all in my house, you should
hand Hogsmeade permission forms to me before Halloween. No form, no visiting the village, so
don’t forget!”
Neville put up his hand.
“Please, Professor, I - I think I’ve lost -”
“Your grandmother sent yours to me directly, Longbottom,” said Professor McGonagall. “She
seemed to think it was safer. Well, that’s all, you may leave.”
“Ask her now,” Ron hissed at Harry.
“Oh, but-” Hermione began but then shut her mouth. If they wanted to be told off by Professor
McGonagall, that was their own problem.
“Go for it, Harry,” Ron said stubbornly.
Hermione finished gathering her things and walked out of the classroom. Without a doubt, she
already knew what the answer would be and refused to wait around for the inevitable out of pure
principle.
There was nothing to be done. Ron called Professor McGonagall a lot of names that greatly
annoyed Hermione; Hermione assumed an “all for the best” expression that made Ron even
angrier, and Harry had to endure everyone in the class talking loudly and happily about what they
were going to do first, once they got into Hogsmeade. Hermione felt sorry for him, but it was “all
for the best.”
“There’s always the feast,” said Ron, in an effort to cheer Harry up. “You know, the Halloween
feast in the evening.” The Hogwarts Halloween feast was somewhat legendary. There was always
great food to be had, and a good time was always had by all.
“Yeah,” said Harry gloomily. “Great.”
“They make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I assure you, Harry, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,”
Percy added to the conversation. “All right, the sweetshop’s rather good, but Zonko’s Joke Shop is
frankly dangerous, and, yes, the Shrieking Shack’s always worth a visit, but, really, Harry, apart
from that, you’re not missing anything."
Hermione hoped Harry would listen to Percy for the first time in his life
----Things between Hermione and Ron remained chilly for a few days, but they finally started
warming back up to each other. On Halloween morning, Hermione woke up tired (as usual) but
excited for her trip to Honeydukes with Ron and the others.
She went down to breakfast, where Harry was sitting, looking utterly despondent. “We’ll bring you
lots of sweets back from Honeydukes,” said Hermione, looking desperately sorry for him.
“Yeah, loads,” said Ron.
“Don’t worry about me,” Harry said in a fake voice. “I’ll see you at the feast. Have a good time!”
Ron had been using the feast as a distraction tool all week for Harry to change the topic away from
Hogsmeade. Hermione thought his efforts were sweet.
They walked to the Entrance Hall where Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors,
checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that
no one was sneaking out who wouldn’t be going.
Hermione and Ron got in line with the other students and waited their turn to be inspected by Filch.
She tried not to react when she smelled his foul, hot breath in her face - offending Filch was the last
thing she wanted to do. It was better to fly under the radar with him.
Passing whatever inspection Filch was conducting, Hermione and Ron set off for Hogsmeade with
the other students. Hermione was bustling with excitement on top of her exhaustion. She was so
tired that she had barely enough energy to stop the words tumbling out of her mouth.
“Did you know that Hogsmeade was founded in the 10th or 11th century around the same time as
Hogwarts?” she asked Ron, who didn’t respond. “It was founded by the medieval wizard, Hengist
of Woodcroft, as he was fleeing persecution by Muggles.”
“Fascinating,” Ron said in a bored tone.
“Oh, and in 1612, a goblin rebellion took place in the vicinity of the village. Hogsmeade served as
the wizards’ headquarters during the rebellion.”
“That’s great,” Ron said.
“And, did you know,” Neville caught up with Hermione and Ron, “that in November of 1926,
Hogsmeade played host to the first-ever Magical Water plants Festival?”
“Not you too,” Ron whined.
“Really!” Hermione said, ignoring him. “How exciting!”
They turned out of the Hogwarts gates onto the lane that leads into Hogsmeade and a chill washed
over them. Hermione looked around - on the perimeter of the grounds, there were at least a dozen
Dementors standing guard. Hermione shivered and leaned in a little closer to Ron.
As they descended into the quaint little village, the Dementor’s chill was warmed slightly by the
warm glow of floating jack-o-lanterns lining the picturesque street. Cottages and shops dotted High
Street. The excitement in the crowd of students was palpable.
The crowd of students seemed to split in two, for the most part. One group headed towards a redfaced building with “Zonko’s Joke Shop” adorning its sign. The other group headed to the tealfaced Honeydukes shop with beautiful pastel packages of candies and sweets lining their display
windows.
The crowd was pushing Hermione and Ron along with the flow. Ron grabbed her hand and pulled
her out of the stream of people. “Fred and George said to avoid Zonkos and Honeydukes at the
beginning of the trip,” he said over his shoulder as he led her to a side street. “And to hit them last
when everyone has moved on.’
“Smart,” Hermione said.
“Wanna go to the quill shop first?” Ron asked once they were out of the thick of the group and on
the cobblestoned alleyway. “I doubt anyone’d want to go there first.”
“Sure!” Hermione was slightly shocked at his forethought but not too shocked to realise Ron was
still holding her hand. She glanced down at it, her mind going blank.
Ron followed her gaze and realised what he was doing. He dropped her hand immediately. There
was an awkward beat. “Right then. I think it’s down this way,” he said.
Hermione willed her heart to go back to normal as they made their way to Scrivenshaft’s Quill
Shop. The smell of fresh parchment and ink-filled their noses as the door’s little brass bell
announced their arrival. Slightly smaller than Scribbulus Writing Instruments in Diagon Alley,
Scrivinshaft made up for the size with the quality of its goods. Quills of all colours, shapes, and
sizes adorned the walls. There were anti-cheating quills, auto-answer quills, self-inking quills,
smart-answer quills, and even spell-checking quills. There was a whole separate section for
different weights and colours of parchment.
Hermione knew she’d have no difficulty spending the rest of her Wizard money in this shop.
Even Ron seemed interested in the expansive quill collection. He kept coming back to the display
of auto-answer quills. “Reckon this could help me on exams,” he said, examining the colours of
the feathers.
“They’re banned during written exams,” Hermione said.
“Damn,” Ron cursed with a scowl. It quickly turned into a smile. “Look, ‘Mione! This quill is the
same colour as your eyes! It even has little gold flecks in the barbs!” he said, pointing to a brown
feathered quill. “You should get it.”
Hermione came over and looked at the feather. It was beautiful. It was also very expensive.
Hermione pointed to the price tag, and Ron’s eyes widened. “They want that for a bloody feather!?
That’s rubbish! I’ll just go pluck one out of Errol for free, thank you very much.”
Hermione giggled. She ended up grabbing some more parchment, a much more reasonably priced
quill, and three jars of ink by the time they left the little shop.
“Where to now?” Hermione asked.
“Want to grab an early lunch at the Three Broomsticks?” Ron asked. “Fred and George said it gets
really busy after everyone is finished with Zonko’s and Honeydukes, so it’s best to go there now.”
Hermione wasn’t that hungry but couldn’t argue with that logic. They walked down High Street to
a warm, smoky bar and inn. Ron had been correct - the restaurant was not crowded yet. She looked
around. The cosy decor was reflected in a large mirror behind the bar. A black chalkboard was set
up near the mirror with some of the drink options: Butterbeer, Firewhisky, Gillywater, Mulled
Mead, and Red Currant Rum were some included on the list.
A curvy sort of woman with a beautifully striking face and golden blonde hair was wiping down a
table. She was wearing glittery open-toed high heels, a maroon bodice, and a teal apron. She
certainly had her own style, but her confidence was an accessory of all its own.
Hermione looked to Ron to see where he wanted to sit and caught him staring at the woman, his
mouth slightly askew. “Ron,” Hermione said. He didn’t answer. “Ron!” she said a bit louder, but
there was no reaction whatsoever. “Ronald!” she said again, even louder. Ron jumped a bit and
looked at her.
“What?!”
“Where do you want to sit?” Hermione asked impatiently.
“Oh, doesn’t matter,” he said. “Maybe over at that table she just wiped down?”
Hermione sighed but walked over to the table with Ron on her heels.
“What’ll you have?” the woman said.
“Do you have a menu?” Hermione asked politely.
“Third years?” the barkeep asked, looking at Ron.
Ron shook his head dreamily. “How did you know?”
“Most people don’t need menus here,” she replied but handed them over the well-worn menus just
the same. “I’m Madam Rosmerta, by the way. Just call me over when you’re ready to order.”
Ron watched Madam Rosmerta walk away to another table to wipe down and continued to stare
until Hermione flicked his menu in annoyance. “Ronald, focus,” she said. His eyes snapped back to
Hermione. “What are you going to have to eat?”
“Erm - well, I-I don’t know. Let me look,” Ron stuttered. “I mean, we’ve got to have some
Butterbeer, of course. That’s what they’re known for. The Butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks is
the sweetest around.”
Ron held the menu up to his face, but Hermione saw him looking sideways at Madam Rosmerta.
She cleared her throat. “And to eat?”
Ron looked back at the menu. “I suppose I should get the fish and chips.”
“You know, my dad says that you can always tell a restaurant’s worth by how good their fish and
chips are,” Hermione said with a smile. Ron smiled back warmly but then glanced off again to find
the barkeep. Hermione sighed. She didn’t know why his infatuation with Madam Rosmerta
bothered her so much.
After they ordered, Madam Rosmerta brought back two pints of Butterbeer. They were a warm
amber colour, served in heavy foaming tankards, and brewed hot. Hermione could see just a bit of
steam lofting from the foam head.
“Cheers!” Ron said, clinking his pint glass against Hermione's.
“Cheers!” Hermione said, doing the same. She took a sip. It tasted a little bit like less-sickly
butterscotch. Hermione knew it was going to be sweet, but this was almost too sweet.
Ron made a face, though he tried to recover. He looked up to see if Hermione saw and immediately
put his tankard down to lean towards her. “You have a wee bit of foam on your nose,” he said and
reached across the table and gingerly wiped her nose.
Hermione blushed and looked at Ron. He grinned back, his ears turning red.
“How’s the Butterbeer?” Madam Rosmerta passed the table. Ron immediately broke eye contact
and stared up at the barkeep.
“It’s brilliant,” he said with a smile as sickeningly sweet as the Butterbeer.
“You’re barking,” Hermione said under her breath.
More and more students started to stream into the bar. Neville pulled up a chair and showed them
all of the sweets he had gotten at Honeydukes. He offered them some of his Fizzing Whizbees,
large magical sherbert balls that caused a person to float a few inches off the ground when eaten.
Hermione popped one in her mouth and felt herself immediately rise off her chair. It was the most
peculiar feeling.
Hermione and Ron finished their fish and chips (of which Bert would have been a massive fan)
and decided to give up their table to one of the many students queuing at the door for a seat. The
lunch rush had begun.
“Honeydukes or Zonkos?” Ron asked Hermione as they made their way through the crowd of
students (and someone who looked suspiciously like an ogre) to the street.
“Which one do you want to go to first?” she asked him.
Ron thought for a moment. “Let’s go to Honeydukes first,” he said. “Since we just ate, I reckon I
won’t be as hungry and won’t spend as much money.”
Hermione laughed. That was some of the best logic she had ever heard.
The two friends walked into the storefront, and both froze in total awe. There were shelves upon
shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. Creamy chunks of nougat,
shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat, honey-coloured toffees; hundreds of different kinds of
chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Every Flavour Beans, and another of Fizzing
Whizzbees, the levitating sherbet balls that Ron had mentioned; along yet another wall were
‘Special Effects’ sweets: Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum (which filled a room with bluebell-coloured
bubbles that refused to pop for days), the strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black
Pepper Imps (‘breathe fire for your friends!’), Ice Mice (‘hear your teeth chatter and squeak!’),
peppermint creams shaped like toads (‘hop realistically in the stomach!’), fragile sugar-spun quills
and exploding bonbons.
She heard Ron give a longing moan of bewilderment beside her. “Bloody hell,” he whispered,
almost reverently. They spent nearly a whole hour in the store just walking around. Ron had to
touch everything in the store. “Wow, look at that,” he’d say and then turn his head. “Wow, look at
that!” he’d say again and repeated the action over and over. There was a display case with a sign
promoting a new kind of fudge with an opportunity for free samples. Ron had four before the
worker realised and told him off.
In the end, having just eaten was not a deterrent to Ron’s shopping spree. Both he and Hermione
made sure to buy Harry some treats as well.
Hermione and Ron made their way out of the overwhelming sweet shop and down High Street with
bags of sweets in their hands. They passed loads of other shops: Dogweed and Deathcap (a
Herbology shop), Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, Gladrags Wizardwear, Dominic Maestro’s Music
Shop, and so many more. They passed the Hogsmeade Post Office, which made the school’s
owlery look tiny in comparison. Hermione was entranced by hundreds of owls, all colour coded.
Finally, they arrived at Zonko’s Joke Shop. It indeed seemed to have been pulled from the dreams
of Fred and George Weasley. Jokes, tricks, and various other items filled the store: Dungbombs,
Hiccough Sweets, Frog Spawn Soap, Sugar Quills, and Nose-Biting Teacups, just to name a few.
Finally, it was time to head back to Hogwarts. Hermione had to drag Ron out of Zonkos to make
the walk back up to the grounds. The air had gotten cooler, and Hermione could feel her nose
turning pink in the chill. On their way back, they spotted a secluded shack away from the hustle
and bustle of the little shopping village.
“Oy! That must be the Shrieking Shack!” Ron said excitedly. “It’s been haunted for years. Fred
and George told me that people could hear screams coming from the house for years at all hours of
the day, even.”
Hermione took a look at the shack. All of the doors and windows were boarded up, and the
building looked like it’d fall at any moment. It looked old, dilapidated, and very out of place from
the warm village.
“What’s haunting it?” Hermione asked Ron.
“Dunno, but no one will dare to go in there, not even other ghosts. Pretty scary stuff, eh?” Ron said
with a grin. Hermione nodded, though she wasn’t scared in the least. It just looked like an empty
house to her.
They climbed through the portrait hole. Harry was sitting in the comfy chairs (thankfully) near the
roaring fire. They poured all of the sweets they had gotten him into his lap like a waterfall.
“Thanks,” said Harry. “So what’s Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?”
They told him about all of the shops and places. “The post office, Harry!” Hermione gushed.
“About two hundred owls, all sitting on shelves, all colour coded depending on how fast you want
to get your letter there!” Hermione said breathlessly.
“Honeydukes have got a new kind of fudge,” Ron said. “They were giving out free samples.
There’s a bit, look-”
“We think we saw an ogre. Honestly, they got all sorts at the Three Broomsticks-”
“Wish we could have brought you some Butterbeer, really warms you up-”
Hermione nodded in eager agreement but caught sight of Harry’s face. He was not enjoying their
tales as much as they were enjoying telling them. “What did you do?” asked Hermione. “Did you
get any work done?”
“No,” said Harry. “Lupin made me a cup of tea in his office. And then Snape came in, carrying this
smoking goblet, looking like a git as usual. He put the goblet in front of Lupin and told him to
drink it and that he made an entire cauldron full of it.”
“What was in it?” Hermione asked, perplexed.
“Dunno. Said sugar made it useless and that he had been feeling off-colour lately. But then Lupin
just drank it without a thought!” Harry said. “Just chugged it down without a single hesitation. Said
he was never much of a potion-brewer and that he was lucky to be working alongside Snape who’s
willing to make it.”
“Lupin drank it?” Ron gasped. “Is he mad!? Knowing Snape, it was probably poison.”
Something about that potion made Hermione extremely suspicious. She’d have to do some
research after the feast. Speaking of the feast, Hermione checked her watch. “We’d better go down,
you know, the feast’ll be starting in five minutes…”
They hurried back through the portrait hole and into the crowd, still discussing Snape.
“But if he, you know,” Hermione dropped her voice, glancing nervously around. “If he was trying
to - to poison Lupin, he wouldn’t have done it in front of Harry.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Harry said as they reached the Entrance Hall and crossed into the Great Hall.
Their conversation stopped immediately as they took in the sight. The Great Hall had been
decorated with hundreds upon hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats,
and many flaming orange streamers swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling.
The food was delicious. Hermione, who didn’t think she could eat another bite after Hogsmeade,
managed to eat second helpings of everything. She kept an eye on Professor Lupin at the staff
table. He looked cheerful and as well as could be expected. Her eyes drifted down the table to
Snape, who seemed to be also keeping an eye on the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. It
was all very peculiar.
The feast finished with entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the
walls and tables to do a spot of formation gliding. Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had
great success with a re-enactment of his own botched beheading. Hermione spied Moaning Myrtle
off to the side of the room, scowling at everyone having fun. She made a mental note to visit her in
her bathroom soon.
Hermione, Ron, and Harry followed the rest of the Gryffindors back along the usual path to
Gryffindor Tower at the end of the feast. Everyone was in great spirits and seemed to be planning
on continuing the good times in the common room. When they reached the corridor near the
portrait of the Fat Lady, they found it jammed with students.
“Why isn’t anyone going in?” said Ron curiously. Hermione couldn’t see anything over the heads
of the other Gryffindors.
“Let me through, please,” came Percy’s voice. He came bustling importantly through the crowd.
“What’s the hold up here? You can’t all have forgotten the password. Excuse me! I’m Head Boy!”
And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down
the corridor. They heard Percy say, in a sudden sharp voice, “Somebody get Professor
Dumbledore. Quick.”
Hermione felt the hair on her neck stand straight. Something was very, very wrong.
“What’s going on?” said Ginny, who had just arrived. Ron shrugged. Hermione noticed he took a
step to be closer to his sister and took on a protective stance.
The next moment, Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping towards the portrait. The
Gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Harry moved
closer to see what the trouble was.
What she saw made Hermione’s blood run cold.
“Oh my!” Hermione exclaimed.
The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of
canvas littered the floor. Great chunks of it had been torn away completely.
Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes full of concern.
Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape were hurrying to him. Hermione and the rest of the
Gryffindors made room.
“We need to find her,” said Dumbledore. “Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once
and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.”
“You’ll be lucky!” came a cackling voice. Peeves, the poltergeist, bobbed over the crowd. He
looked delighted at the mayhem.
“What do you mean, Peeves?” said Dumbledore calmly. Peeve’s grin faded a little. He didn’t dare
taunt Dumbledore. His voice dropped slightly.
“Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a horrible mess. Saw her running
through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something
dreadful,” he said happily but caught himself. “Poor thing,” he added unconvincingly.
Did she say who did it?” asked Dumbledore quietly.
“Oh yes, Professorhead,” said Peeves, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms.
“He got very angry when she wouldn’t let him in, you see.” Peeves flipped over and grinned at
Dumbledore from between his own legs. “Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black.”
Grim Defeat
Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall, where they were joined ten
minutes later by the students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Hermione, Ron, and
Ginny created a sort of barrier around Harry without saying a word. They kept him between the
three of them at all times.
“The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Professor Dumbledore told
them all as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the Hall. “I’m afraid that, for
your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the Prefects to stand guard over the
entrances to the Hall, and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should
be reported to me immediately,” he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and
important. “Send word with one of the ghosts.”
Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and then turned. “Oh yes, you’ll be
needing-” he said. One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the Hall
and stood themselves against the walls. Another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of
squashy purple sleeping bags.
“Sleep well,” said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him.
The Hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school
what had just happened. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny, however, were standing off to the side,
not talking at all.
“Everyone into their sleeping bags!” shouted Percy. “Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in
ten minutes!”
“C’mon,” Ron said. He, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry grabbed three sleeping bags and dragged
them into the far corner. Ginny looked terrified.
“Do you think Black’s still in the castle?” Hermione whispered anxiously.
“Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be,” said Ron.
“It’s very lucky he picked tonight, you know,” said Hermione, as they climbed fully dressed into
their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk. “The one night we weren’t in
the Tower…”
“I reckon he’s lost track of time, being on the run,” said Ron. “Didn’t realise it was Halloween.
Otherwise, he’d have come bursting in here. Hermione shuddered.
All around them, people were asking each other the same question: “How’d he get in?”
“Maybe he knows how to Apparate,” said Michael Corner to a few other Ravenclaws a few feet
away. Hermione sighed. She couldn’t believe it: even the Ravenclaws didn’t realise no one could
Apparate in or out of Hogwarts!
“Disguised himself, probably,” said a Hufflepuff fifth year.
“He could’ve flown in,” suggested Dean Thomas.
“Honestly, am I the only person who’s ever bothered to read Hogwarts, A History?” said
Hermione crossly.
“Probably,” said Ron. “Why?”
“Because the castle’s protected by more than walls, you know,” said Hermione. “There are all sorts
of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. You can’t just Apparate in here. And I’d
like to see the disguise that could fool those Dementors. They’re guarding every single entrance to
the grounds. They’d have seen him fly in, too. And Filch knows all the secret passages. They’ll
have them covered…”
“The lights are going out now!” Percy shouted. “I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no
more talking!”
All of the candles went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts drifting
about, talking seriously to Prefects, and the enchanted ceiling filled with stars. If Hermione didn’t
know better, she’d have thought she was camping in the Forest of Dean with her parents… but she
knew better. Much better.
Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the Hall to check that everything was quiet.
Hermione couldn’t sleep. Even though she was exhausted, her anxiety was relentless. So many
different scattered thoughts were running through her head. First and foremost, she was worried
about Harry’s safety. Was Black still in the castle? Would Black come into the Great Hall? Would
Black come back again?
But there, in the wee hours of the morning, Hermione’s thoughts strayed from the pressing issue of
Harry’s safety. Hermione felt guilty for not focusing on Harry’s potential impending death, but she
knew she had to keep her mind occupied or else the anxiety would completely take over.
The first thing she thought about (though it didn’t help much with her anxiety) was that her TimeTurner was up in her dorm room. She was supposed to have used it that evening to finish up her
Muggle Studies essay on the telephone, as well as her History of Magic essay on Wendelin the
Weird’s 37th burning. She had absolutely no idea when she would have time to get the two essays
written. With a heavy heart, she realised she might have to break her own rule of only going back in
time twice for any given hour. She tried not to think of how exhausting that would be.
Feeling the anxiety start to bubble, Hermione switched subjects. What would happen to the
Gryffindor common room now? She had seen the Fat Lady’s portrait - it was wholly destroyed.
Would they have to get a new portrait? Would they need to change the location of the common
room entrance? Would they need to have dementors posted inside the school? Hermione’s anxiety
swelled with every new intrusive thought. She forced herself to change subjects again.
Her mind drifted to what Harry had told them when they returned from Hogsmeade. What could
have been in that goblet? She started to dissect what potion, exactly, Snape was brewing for Lupin.
There was no doubt there was some sort of bad blood between the two professors, and Hermione
thought it went much deeper than Snape being jealous Lupin got the Defence Against the Dark
Arts position. There had to be some sort of history between the two. They seemed to be about the
same age. However, Hermione wasn’t exactly sure. Both men appeared to have aged prematurely.
Hermione started rifling through her category of potions in her mind to see if she could find
something that sugar would render useless. The other clue Harry gave was that Lupin was feeling
under the weather and that the potion was the only thing that helped. Why would he be going to
Snape and not Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing?
Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore
came in. Hermione watched him looking around for Percy, who had been prowling between
sleeping bags, telling people off for talking. Percy was only a short way away from Hermione,
Ron, Harry, and Ginny, who quickly pretended to be asleep as Dumbledore’s footsteps drew
nearer.
“Any sign of him, Professor?” asked Percy in a whisper.
“No,” the headmaster sighed. “All well here?”
“Everything is under control, sir.”
“Good. There’s no point moving them all now. I’ve found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor
portrait hole. You’ll be able to move them back in tomorrow.”
“And the Fat Lady, sir?”
“Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor,” Dumbledore said in a tired whisper.
“Apparently, she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. She’s still very
distressed, but once she’s calmed down, I’ll have Mr Filch restore her.”
Well, that took care of her worry about the Fat Lady Portrait. Mr Filch must be very skilled at
restoration.
The door to the Great Hall creaked open again. Hermione was too afraid to open her eyes to see
who it was.
“Headmaster?” It was Snape. “The whole of the third floor has been searched. He’s not there. And
Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either.”
“What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney’s Room? The Owlery?”
“All searched.”
“Very well, Severus. I didn’t really expect Black to linger.”
“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?” Something about how Snape asked that
question didn’t sit right with Hermione. There was a hint of bitter sarcasm, and Hermione could
almost hear the sneer that was presumably on Snape’s face.
“Many, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “Each of them as unlikely as the next.”
“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before - ah - the start of term?” said
Snape in a low hiss.
“I do, Severus,” said Dumbledore, and there was something like a warning in his voice. Hermione
also noted Dumbledore kept using Professor Snape’s first name for some reason. It seemed
purposeful. But why?
“It seems - almost impossible - that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did
express my concerns when you appointed--”
“I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,” said
Dumbledore sharply, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed. Snape did not reply.
“I must go down to the Dementors,” said Dumbledore in more of his normal voice. “I said I would
inform them when our search was complete.”
“Didn’t they want to help, sir?” said Percy.
“Oh yes,” said Dumbledore coldly. “But I’m afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this
castle while I am Headmaster.”
Hermione heard their footsteps recede out of the Hall. Only then did she open her eyes and glance
sideways. Harry, Ron, and Ginny all had their eyes open too.
“What was all that about?” Ron mouthed.
----The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had
entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their
next Herbology class telling anyone who’d listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.
Hermione stopped putting effort into correcting the asinine theories. No one wanted to listen to
facts.
The Fat Lady’s ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir
Cadogan and his fat grey pony. Nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time
challenging people to duels and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he
changed at least twice a day.
“He’s barking mad,” said Seamus Finnigan angrily to Percy. “Can’t we get anyone else?”
“None of the other pictures wanted the job,” said Percy. “Frightened of what happened to the Fat
Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only one brave enough to volunteer.”
Sir Cadogan, however, was the least of Hermione’s worries. Finding time in the evenings to use the
Time-Turner was getting more and more complicated because Harry was constantly being watched
(and, therefore, so were Hermione and Ron). Hermione was rushing on her assignment and making
careless errors which only fueled her anxiety and compulsion to use the Time-Turner.
She could feel herself falling behind and was desperate to rectify it. Hermione decided to do
something that she had never done before: ask for help. Arithmancy, while her favourite subject,
was quite advanced and tedious. She found herself substituting the wrong equations for some
theories. After pulling an all-nighter (and then a second all-nighter with the Time-Turner’s help),
Hermione admitted defeat. With tears in her tired eyes, she approached Sophie after class the next
day.
“What’s up, Granger? Tired of being the boy wonder’s bodyguard yet?” Sophie smirked. Even
though they had bonded over their love of the class, their relationship was still not something
Hermione would classify as a friendship.
“Erm,” Hermione stammered. “Uh, I was wondering if - erm - you could, maybe, help me with this
chapter if you, you know, had time.” Hermione could hear the blood rushing in her ears as the ball
of anxiety bounced in her throat. She willed herself to look up from the floor.
Something about the way Hermione looked made Sophie realise it wasn’t the time for their usual
Lion vs Snake jokes. “Sure, of course. I can make time whenever,” she said with a note of concern
to her voice.
Hermione simultaneously felt relieved and embarrassed. She fought the urge to turn away and run
from the classroom. “Thank you,” she mustered.
“Sure, no problem,” Sophie said. “You know, I was going to ask you for some help with the
reduction section last week but ran out of time. Let’s call it a quid pro quo - you help me, and I’ll
help you.”
Hermione wasn’t sure if Sophie was serious about needing her help as well or if she was just being
nice (could a Slytherin actually be nice?), but her relief was notable. “Thank you so much,”
Hermione said, her voice catching slightly.
“Don’t mention it,” Sophie said. Hermione smiled. “No, I mean it. Don’t mention it,” Sophie said.
“If word got around that we were working together, I’d be kicked out of Slytherin.”
“Same,” Hermione said of the Gryffindors.
“So we need somewhere we can go and not be seen,” said Sophie.
“The library?” Hermione said.
“Nah,” Sophie said, frowning. “Too obvious.”
Hermione tried to think of another place in the castle where they could study without anyone
seeing them. She was so tired that it was hard for her to think of anywhere. Suddenly, a thought
crawled its way through the cloud of exhaustion. “How about the second-floor girls’ lavatory?”
she said at once.
“The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?” Sophie said, her mouth agape. “Are you barking mad?”
“No one would expect anyone to go there, least of all me,” Hermione said.
“That’s for sure,” Sophie said.
“Plus, no one wants to hang out with Moaning Myrtle.”
“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Sophie said.
“Probably,” Hermione said sarcastically. “But you have to admit, it’s the last place anyone would
look for us.”
Sophie paused to mull it over. “Now I’m the barmy one,” she said, rolling her shoulders as if to
work up the strength to agree. “Fine. Second-floor lavatory. Tonight? Say nine o’clock?”
“Yes. Brilliant. Thank you so much,” Hermione said, tears springing to her eyes again. She didn’t
even look to see if it would work with her self imposed schedule - she’d make it work. She
gathered her things and started to walk away from Sophie’s desk.
“And Granger!” Sophie said. Hermione turned. “Make sure that damn squeaky ghost, Myrtle, is on
her best behaviour. I don’t like whiners.”
----“Bloody Malfoy is still faking it with that arm!” Harry blew up as he came back to the common
room after Quidditch practice. Hermione had been studying Charms with Ron in their usual comfy
chairs until it was time for her to go and meet Sophie. “Slytherin’s arranged it that they can’t play
the match because ‘their Seeker’s arm’s still injured.’” Harry said, fuming. “So now we’re playing
Hufflepuff in the match. I ought to give ‘their Seeker’ a real injury, so they’re not a total bunch of
lying tossers.”
Hermione tried to follow Harry’s rant. “But won’t it be easier playing Hufflepuff?” she asked
innocently. “Last time you played them, you caught the Snitch in about five minutes.”
“That’s what we thought, but Wood was right. We’ve been training all this time for Slytherin,”
Harry said. “Two totally different strategies. And, not to mention, Hufflepuff has a new captain Cedric Diggory. He’s their Seeker too. Really strong player too.”
Hermione only knew of Cedric Diggory because of her roommates’ infatuation with him.
“Eh, I still think we’re going to beat ‘em,” Ron said as he shut his Charms textbook. “I mean, come
on! It’s Hufflepuff!”
“Wood’s right,” said Harry. “With Diggory’s leadership, Hufflepuff has a fighting chance this
year.”
“Stupid Malfoy,” Ron cursed. “How long is he going to milk that arm?”
“Probably all year,” Harry said. “Typical Slytherin - lying to get ahead.”
Hermione’s ears burned, and the ball of anxiety rose in her throat. If Harry or Ron found out she
was willingly going to spend time with a Slytherin, they’d never forgive her. She’d just have to be
extra careful.
----Hermione hurried down the empty, dark corridor towards the second-floor girls’ lavatory.
Memories of last year came flashing back - the blood on the walls, Mrs Norris (Filch’s cat)
petrified in mid-air, brewing the Polyjuice Potion in the stall, turning into a cat, and finally the
flash of a yellow eye in a mirror before everything went grey. The hair on her arms stood straight
up, and she shivered despite being bundled up in her pyjamas. Hermione figured wearing her
Gryffindor robes and uniform would just bring attention to the differences between her and
Sophie.
She rounded the last corner and saw the door in front of her. With a deep breath, Hermione pushed
open the door (that still had an out of order sign on it). She had made it a point to get there early so
she could have a talk with Myrtle before Sophie arrived.
“Who’s there?!” came the high pitched rattle of Myrtle’s voice echoing off of the stone and
porcelain in the room.
“It’s Hermione, Myrtle.”
“Oh, how nice of you to finally come and visit me,” Myrtle said sarcastically, swooping up and out
of a closed stall. She dove squarely in front of Hermione’s face. “It’s only been three months since
the start of term.”
Myrtle was… delicate. She hardly ever smiled and took great offence at the smallest slight, crying
rivers of tears and wailing, hence her nickname Moaning Myrtle. She was often upset so severely
that she will try to kill herself until she realises that she is already dead. She was a squat (former)
Ravenclaw with pimples and thick glasses and usually took to flying uncomfortably close to
anyone who invaded her space.
“I’m sorry, Myrtle,” Hermione said. “I’ve been quite busy with classes. I’m a third-year now, so I
have all of the electives on my timetable.”
“Oooo, a third-year,” Myrtle moaned sarcastically. “How exciting for you.”
“It is,” Hermione argued. “I’m taking loads of classes.”
“Must be nice,” Myrtle sniffed, “being able to take classes. I can’t because I’m dead!” Myrtle flew
again straight towards Hermione like a rocket before backing off at the last moment.
Hermione chose not to dignify Myrtle’s fit with a response. “Anyways, Myrtle, I’m here now, and
a friend is going to join me. We’re going to be-”
“You’re not going to turn into a cat again, are you?” the ghost squeaked. “That was so much fun to
watch! The fur! The ears! And the tail!” Myrtle doubled over with laughter and flipped in mid-air.
“No, we will just be studying,” Hermione said sternly. “And I would appreciate it if you didn’t
bother us.”
“What are you studying?”
“For your information, we will be working on our Arithmancy lessons.”
“Arithmancy!” Myrtle shouted. All traces of whininess or sarcasm were replaced with what seemed
to be genuine excitement. “I loved Arithmancy while I was alive! I wanted to become an
Arithmancer, just like Bridget Wenlock.”
“We just did a section on Bridget Wenlock,” Hermione said brightly. “Her essays on the
importance of the number seven are fascinating!”
“She’s my medieval hero,” Myrtle swooned. “Did you know she primarily used only invisible ink
to write her theorems?”
“Professor Vector just went over that last week, in fact! It was fascinating!” Hermione smiled. She
knew that now she had common ground with Myrtle, she’d be far less annoying. “Perhaps you
could tell my friend and me more when she arrives? And maybe help us with some of our
calculations?”
In response, Myrtle flew in a giant excited loop, shrieking at the top of her lungs. Hermione
assumed that was a yes.
A few minutes later, the door to the lavatory opened. Sophie scooted inside the door, pushing it
shut behind her.
“Ooooo, you didn’t say it was going to be a snake,” Myrtle cackled. “Little lion playing with a
snake. What will people think when I tell them?”
“I’m not putting up with her, Granger. I already told you that. I’m out of here,” Sophie said and
turned back towards the door.
“She’s not going to tell anyone, are you, Myrtle?” Hermione pleaded.
“It depends,” Myrtle said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “It depends on how you treat me. And how
much Arithmancy you let me do,” she added.
“We can all work together,” Hermione said. “You can do as much or as little as you’d like. Just
three friends, getting together and working on Arithmancy.”
“So like an Arithmancy club?” Myrtle asked.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” Hermione said. Sophie raised her eyebrows, half in
annoyance and half in amusement.
“I’ve always wanted to be in an Arithmancy club!” Myrtle squealed and flew to a seated position.
“Well, come on, then,” she said impatiently to Hermione and Sophie. “Let’s get to work.”
Sophie looked at Hermione and rolled her eyes but went to join Myrtle regardless. Hermione took a
deep breath and tried to humble herself as much as possible.
“Thank you again,” Hermione said as she sat down. “I really appreciate your help.”
“I’ll appreciate your help too,” Sophie said. “Don’t think you’re getting out of helping me.” She
looked around the bathroom, her eyes lingering on the serpent-like fixtures on the sinks. “So, is
that it?”
Hermione followed Sophie’s eyes to the sink: the opening to the Chamber of Secrets. “Yeah,” she
said simply.
“Wicked,” Sophie said. Hermione looked at her with a look of confusion and scepticism. “Oh,
come off it. It’s not like I’m going to try to pull an heir of Slytherin and attack you or anything,”
she said and shrugged. “I’m just a history buff. Knowing the founder of my house made this secret
passage is pretty cool.”
Hermione had never thought of it that way. From a history standpoint, the entrance to the Chamber
of Secrets was pretty significant.
“Is this the Arithmancy club or not?” said Myrtle in a whiney voice.
Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out her textbook. Sophie did the same. The Arithmancy Club
had officially been born.
Two hours later, Hermione was smiling from ear to ear. With Sophie’s (and Myrtle’s) help, she had
worked her way through two incredibly complex formulas that Hermione couldn’t get a handle on.
The way Sophie and Myrtle had explained it clicked in her head, and she was able to calculate her
example predictions without any problem.
As they called it a night and started to pack up, Myrtle floated up to the ceiling and dove into a
stall without warning. “I guess she’s done for the night?” Sophie said with a smirk.
“She’s… an odd duck,” Hermione said.
“Just a bit,” Sophie added with sarcasm. “But, I’ll give her one thing: she’s pretty good at
Arithmancy.”
Hermione nodded. “She can be quite nice if you catch her in the right mood. My first year here, she
was one of my only friends.”
“What, you mean there was an actual time where you weren’t spellotaped to the Boy Wonder and
his red-headed sidekick?”
Hermione stiffened.
“Relax, I’m just joking,” Sophie said. “I’m a Slytherin. It’s kind of a requirement to make fun of
Harry Potter. It doesn’t mean I wish the guy harm as some do.”
“Like Draco Malfoy?”
“Oh, don’t get me started on that self-righteous prat,” Sophie said. “He has his moments of being a
decent human being, but he’s way too entitled for my liking.”
“He’s the absolute worst,” Hermione said forcefully.
“Not to defend the prat, but Harry’s not all that much better, love,” Sophie said with a grin.
“Excuse me?” Hermione said.
“Harry Potter is a meddler,” Sophie said, shrugging her shoulders. “Half the things that happen to
him are because he caused it. He doesn’t know how to mind his own business, so he gets into all of
these different situations and has to get himself out of them.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hermione said defensively.
“Oh, come off it. Slytherins may be known as the dodgy gits of the school, but everyone knows
Gryffindors are meddling martyrs who think they know better than anyone else, and don’t tell me
I’m wrong. You’re too smart for that.”
Hermione started a retort but stopped. She could kind of see where Sophie was coming from. Harry
did tend to meddle in things. It was one of her pet peeves.
“Oh fine, you may be right, in some circumstances,” Hermione stammered, “but at least
Gryffindors don’t want to eradicate all Mudbloods.”
The derogatory term hung in the air between the two students like ice. They each stared at each
other, willing the other to look away.
Sophie turned away first.
“I don’t want to eradicate all Mudbloods,” Sophie said in a whisper.
“I didn’t mean you-”
“Sure you did,” Sophie said. She looked Hermione in the eye. “Remember at Madam Malkins?
You just marched up to me, out of the blue, telling me to leave you alone. I just walked into the
store! I wasn’t doing anything but getting ready to get fitted for some robes.”
“I-I-”
“I mean, I get it. Slytherins don’t have the best reputation,” Sophie said, fidgeting with her quill.
“But we aren’t all bad.”
“I-” Hermione was going to ramble a defence but stopped cold. There wasn’t a defence. Hermione
was entirely in the wrong. “You’re absolutely right,” Hermione said sincerely. “I am so sorry for
judging you exactly like I’ve accused Slytherins of doing to me. Please accept my sincere
apology.” She could have continued but thought now wasn’t the time to ramble.
Sophie thought for a moment. “Fine. Apology accepted.” She rooted around in her bag for a
moment and brought out a small silver knife. “Shall we do the ritual blood pact then?”
Hermione was taken aback. “The what?!” she asked with alarm.
“Easy, Granger,” Sophie said with a twinkle in her eye. “If we’re going to be friends, you’re gonna
have to get used to the fact I use sarcasm and humour to cope with awkward situations.”
“I can handle that,” Hermione said, relieved.
“Good. Arithmancy Club: same time next week?”
“I’ll be here,” Hermione said.
“Make sure the annoying ghost is here too,” Sophie said as she reached the door. “She’s brilliant
(but don’t tell her I said that).”
Hermione smiled. Friends. She liked the sound of that.
----The day before the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch match, Hermione and Ron made their way
to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry was to join them there - Oliver Wood had called an extra
practise for the team.
They sat down with the other Gryffindors in excited anticipation for Professor Lupin’s next lesson.
Just as Hermione pulled out her wand, the door to the classroom blew open with a crash, followed
by rhythmic bangs as all of the shutters slammed shut, blocking out the afternoon sun. Everyone’s
heads whipped around to see who had caused the commotion.
Severus Snape was stalking down the middle aisle of the classroom, his black robes billowing
behind him. He reached the front of the classroom and, with a flourish of his robes, turned to face
the class.
“Good afternoon,” Snape sneered. “Professor Lupin cannot make it today and asked me to take
over his classes.”
“Where is he?” shouted Seamus from the back of the room. “Why isn’t he here?
“It does not concern you, Mister Finnigan,” Snape replied. “Perhaps you should worry less about
Professor Lupin and more about your dismal marks.”
Seamus sat back at his desk, fuming.
“Do you think Snape did something to him?” Ron whispered to Hermione with wide eyes.
“Mister Weasley,” Snape growled. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to speak. Five points
from Gryffindor.”
“That’s not fair!” Ron let slip out.
“Another five points from Gryffindor.”
Ron huffed and slouched in his chair.
“If there aren’t any more insolent interruptions, perhaps we can begin. Professor Lupin did not
leave any record of what you have covered-”
Just at that moment, Harry threw open the door and slid inside the classroom. He looked as if he
had run all the way from the Quidditch pitch.
“Sorry I’m late, Professor Lupin, I-” Harry stopped cold.
“This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we’ll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit
down.”
But Harry didn’t move.
“Where’s Professor Lupin?” he said.
“He says he is feeling too ill to teach today,” said Snape with a twisted smile. “I believe I told you
to sit down.”
But Harry stayed where he was.
“What’s wrong with him?” Harry pressed.
Snape’s black eyes glittered. “Nothing life-threatening,” he said, looking as though he wished it
was. “Five more points for Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty.”
Harry walked slowly to his seat and sat down. Snape looked around the class.
“As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you
have covered so far-”
Hermione couldn’t help herself. “Please, sir, we’ve done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and
Grindylows,” said Hermione quickly. Her whole studying schedule would be thrown off if Snape
didn’t follow Professor Lupin’s lesson plans. “And we were just about to start-”
“Be quiet!” said Snape coldly. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on
Professor Lupin’s lack of organisation.”
“He’s the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” said Dean Thomas boldly
and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looked more menacing than
ever.
“You are easily satisfied,” said Snape. “Lupin is hardly over-taxing you - I would expect first-years
to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss-” Snape flipped to the
very back of the textbook. “-werewolves.”
“But sir,” said Hermione, panicked. She hadn’t prepared for werewolves. She didn’t have any extra
time to prepare for werewolves. Her anxiety started to bubble. “We’re not supposed to do
werewolves yet, we’re due to start Hinkypunks-”
‘Miss Granger,” interrupted Snape. “I was under the impression that I was teaching this lesson, not
you. And I am telling you all to turn to three hundred and ninety-four.” He glanced around again.
“All of you! Now!”
Hermione’s vision started to blur and her breath quickened. She had spent all evening preparing for
Hinkypunks and now it was all for naught. She hadn’t read the chapter on werewolves since the
summer. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried to visualize the chapter she had read. She
focused all of her energy on pulling up the memory. She knew better than to try to recall the text
first. Instead, she started focusing on the little details - how her room smelled, what she was
wearing. Not only could she feel her anxiety start to wane, her text book started to materialize in
her mind. Then, with a mental pop, the information on werewolves was now all she could
concentrate on.
“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” said
Snape.
Hermione’s hand shot up. She was the only one with her hand raised.
“Anyone? Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. “Are you telling me that
Professor Lupin hasn’t even taught you the basic distinction between-”
“We told you,” said Parvati suddenly, “we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on-”
“Silence!” snarled Snape. “Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third year class who
wouldn’t even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing
Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…”
“Please, sir,” said Hermione. “The werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The
snout of the werewolf-”
“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” said Snape coolly. “Five
more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”
Hermione’s face immediately flushed. She put down her hand and stared at the floor with her eyes
full of tears. She couldn’t stop them from spilling over onto her hot cheeks. She was just too
exhausted.
“You asked us a question and she knows the answer!” Ron suddenly stood and said loudly. “Why
ask if you don’t want to be told?!”
The class collectively gasped; they knew instantly that he had gone too far. Snape slithered
towards Ron slowly and deliberately. The class held its breath.
Snape was only a mere inches away from Ron’s face before opening his mouth. “Detention,
Weasley. And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry
indeed.”
To his credit, Ron didn’t flinch. He stood there, unwavering, staring down the black-eyed
professor. Only when Snape turned to go back to the front of class did Ron sit down.
No one else made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. They sat and made notes on
werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining
the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin.
“Very poorly explained… that is incorrect; the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia…
Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn’t have given it three…”
When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back.
“You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognise and kill
werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It
is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your
detention.”
Hermione and Harry left the room with the rest of the class, who waited until they were well out of
earshot, and then burst into a furious tirade about Snape.
“Snape’s never been like this with any of our other Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, even if
he did want the job,” Harry said to Hermione. “Why’s he got it in for Lupin? D’you think this is all
because of the Boggart?”
“I don’t know,” said Hermione pensively. Harry was right. There was definitely more to the rivalry
between Snape and Lupin and it was even more evident now. “But I really hope Professor Lupin
gets better soon.”
Ron caught up with them five minutes later, in a towering rage.
“D’you know what that-” (he called Snape something that made Hermione say, “Ron!”) “-is
making me do? I’ve got to scrub the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!” He was
breathing deeply, his fists clenched. “Why couldn’t Black have hidden in Snape’s office, eh? He
could have finished him off for us!”
----Hermione decided to use the Time-Turner that night to get Snape’s essay on werewolves out of the
way after she finished all of her other scheduled work. By the time she was done with her Muggle
Studies essay on the history of submarines and practiced her Transfiguration, it was midnight.
Madam Pince had just kicked her out of the library, so Hermione decided she’d use the TimeTurner to go back two hours and just work at her favorite little window seat in Gryffindor Tower.
By the soft light of the evening’s full moon, Hermione turned the crown of the Time-Turner twice
and braced herself for the lurching of her stomach. As soon as it subsided, Hermione cracked open
her textbook and read the introductory paragraph of the chapter:
A werewolf, also known as a lycanthrope, was a human being who, upon the complete
rising of the full moon, became an uncontrollable, fearsome and deadly wolf. The
monthly transformation of a werewolf was extremely painful if untreated and was
usually preceded and succeeded by a few days of pallor and ill health. This condition
was caused by infection with lycanthropy, also known as werewolfry. Unfortunately,
there was no cure for lycanthropy. However, some of the worst effects could be
mitigated by consuming Wolfsbane Potion. The Wolfsbane Potion, invented by
Damocles Belby, allowed werewolf drinkers to keep their human mind during
transformation.
Hermione paused and looked out at the full moon. She wondered how many werewolves at that
exact moment were out in the world, looking at the same sky. She shook her head, trying to expel
some of her exhaustion, and got to work on the opening paragraph of her essay.
It seemed as though the pieces of a giant puzzle were coming together as she wrote each word, but
Hermione was too exhausted to see what the big picture was. There was something nagging at her
but she couldn’t figure out what it was.
Hermione started noting the identifying features of a werewolf on her parchment: shorter snouts,
human-like eyes, and tufted tails when in wolf form; premature aging, pallor, and general lethargy
in human form. “Additionally,” she wrote, “because of the prejudice against werewolves and their
difficulty to garner employment, humans who were afflicted usually dressed in shabby, second
hand clothing.”
Her quill froze in mid air.
She read over her list.
She read over her list again.
She read over her list a third time.
The words started popping out at her with every thud of her heart: shabby clothes; ill health every
month; premature aging...
Hermione started thumbing through her book so quickly she ripped a page. She found the section
she was looking for and read as quickly as she could:
The Wolfsbane Potion was an innovative, complex, and expensive potion which was extremely
dangerous to brew. The way one must imbibe it is very unique among potions, in that a goblet full
of Wolfsbane Potion must be taken each day for a week preceding the full moon. The potion will
be rendered ineffective if a) the drinker missed a single dose and/or b) the drinker added sugar to
the brew.
Hermione gasped and pushed the textbook away from her as if it were poison.
Professor Lupin was a werewolf.
And Snape knew.
And now, so did Hermione.
-----
Hermione tossed and turned all night. Her mind was a jumbled mess of millions of questions and
not a single answer. Was Lupin blackmailing Snape and forcing him to make the Wolfsbane? Was
Snape blackmailing Lupin and holding the Wolfsbane over his head? When did Snape find out
about Lupin? When did Lupin turn? Were they safe? The questions came in rapid fire. They were
relentless.
She did manage to doze a little bit, mostly because her exhaustion won over her anxiety; Hermione
was averaging thirty hour days with the help of the Time-Turner and her body just couldn’t keep
up. When she woke up, she made the decision: she couldn’t tell anyone about what she found out
until she had - at least - a few of the questions in her mind answered.
Hermione dragged herself out of bed and half past seven to get ready for the Quidditch match. She
glanced out the window as she walked to the washroom to brush her teeth and had to do a double
take. It appeared to be raining sideways. The sky had opened up and was dumping enough water to
fill the lake on the Hogwarts’ ground twice over. The wind was so strong that it was causing the
drops to defy gravity. Thunder rumbled in the distance. It was not, by any means, ideal weather for
a Quidditch game, neither for the players nor the spectators.
She met up with Ron, Ginny, and Neville in the Common Room and went down to have a warm
breakfast before braving the elements. They each grabbed an umbrella and set off for the pitch.
They soon found, however, that their umbrellas were no match for the wind and rain. By the time
they reached the pitch, Hermione was soaked to the bone.
Thankfully the match started on time. The two captains, Oliver Wood and Cedric Diggory, walked
up to each other and shook hands. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher and referee, blew her
whistle and the players all kicked off the ground. The Hufflepuff’s canary-yellow robes were easy
to see through the sideways rain. The Gryffindor’s burgundy robes were a bit less visible but
Hermione could still make out Harry high in the sky, waiting for a glimpse of the Golden Snitch.
How he could see anything in this weather, Hermione had no idea.
Within five minutes, Hermione was shivering violently. Soaked to the bone, the cold wind bit
through all of her layers of clothing. The sky was getting darker, as though night had decided to
come early.
“Bloody hell,” Ginny cursed. “It’s bloody freezing. Somebody had better bloody nick the snitch
soon or else we’ll all be frozen.”
Hermione shared her sentiment, cursing and all; it was bloody cold. At this point, she didn’t care
which team won as long as the game ended soon. She and Ginny huddled together to try to
conserve body heat between the two of them.
There was a flash of lightning and the shrill trill of Madam Hooch’s whistle. The Gryffindors had
called a time out. “Who the hell called a time out?!” Ginny yelled to no one in particular. “Just get
on with it! Stop dragging it out!” Everyone else in the crowd was yelling similar things. “Harry had
better get that Snitch soon,” Ginny said more quietly to Hermione instead of shouting. “I thought
he was supposed to be Merlin’s gift to Quidditch. He’s looking pretty shoddy if you ask me.”
“He probably can’t see anything with the rain,” Hermione groaned. “Wait, I know something that
may work!”
In a moment of wearied, desperate brilliance, Hermione ran down to where the Gryffindor players
were gathered. She could hear them shouting to each other over the sound of the wind.
“We’re fifty points up,” said Wood, “but unless we get the Snitch soon, we’ll be playing into the
night.”
“I’ve got no chance with these on,” Harry said, waving his glasses.
“I’ve had an idea, Harry!” Hermione yelled from right behind Harry. They all jumped, not
expecting anyone to be interrupting their time out discussion. “Give me your glasses, quick!”
Hermione held out her half-frozen hand and Harry passed her his glasses. Hermione tapped them
with her wand and said, “Impervius!” The glasses vibrated in her hand and warmed slightly.
“There,” she said, handing them back to Harry. “They’ll repel water.”
“Brilliant!” Oliver Wood said hoarsely. For a moment, she thought the seventh year Quidditch
captain was going to give her her first kiss. She smiled and promptly returned back to the stands.
It seemed as though her spell had worked. Harry appeared to be flying in a more deliberate fashion
as if he could actually see where he was going. Now all she could do was hope that it was enough
to end the game quickly.
There was another clap of thunder, followed immediately by forked lightning. She watched as
Harry seemed to pause in midair, looking over Hermione’s head into the stand. His demeanor was
so peculiar, she turned to look back as well, but there was nothing there. She turned back to the
pitch just in time to see Diggory pelting up the pitch, chasing a tiny speck of gold. Harry noticed
him too and swung his broom around.
Hermione didn’t think it was possible to get any colder but, as Harry tried to catch up to Cedric
Diggory, the rain seemed to change to freezing rain. Whereas the sound of the wind and rain had
loudly echoed within the pitch, a freezing blanket seemed to descend downward, muffling the
sounds into an icy silence.
Hermione glanced around to see what had happened and spotted them immediately.
At least one hundred Dementors had filed onto the pitch.
She watched them, depressingly entranced by their presence. She was too sad and exhausted and
anxious to look away. She watched as they all filed in and turned their hooded heads up in unison.
She followed their gaze.
Harry was towards the ground. His broom was not. He was falling and gathering speed.
“No!!” she screamed. Ginny was screaming too. In fact, everyone was screaming all at once: the
Gryffindors were screaming Harry’s name; the Hufflepuffs were cheering Diggory’s. They
watched in horror as Harry got closer and closer to the ground. Suddenly, his momentum faltered
and he drifted the rest of the way to the ground in slow motion.
Dumbledore was stalking onto the pitch. He was white with fury. As soon as Harry was safely on
the ground, he hammered his wand in the air and a silvery mist shot from the top like a cannon.
The usually genial headmaster roared with rage: “OUT!”. The Dementors shielded away and
scattered off the field. The Gryffindor Quidditch team and the professors took their place in the
middle of the pitch, circling Harry’s lifeless body. Hermione couldn’t watch any longer. She buried
her head in Ron’s shoulder and willed it to be over.
----Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stood on the outskirts of the hospital wing. The Gryffindor Quidditch
team had beat them there and had already taken up space around Harry’s bed. They were covered
from head to toe in mud, dripping onto the stone floor.
“Lucky the ground was so soft,” George said.
“I thought he was dead for sure,” Alicia said.
“But he didn’t even break his glasses,” said Fred.
“That was the scariest thing I’ve seen in my life,” Angelina added.
“Harry!” said Fred suddenly. Hermione tried to see what was happening, but Fred and George were
blocking her view of the bed like a pair of twin muddy mountains. “How’re you feeling?
“What happened?” Harry’s voice came from behind the team.
“You fell off,” said Fred. “Must’ve been - what - fifty feet?”
“We thought you’d died,” said Alicia.
“But the match,” said Harry. “What happened? Are we having a replay?” No one said anything.
They all shuffled their cold, muddy feet. “We didn’t lose?!” Harry exclaimed.
“Diggory got the Snitch,” said George. “Just after you fell. He didn’t realise what had happened.
When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a re-match. But
they won fair and square. Even Wood admits it.”
“Where is Wood?” said Harry.
“Still in the showers,” said Fred. “We think he’s trying to drown himself… Aww, C’mon, Harry,
you’ve never missed the Snitch before.”
“There had to be one time you didn’t get it,” said George.
“It’s not over yet,” said Fred. “We lost by a hundred points, right? So if Hufflepuff lose to
Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin…”
“Hufflepuff’ll have to lose by at least two hundred points,” said George crossly.
“It all depends on the points - a margin of a hundred either way-”
The Quidditch team started to squabble back and forth about different mathematical scenarios. If
the situation had been different, Hermione would have rolled her eyes and made a comment about
how they were doing more math at that moment than they had all year, but it was neither the time
nor the place. Besides, the longer they argued, the longer Hermione could wait to give Harry the
other piece of bad news.
After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace.
“We’ll come and see you later,” Fred told him. “Don’t beat yourself up, Harry. You’re still the best
Seeker we’ve ever had.”
The team trooped out, trailing mud behind them. Madam Pomfrey shut the door behind them,
looking disapproving. Hermione and Ron moved nearer to Harry’s bed.
“Dumbledore was really angry,” Hermione said in a quaking voice. “I’ve never seen him like that
before. He ran onto the pitch as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you
hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the Dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the
stadium straight away… he was furious they’d come into the grounds, we heard him-”
“Then he magicked you onto a stretcher,” said Ron. “And walked up to school with you floating on
it. Everyone thought you were…” His voice faded away.
“Did someone get my Nimbus?”
A part of Hermione knew that one of the first things Harry James Potter would care about after a
near-death experience that left the entire school gutted would be his precious broom, but it still
surprised her when the question came out of his mouth.
“Er-”
“What?” Harry said, looking from Hermione to Ron.
“Well… when you fell off, it got blown away,” said Hermione hesitantly.
“And?”
“And it hit - it hit - oh, Harry - it hit the Whomping Willow.”
“And?” Harry asked.
“Well, you know the Whomping Willow,” said Ron. “It - it doesn’t like being hit.”
“Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came round,” said Hermione. Slowly, she
reached down for the bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered
wood and twig onto the bed. Harry took one look at what was left of his wand and nearly broke
down in tears.
The Marauder's Map
Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend.
Hermione and Ron didn’t leave his side except at night. Hermione still used the Time-Turner a few
times after leaving Harry’s side in order to do the bare minimum of work due but tried to make
sure this weekend was about Harry, not school work. Sometimes there were more important things
than books and brains.
Hermione had to laugh when Ginny came to visit. Ginny had told Hermione that she had a
revelation when it came to her crush on Harry: it was much better to make fun of herself than for
someone else to do it first. “I can’t stop fancying him, so I may as well make people laugh with me
instead of at me, right? It’s also quite fun to see Harry squirm,” she had said.
Ginny had made Harry a get well card that sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of
fruit. “I got the idea from your Monster Book of Monsters book,” she whispered to Hermione over
the screeching sounds of the singing card.
The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Wood, who told
Harry in a hollow, dead sort of voice that he didn’t blame him in the slightest. “Boys and their
sports ball,” Hermione thought to herself, rolling her eyes.
After pumping him full of chocolate, Madam Pomfrey finally allowed Harry to leave the hospital
wing on Sunday night. She slipped Hermione a few more pieces of Honeydukes’ chocolate “just in
case.”
The three friends walked back towards the Gryffindor Common Room but found that Sir Cadogan
had changed the password yet again and wouldn’t let them in.
“Oh, for the love…” Ron let his voice drop instead of cursing. “Let us in, you glorified tin can.”
“En guard, you scoundrel!” cried Sir Cadogan. “I must defend the common room! To the death,
even!”
“I can arrange that,” Ron snarled, pulling out his wand.
“Ron, please,” Hermione said, her voice thick with annoyance and exhaustion. “Put your wand
away before you hurt someone.”
“That’s the whole point-” Ron was interrupted by a voice behind them.
“Hey guys!” said Neville, walking down the corridor. “Harry, how are you feeling?”
“Better, thanks,” Harry said.
“Good! Brilliant!” Neville said. “We all thought you were dead. Again. You sure have a lot of
near-death experiences, don’t you!”
Harry didn’t seem to know how to respond. Hermione tried to change the subject. “Neville, you
don’t happen to have the new password, do you?”
“I do!” Neville brightened and pulled out the small notebook Hermione bought him as a present
their first year from under his robes. He flipped through the notebook and loose papers stuffed
inside before finally landing on what he was looking for. Neville took a step towards Sir Cadogan.
“Pwyll, Branwen, Manawyden, and Math,” Neville read slowly, taking great care to pronounce
each word.
“Ahh, the four Mabinogi tales. Someone of your intellect, comrade, must be granted access.
Proceed,” Sir Cadogan said with a great flourish of his sword. The portrait opened to reveal the
hole into the common room.
“He’s been changing them almost every hour,” Neville said as they crawled through the entrance.
“And I thought I had problems before! I won’t be surprised if I have to sleep out in the corridor
someday.”
----The next day, Malfoy was almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor’s defeat. He had finally
taken off his bandages and celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited
imitations of Harry falling off his broom. Being that Mondays were Hermione’s most difficult days
when it came to her schedule, she was in no mood to put up with his immaturity. She tried her best
to ignore his antics in the hall, but they were really grating on her nerves.
The following day in Potions, Draco was still at it. Hermione found herself seriously weighing the
pros and cons of getting detention if it meant shutting Malfoy up when Ron took the initiative
himself. He flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused
Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor. Hermione nearly applauded.
“If Snape’s taking Defence Against the Dark Arts again, I’m going off sick,” said Ron as they
headed towards Lupin’s classroom after lunch. “Check who’s in there, Hermione.”
Hermione had decided that since Professor Lupin was actively taking the Wolfsbane Potion, he had
to, at the very least, have decent intentions. He may still be dangerous, but only during the full
moon. She peered around the classroom door to see who was inside. Professor Lupin was back to
work.
“It’s ok!” she said.
They walked into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and the first thing Hermione
noticed was how ill Lupin appeared. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him, and there
were dark shadows beneath his eyes. How no one else realised he was a werewolf was beyond
Hermione.
Professor Lupin smiled as the class took their seats. Everyone immediately burst at once into a
cacophony of complaints about Snape’s behaviour while Lupin had been ill.
“It’s not fair! He was only filling in. Why should he set us homework?”
“We don’t know anything about werewolves-” (Hermione nearly nodded in sarcastic agreement.)
“-two rolls of parchment!”
“Did you tell Professor Snape we haven’t covered them yet?” Lupin asked, frowning slightly.
The babble broke out again.
“Yes, but he said we were really behind-”
“-he wouldn’t listen-”
“-two rolls of parchment!”
Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face. “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to
Professor Snape. You don’t have to do the essay.”
“Oh no,” Hermione said. “I’ve already finished it!” She tried to look disappointed, but she wanted
to give Professor Lupin a pointed stare to hopefully convey that she did the essay and, therefore,
knew his secret. Lupin, however, just smiled at her and started into the lesson as if nothing were
different.
It was an enjoyable lesson in spite of it all. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box
containing a Hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who seemed as though he was made of wisps
of smoke, rather frail, and harmless looking.
“Lures travellers into bogs,” said Professor Lupin as they took their notes. “You notice the lantern
dangling from his hand? Hops ahead - people follow the light - then -”
The Hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.
When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door.
“Wait a moment, Harry,” Lupin called. “I’d like a word.”
Hermione glanced back as she and Ron walked out of the classroom. She knew she should be
worried about leaving Harry alone with a werewolf, but she honestly thought Professor Lupin
could be trusted. She would still, however, keep alert for anything that would suggest otherwise.
Harry’s Quidditch accident (and Neville’s reminder that Harry seemed to always be in danger)
made Hermione rethink some of her priorities. Perhaps it was anxiety, perhaps it was exhaustion…
but Hermione knew that her Time-Turner usage had gotten out of control lately. Even though
Hermione was behind in her classes (in her opinion, anyway, which just meant she was on par with
her peers), she had been forcing herself to make time for dinner with Ginny at least twice a week.
Ginny could make her laugh, even on the worst days. Her sarcasm and intellect were unmatched by
anyone. Hermione often forgot there was such an age difference between them.
Hermione also continued her study sessions with Neville whenever he would ask her to. Neville
was actually quite brilliant at Ancient Runes but always second-guessed himself. Hermione was
trying to prove to him he was much brighter than he gave himself credit for. She began asking him
for tips in Herbology as well, not because she didn’t know the material, but because she loved
seeing him smile when he would explain something to her. The passion he brought as he spoke
about Mandrakes and Puffapods was awe-inspiring. He never came off as a “know-it-all,” but,
instead, someone who just simply loved plants and wanted to share that love with other people.
Hermione tried to make it a point to emulate Neville more often when it came to explaining things.
She knew it was something she needed to work on.
The newly formed Arithmancy Club meetings were still weekly, but they were going so well that
Hermione wished it was more often. Just last week, Hermione had a breakthrough on an extremely
difficult theory with Sophie and Myrtle’s help.
“Look at you!” Sophie said with a smile. “You’ll be an Arithmancer before you know it!”
“It makes perfect sense now,” Hermione said, ignoring the compliment. “You should think about
being a professor when you grow up.”
“I helped too,” Myrtle pouted.
“You did, yes,” Hermione said. “Thank you, Myrtle. I’m serious, Sophie.”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Why not?” Hermione pushed.
“I don’t think Slytherins are meant to be in charge of the lives of children,” she said with a sad
smile. “I think we can both agree Snape should never have been allowed to teach.”
“Well,” Hermione said. “Yes… I agree… but he certainly doesn’t represent all Slytherins.” Lately,
Hermione had been conscientious as not to make broad assumptions about any sort of group,
especially Slytherins. “He’s just a horrible teacher. I’m sure he’s good at other things, though.”
“You don’t have to pretend to find nice things about Severus Snape on my behalf,” Sophie
laughed. “He’s an arse through and through.”
“Ok, yes, he is,” Hermione said. “But that shouldn’t deter you from doing something you’re good
at.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
“And there’s the know-it-all Gryffindor we all know and love,” Sophie said with a laugh.
“I just meant-”
“Granger, you’re going to have to relax if we’re going to hang out more. 95% of what I say is
straight sarcasm.”
“Fair enough,” Hermione said.
“But since you do know it all, I was wondering if you could help me with something,” Sophie said.
“Of course,” Hermione said earnestly.
“And don’t laugh, or I’ll curse you so fast, you won’t know what hit you.”
“I promise.”
“For obvious reasons, I couldn’t sign up for Muggle Studies,” Sophie said. “But I am absolutely
fascinated with the subject. Do you think you could, maybe, teach me a bit about Muggles?”
Hermione was taken aback. A Slytherin who wanted to learn more about Muggles? “I think that’s
brilliant - wanting to learn about Muggles, that is,” Hermione said at once, the words tumbling out
of her mouth before she could stop them. Her mind was going a million miles per minute with
excitement. “And don’t feel bad about not being able to take Muggle Studies - Professor Burbage
and her curriculum are a little lacking, in my opinion. I think she means well, but it is quite evident
she has never spent any considerable amount of time in the company of Muggles. I don’t want to
sound presumptuous, but I believe I could probably teach you more since I have been fully
integrated into the Muggle community for fourteen years now and have a lot of pretty strong
opinions on the-”
“Whoa, Granger,” Sophie said, interrupting her. “I just needed a yes or no answer for now.”
“Yes!” Hermione said heartily. “Absolutely.”
“Wicked,” Sophie said with a giant smile.
----Two weeks before the end of term, the sky lightened with the flurry of snow showers, immersing
the castle in a winter wonderland of snow and frost. Inside the hallowed halls, there was a buzz of
Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick had already decorated the Charms classroom with
shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies.
The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Hermione had discussed it
with her parents through a letter and had decided that she would stay at Hogwarts again this year
because of her rigorous schedule. While that was definitely a mitigating factor, Hermione didn’t
want to leave Harry alone all holiday. Ron didn’t either but made up the excuse that he didn’t want
to go home because he couldn’t stand two weeks with Percy.
To everyone’s delight (except Harry’s), there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last
weekend of term.
“We can do all of our Christmas shopping there!” said Hermione. “Mum and Dad would really
love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!”
Hermione and Ron bid Harry farewell and made the trek down to High Street. All of the students
were brimming with excitement; there were even a few choruses of Christmas Songs belted out
within the crowd.
“So, does your family have any special Muggle Christmas traditions that you do?” Ron asked as
they clumped through the hardened snow.
“Well,” Hermione started, “I suppose we just do all of the normal holiday traditions like poppers
and the silver coin in the Christmas pudding and listening to the Queen’s speech. And, of course,
Father Christmas would visit every year.”
“A silver coin in the pudding?” Ron asked, perplexed. “What’s that?”
“I think the tradition dates back to King Edward I? Or maybe King Edward II? I’ll have to doublecheck,” Hermione said. “But, basically, you put a silver coin in the Christmas Pudding and
whoever finds it is blessed with good luck for the upcoming year.”
“Good luck only if you don’t choke on the coin and die,” Ron said with a chuckle.
“Most people eat pudding in a much more civilised manner than you, Ronald, and would definitely
notice a silver coin before trying to swallow,” Hermione said sarcastically, channelling Sophie.
Hogsmeade village was beautifully decorated for the holiday. Christmas trees, wreaths, and bright
red bows adorned the little snow-capped cottages and shops. Their first stop was to Dogweeg and
Deathcap, a Herbology shop, so that Hermione could get Neville something for Christmas. She
found a lovely addendum to One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, which she knew he would
love.
Next up was Honeydukes. While they knew it would be extremely busy, Hermione and Ron
wanted to make sure to get there before they sold out of anything on their holiday shopping lists.
As soon as they made their way through the door and into the crowded shop, Hermione went
straight over to the Toothflossing Stringmints display and grabbed a couple for her parents.
They squeezed to another display in the furthest corner of the shop under the “Unusual Tastes”
sign. Ron picked up a blood-flavoured lollipop. “What about this for Harry?” he asked.
“Urgh, no, Harry wouldn’t want one of those. They’re for vampires, I expect,” Hermione said.
“How about these?” said Ron, shoving a jar of Cockroach Cluster under Hermione’s nose.
“Definitely not!” said a very familiar voice behind them. Hermione spun around, and Ron almost
dropped the jar.
“Harry!” squealed Hermione. “What are you doing here? How - How did you-?”
“Wow!” said Ron, looking very impressed. “You learnt to Apparate!”
“Course I haven’t,” said Harry. He dropped his voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Fred and
George gave me the most remarkable thing! They called it the Marauder’s Map, and it was written
by some people called ‘Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.’ It shows every classroom, every
hallway… basically every single inch of the castle grounds, including all kinds of secret passages.
Seven, in fact. Plus, it shows the location of every person on the grounds as well! It’s brilliant!
You need to know the right spells to use it. I was able to get here through one of the secret
passages and was able to make sure none of the professors were around.”
Hermione didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, it sounded like extraordinary magic. On the
other hand, Mr Weasley’s advice seemed to apply: Never trust anything that can think for itself if
you can’t see where it keeps its brain. She had also never heard of anyone with those names, nor
had she read about them in Hogwarts: A History. Hermione glanced over at Ron, who seemed
equally as conflicted.
“How come Fred and George never gave it to me!” said Ron, outraged. “I’m their brother!”
So much for being morally conflicted about a problematic enchanted map that allowed their best
friend to sneak out of the castle when a raging murderer was hunting him. He needed to turn it in,
no question about it; Harry just had to be reminded of the right thing to do.
“But Harry isn’t going to keep it!” Hermione said. “He’s going to hand it in to Professor
McGonagall, aren’t you, Harry?”
“No, I’m not!” said Harry.
“Are you mad?!” said Ron, goggling at Hermione. “Hand in something that good?”
“If I hand it in, I’ll have to say where I got it! Filch would know Fred and George nicked it!”
“But what about Sirius Black?” Hermione hissed. “He could be using one of the passages on the
map to get into the castle! The teachers have to know!” How were they not thinking this through?!
“He can’t be getting in through a passage,” said Harry quickly. “There are seven secret tunnels on
the map, right? Fred and George reckon Filch already knows about four of them. And the other
three - one of them’s caved in, so no one can get through it. One of them’s got the Whomping
Willow planted over the entrance, so you can’t get out of it. And the one I just came through - well
- it’s really hard to see the entrance to it down in the cellar - so unless he knew it was there-”
Hopefully, Harry’s voice faded off because hearing it aloud made him realise how wrong he was.
Ron, however, cleared his throat significantly and pointed to a notice posted on the inside of the
sweetshop door.
BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Customers are reminded that until further notice, Dementors will be patrolling the
streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place
for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius
Black. It is therefore advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall.
Merry Christmas!
“See?” said Ron quietly. “I’d like to see Black try and break into Honeydukes with Dementors
swarming all over the village. Anyway, Hermione, the Honeydukes owners would hear a break-in,
wouldn’t they? They live over the shop!”
“Yes, but - but -” Hermione stammered. They clearly weren’t listening to reason. She had to try
another tactic. “Look, Harry still shouldn’t be coming into Hogsmeade. He hasn’t got a signed
form! If anyone finds out, he’ll be in so much trouble! And it’s not nightfall yet - what if Sirius
Black turns up today? Now?”
“He’d have a job spotting Harry in this,” Ron said, nodding through the mullioned windows at the
thick, swirling snow. “Come on, Hermione, it’s Christmas. Harry deserves a break.”
Hermione bit her lip.
“Are you going to report me?” Harry asked, grinning.
“Oh - of course not - but honestly, Harry -”
“Seen the Fizzing Whizzbees, Harry?” said Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to their barrel.
“And the Jelly slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven - it burnt a
hole right through my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick.” Ron stared
broodingly into the Acid Pop box. “Reckon Fred’d take a bit of Cockroach Cluster if I told him
they were peanuts?”
They shopped a bit more and then paid for all of their sweets and gifts. “Snow’s really picked up,”
Ron surmised as they walked out of the sweet shop. They decided to give Harry (who looked
freezing without a cloak) a quick tour of the charming village. Hermione and Ron shouted out all
of the sights through their scarves.
“That’s the Post Office-”
“Zonko’s is up there-”
“We could go to the Shrieking Shack-”
“Tell you what,” said Ron, his teeth chattering almost as much as Harry’s. “Shall we go for a
Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?”
A few minutes later, they were entering the tiny inn. It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and
smoky. Ron’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the barkeep. “That’s Madam Rosmerta,” said Ron.
“I’ll get the drinks, shall I?” he added, going slightly red. Hermione glanced at Harry. He seemed
to have already heard about Madam Rosmerta, much to Hermione’s dismay.
Hermione and Harry made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table
between the window and a handsome Christmas tree that stood next to the fireplace. Ron came
back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot Butterbeer.
“Happy Christmas!” he said happily, raising his tankard. Hermione and Harry returned the toast
and took a giant gulp of the warm, sweet drink.
A sudden breeze blew past the table. The door of the Three broomsticks had opened again. They
all looked towards the door. Harry almost choked. There, inside the doorframe, were none other
than Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was in deep
conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak. Hermione
recognised him from pictures. It was Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic.
If she hadn’t been terrified of getting into trouble, Hermione would have laughed at the absurd
irony of the situation. Her mind went blank except for one thought: hide Harry.
Both she and Ron placed their hands on Harry’s head and forced him under the table. Even with
him under the table, anyone would be able to see Harry. Hermione frantically glanced around for
something else that could hide him. To her immediate right was a beautiful Christmas tree.
“Mobiliarbus!” she murmured, moving the Christmas tree with her wand a few inches, so it was
sitting right in front of their table, hiding them from view. Hermione’s heart was pounding. Ron
looked pale and clammy. She couldn’t see Harry’s face, but she could feel his shallow breathing
against her leg from under the table.
Hermione tried to watch what was happening through the branches of the tree. Madam Rosmerta
approached the table with a tray of drinks.
“A small Gillywatter-”
“Mine,” said Professor McGonagall.
“Four points of mulled mead-”
“Ta, Rosmerta,” said Hagrid.
“A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella-”
“Mmm,” said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips.
“So you’ll be the redcurrant rum, Minister.”
“Thank you, Rosmerta, m’dear,” said Fudge’s voice. “Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have
one yourself, won’t you? Come and join us.”
“Well, thank you very much, Minister.”
Madam Rosmerta went back to the bar to get herself a drink and returned. Hermione’s leg gave a
nervous twitch. Hopefully, they didn’t notice them, or else it’d all be over.
“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?” Madam Rosmerta said.
Fudge’s thick body twisted in his chair as though he was checking for eavesdroppers. Then he said
in a quiet voice, “What else, m’dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the
school at Halloween?”
“I did hear a rumour,” admitted Madam Rosmerta.
“Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?” said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.
“Do you think Black’s still in the area, Minister?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.
“I’m sure of it,” said Fudge shortly.
“You know that the Dementors have searched my pub twice?” said Madam Rosmerta, a slight edge
to her voice. “Scared all my customers away ... it’s very bad for business, Minister.”
“Rosmerta, m’dear, I don’t like them any more than you do,” said Fudge uncomfortably.
“Necessary precaution... unfortunate, but there you are... I’ve just met some of them. They’re in a
fury against Dumbledore – he won’t let them inside the castle grounds.”
“I should think not,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “How are we supposed to teach with
those horrors floating around?”
“Hear, hear!” squeaked tiny Professor Flitwick, whose feet were dangling a foot from the ground.
“All the same,” demurred Fudge, “they are here to protect you all from something much worse...
we all know what Black’s capable of…”
“Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,” said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. “Of all the
people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought ... I mean, I
remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you’d told me then what he was going to
become, I’d have said you’d had too much mead.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge gruffly. “The worst he did isn’t widely
known.”
“The worst?” said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. “Worse than murdering all
those poor people, you mean?”
“I certainly do,” said Fudge.
“I can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?”
“You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,” murmured Professor McGonagall. “Do you
remember who his best friend was?”
“Naturally,” said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did
you? The number of times I had them in here – ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double
act, Sirius Black and James Potter!”
Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Ron kicked him just as Hermione was about to.
“Precisely,” said Professor McGonagall. “Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both
very bright, of course – exceptionally bright, in fact – but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair
of troublemakers –”
“I dunno,” chuckled Hagrid. “Fred and George Weasley could give ’em a run fer their money.”
“You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers!” chimed in Professor Flitwick.
“Inseparable!”
“Of course they were,” said Fudge. “Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing
changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named
him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would
torment him.”
“Because Black turned out to be in league with You Know Who?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.
“Worse even than that, m’dear…” Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble.
“Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You Know Who was after them. Dumbledore,
who was of course working tirelessly against You Know Who, had a number of useful spies. One
of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding.
Well, of course, You Know Who wasn’t an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that
their best chance was the Fidelius Charm.”
“How does that work?” said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest. Professor Flitwick cleared
his throat.
“An immensely complex spell,” he said squeakily, “involving the magical concealment of a secret
inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper,
and is henceforth impossible to find – unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As
long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You Know Who could search the village where Lily
and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against
their sitting-room window!”
“So Black was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.
“Naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die
rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself ... and yet,
Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper himself.”
“He suspected Black?” gasped Madam Rosmerta.
“He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You Know Who informed of
their movements,” said Professor McGonagall darkly. “Indeed, he had suspected for some time that
someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You Know Who.”
“But James Potter insisted on using Black?”
“He did,” said Fudge heavily. “And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been
performed –”
“Black betrayed them?” breathed Madam Rosmerta.
“He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support
openly for You Know Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters’
death. But, as we all know, You Know Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone,
horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His Master had
fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no
choice but to run for it –”
“Filthy, stinkin’ turncoat!” Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.
“Shh!” said Professor McGonagall.
“I met him!” growled Hagrid. “I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It
was me what rescued Harry from Lily an’ James’s house after they was killed! Jus’ got him outta
the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an’ his parents dead ... an’ Sirius
Black turns up, on that flyin’ motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin’
there. I didn’ know he’d bin Lily an’ James’s Secret-Keeper. Thought he’d jus’ heard the news o’
You Know Who’s attack an’ come ter see what he could do. White an’ shakin’, he was. An’ yeh
know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN’ TRAITOR!” Hagrid roared.
“Hagrid, please!” said Professor McGonagall. “Keep your voice down!”
“How was I ter know he wasn’ upset abou’ Lily an’ James? It was You Know Who he cared
abou’! An’ then he says, ‘Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I’m his godfather, I’ll look after him.’ Ha!
But I’d had me orders from Dumbledore, an’ I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter
his aunt an’ uncle’s. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get
Harry there. ‘I won’ need it any more,’ he says.
“I shoulda known there was somethin’ fishy goin’ on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he
givin’ it ter me for? Why wouldn’ he need it any more? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace.
Dumbledore knew he’d bin the Potters’ Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin’ ter have ter run
fer it that night, knew it was a matter o’ hours before the Ministry was after him.
“But what if I’d given Harry to him, eh? I bet he’d’ve pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea.
His bes’ friend’s son! But when a wizard goes over ter the dark side, there’s nothin’ and no one
that matters to ’em any more…”
A long silence followed Hagrid’s story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, “But
he didn’t manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!”
“Alas, if only we had,” said Fudge bitterly. “It was not we who found him. It was little Peter
Pettigrew – another of the Potters’ friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black
had been the Potters’ Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself.”
“Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?” said
Madam Rosmerta.
“Hero-worshipped Black and Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. “Never quite in their league,
talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I – how I regret that now.”
She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.
“There, now, Minerva,” said Fudge kindly, “Pettigrew died a hero’s death. Eye-witnesses –
Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later – told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They
say he was sobbing. ‘Lily and James, Sirius! How could you!’ And then he went for his wand.
Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens.”
Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, “Stupid boy... foolish boy... he was always
hopeless at duelling... should have left it to the Ministry…”
“I tell yeh, if I’d got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn’t’ve messed around with wands
– I’d’ve ripped him limb – from – limb,” Hagrid growled.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hagrid,” said Fudge sharply. “Nobody but trained Hit
Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once
he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and
I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I – I will never forget it. I
still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer
below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was
left of Pettigrew in front of him... a heap of blood-stained robes and a few – a few fragments –”
Fudge’s voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown.
“Well, there you have it, Rosmerta,’ said Fudge thickly. “Black was taken away by twenty
members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First
Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since.”
Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. “Is it true he’s mad, Minister?”
“I wish I could say that he was,” said Fudge slowly. “I certainly believe his master’s defeat
unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a
cornered and desperate man – cruel... pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban.
You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark, there’s no sense in
them... but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was
unnerving. You’d have thought he was merely bored – asked if I’d finished with my newspaper,
cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect
the Dementors seemed to be having on him – and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the
place, you know. Dementors outside his door, day and night.”
“But what do you think he’s broken out to do?” said Madam Rosmerta. “Good gracious, Minister,
he isn’t trying to rejoin You Know Who, is he?”
“I daresay that is his – er – eventual plan,” said Fudge evasively. “But we hope to catch Black long
before that. I must say, You Know Who alone and friendless is one thing ... but give him back his
most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he’ll rise again…”
There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.
“You know, Cornelius, if you’re dining with the Headmaster, we’d better head back up to the
castle,” said Professor McGonagall.
The sound of five chairs scraping on the floor broke Hermione, Ron, and Harry out of their trance.
The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the
teachers disappeared.
“Harry?” Hermione said, full of emotion. She and Ron looked under the table at Harry, lost for
words.
The Firebolt
Harry was absolutely silent as they walked back to Honeydukes so he could take the secret
passageway back to the castle. Hermione’s heart broke for him. She was so worried about him that
she couldn’t even begin to dissect the conversation they had just heard. Sirius Black was Harry’s
Godfather? And betrayed Lily and James Potter? No wonder Mr Weasley told Harry he must not
go looking for Black.
Hermione and Ron watched Harry nervously all through dinner back at the castle, not daring to talk
about what they’d overheard because Percy was sitting close by them. When they went upstairs to
the crowded common room, it was to find Fred and George had set off half-a-dozen Dungbombs in
a fit of end-of-term high spirits. Harry avoided everyone and went straight up the steps toward his
room.
“You should go up there with him,” Hermione said to Ron.
“He just needs some time,” Ron said.
“I’m really worried about him,” she whispered. “Can you imagine what he must be thinking right
now?”
“I-I-” Ron stuttered. “I- No, I can’t imagine.” He paused at a loss of words. “Bloody hell!” was all
he could get out.
They sat for a few minutes together, replaying the conversation in their heads.
“You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers!”
“Black was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper!”
“Black betrayed them!”
“Murderin’ Traitor!”
“You’re right, ‘Mione,” Ron said, getting up. “I’m going to go and check on him.”
Hermione watched Ron go up the stairs to their shared dorm room. She tried to mute the horrible
conversation replaying in her mind by focusing on all of the Gryffindors packing up for the
Christmas Holiday, but it was no use. Hagrid’s strangled cry of, “Murderin’ Traitor,” was on a
constant loop.
From out of nowhere, Crookshanks pounced onto Hermione’s lap. If she ever needed his comfort,
then was the time. She buried her face in his soft, orange fur and tried not to cry.
Ron came back down almost immediately. “He was asleep,” he said. “Or at least pretending to be
asleep. I just left him alone.”
“Probably for the best,” Hermione said. “At least for now while the shock is new.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Ron said, shaking his head as he plopped down next to Hermione on the
comfy couch near the fireplace. “He was their friend! How could someone do that to their
friends?!”
“I don’t have the faintest idea,” Hermione said, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong with you lot?” Ginny asked as she sat down to join them. “You look like someone
nicked all of your Hogsmeade purchases and spat in your Butterbeer.”
“Sod off,” Ron said harshly.
“Oh, come off it,” Ginny said, ruffling her brother’s hair.
Ron smacked her arm away. Hermione, in turn, smacked Ron’s arm. “Don’t hit her, you prat!” Ron
sat back, sulking and trying to fix his hair.
Ginny laughed. “I could get used to having another girl on my side,” she said. “But, honestly,
what’s wrong with you two?”
Hermione hesitated. It wasn’t really her story to tell. Plus, it’d be hard to explain how Harry got to
Hogsmeade. Just as she decided she’d have to make something up, for now, Ron opened his
mouth.
“We found out Sirius Black was actually Harry’s Godfather and that he was the one that sold his
parents out to You Know Who!”
Ginny put her hands over her mouth. “You’re kidding!”
“Unfortunately not,” Hermione said.
“How did you find out?”
“We overheard some of the professors and the Minister of Magic at the Three Broomsticks,” Ron
said.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Hermione said. “We weren’t meant to hear it.”
“I won’t,” Ginny said. “Does Harry know?”
Hermione hesitated again.
“‘Course he knows,” Ron said.
“Is he ok? Where is he?”
“Up in the dorm, pretending to be asleep,” Ron said miserably.
Hermione was glad Ginny didn’t ask how Harry knew. She, obviously, didn’t like to keep secrets
from one of her best friends, but telling her about a magical map kind of thought for itself would
probably not be taken well by someone who had been the victim of a thinking and interactive
diary.
“What’s he going to do about it?” Ginny asked.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. What could Harry possibly do about something that
happened twelve years ago?
“Well, is he going to do something stupid like go find Black and confront him?”
“No!” Hermione said quickly without thinking. “That’d be the stupidest thing…” her voice
dropped off as she made a very significant revelation: they were talking about Harry “Meddling
James” Potter. Of course, he would try to track down a dangerous serial killer even though he was
only thirteen and the serial killer was strong enough to escape an escape-proof Wizard prison.
“He’s definitely going to try to confront him,” Ginny confirmed Hermione’s thoughts.
“Well, we’re just going to have to talk some sense into him,” Hermione said firmly. She looked
directly at Ron. “That means you too, Ron. You have to be on our side to convince him. We have
to be united. You, especially, must be firm. Do you understand me?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Ron said, slumping back into his chair. “But Harry’s not gonna want to hear it.”
----The next morning, Harry didn’t stumble out of the dorm room until nearly lunch. Everyone had left
for the holidays, so it was pretty deserted. Hermione was hoping to use the off-time to catch up on
all of her homework instead of having to use the Time-Turner. Ron was hoping to use the off-time
to catch up on his snacking. He was eating his third Peppermint Toad and rubbing his stomach to,
as he said, “make room” for more. Crookshanks was curled up in front of the fire like a large,
ginger rug.
“Harry, you - you look terrible,” Hermione said. He was pale and had dark circles around his eyes.
His usually messy mop of raven coloured hair looked even more dishevelled than usual.
“Where is everyone?” said Harry.
“Gone! It’s the first day of the holidays, remember?” said Ron, watching Harry closely. “It’s nearly
lunchtime. I was going to come and wake you up in a minute.”
Harry slumped into a chair next to the fire. “You really don’t look well, you know,” Hermione
said, peering anxiously into his face.
“I’m fine,” said Harry.
“Harry, listen,” said Hermione, exchanging a look with Ron to make sure he was on board; they
had rehearsed that morning. “You must be really upset about what we heard yesterday. But the
thing is, you mustn’t go doing anything stupid.”
“Like what?” said Harry.
“Like trying to go after Black,” Ron said sharply.
Harry didn’t answer.
“You won’t, will you, Harry?” said Hermione.
“Because Black’s not worth dying for,” said Ron. That was another of the lines they had
rehearsed.
“D’you know what I see and hear every time a Dementor gets too near to me?” Hermione and Ron
shook their heads, looking apprehensive. Harry continued. “I can hear my mum screaming and
pleading with Voldemort. And if you’d heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed,
you wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend
of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her-”
“There’s nothing you can do!” said Hermione, looking stricken. “The Dementors will catch Black,
and he’ll go back to Azkaban and - and serve him right!”
“You heard what Fudge said. Black isn’t affected by Azkaban like normal people are. It’s not a
punishment for him like it is for the others.”
“So what are you saying?” said Ron, looking very tense. “You want to - to kill Black or
something?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione in a panicky voice. “Harry doesn’t want to kill anyone, do you,
Harry?”
Harry paused for a moment. “Malfoy knows,” he said abruptly. “Remember what he said to me in
Potions? ‘If it was me, I’d hunt him down myself… I’d want revenge.’”
“You’re going to take Malfoy’s advice instead of ours?” said Ron furiously. “Listen, you know
what Pettigrew’s mother got back after Black had finished with him? Dad told me - the Order of
Merlin, First Class, and Pettigrew’s finger in a box. That was the biggest bit of him they could
find. Black’s a madman, Harry, and he’s dangerous-”
“Malfoy’s dad must have told him,” said Harry, ignoring Ron. “He was right in Voldemort’s inner
circle-”
“Say ‘You Know Who,’ will you?” interjected Ron angrily.
“-so obviously, the Malfoys, the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort-”
“-and Malfoy’d love to see you blown into a million pieces, like Pettigrew! Get a grip, Malfoy’s
just hoping you’ll get yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch.”
“Harry, please!” said Hermione, her eyes now shining with tears. “Please be sensible. Black did a
terrible, terrible thing, but d-don’t put yourself in danger. It’s what Black wants… Oh, Harry, you’d
be playing right into Black’s hands if you went looking for him. Your mum and dad wouldn’t want
you to get hurt, would they? They’d never want you to go looking for Black!”
“I’ll never know what they’d have wanted because, thanks to Black, I’ve never spoken to them,”
said Harry shortly. Hermione felt as though she had been slapped. She felt horrible for saying what
she did.
There was a silence in which Crookshanks stretched luxuriously, flexing his claws. Ron’s pocket
quivered.
“Look,” said Ron, obviously casting around for a change of subject. “It’s the holidays! It’s nearly
Christmas! Let’s - let’s go down and see Hagrid. We haven’t visited him for ages!”
“No!” said Hermione quickly. “Harry isn’t supposed to leave the castle, Ron-”
“Yeah, let’s go,” said Harry, sitting up. “And I can ask him how come he never mentioned Black
when he told me all about my parents.”
A flash of panic crossed Ron’s face. “Or we could have a game of chess,” he said hastily. “Or
Gobstones. Percy left a set-”
“No, let’s visit Hagrid,” said Harry firmly.
“So they got their cloaks from their dormitories and set off through the portrait hole (“Stand and
fight, you yellow-bellied mongrels!”), down through the empty castle and out through the oak front
doors.
They made their way slowly down the lawn, making a shallow trench in the glittering, powdery
snow, their socks and the hems of their cloaks soaked and freezing. The Forbidden Forest looked
as though it had been enchanted, each tree muttered with silver, and Hagrid’s cabin looked like an
iced cake.
Ron knocked, but there was no answer.
“He’s not out, is he?” said Hermione, who was shivering under her cloak.
Ron had his ear to the door.
“There’s a weird noise,” he said. “Listen - is that Fang?”
Hermione and Harry put their ears to the door, too. From inside the cabin came a series of low,
throbbing moans.
“Think we’d better go and get someone?” said Ron nervously.
“Hagrid!” called Harry, thumping the door.”Hagrid, are you in there?”
There was a sound of heavy footsteps, and then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his
eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather waistcoat.
“Yeh’ve heard!” he bellowed and flung himself onto Harry’s neck.
Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this was no laughing matter. Ron and
Hermione had to save Harry from being crushed under Hagrid’s weight by each seizing Hagrid’s
arm and heaved him back into the cabin. Hagrid allowed himself to be steered into a chair and
slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that had dropped down
into his tangled beard.
“Hagrid, what is it?” said Hermione.
Harry pointed to an official-looking letter lying open on the oversized table. “What’s this, Hagrid?”
Hagrid’s sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter towards Harry, who picked it up and read aloud:
Dear Mr Hagrid,
Further to our inquiry into the attack by a Hippogriff on a student in your class, we
have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility
for the regrettable incident.
“Well, that’s ok then, Hagrid!” said Ron, clapping Hagrid on the shoulder. Hagrid continued to
sob, however, and waved one of his gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on.
However, we must register our concern about the Hippogriff in question. We have
decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will
therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The
hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your
Hippogriff at the Committee’s offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the
Hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.
Yours in fellowship…
Harry tilted the letter down so they could see the list of the school governors.
“Oh,” said Ron. “But you said Buckbeak isn’t a bad Hippogriff, Hagrid! I bet he’ll get off-”
“Yeh don’ know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures!”
choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “They’ve got it in fer interestin’ creatures!”
A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin made Hermione, Ron and Harry whip around.
Buckbeak the Hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood
all over the floor.
“I couldn’ leave him tied up out there in the snow!” choked Hagrid. “All on his own! At
Christmas!”
Hermione, Ron, and Harry looked at each other. They had never seen eye to eye with Hagrid about
what he called “interesting creatures” and other people called “terrifying monsters.” On the other
hand, there didn’t seem to be any particular harm in Buckbeak. In fact, by Hagrid’s usual standards,
he was positively cute.
“You’ll have to put up a good strong defence, Hagrid,” said Hermione. “I’m sure you can prove
Buckbeak is safe.”
“Won’ make no diff’rence!” sobbed Hagrid. “Them Disposal devils, they’re all in Lucius Malfoy’s
pocket! Scared o’ him! An’ if I lose the case, Buckbeak-”
Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forwards, his
face in his arms.
“What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?” said Harry.
“He’s done more’n enough fer me already,” groaned Hagrid. “Got enough on his plate with keepin’
them Dementors outta the castle, an’ Sirius Black lurkin’ around-”
Hermione and Ron looked quickly at Harry, as though expecting him to start berating Hagrid for
not telling him the truth about Black. But Harry couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it.
“Listen, Hagrid,” he said. “You can’t give up. Hermione’s right. You just need a good defence.
You can call us as witnesses-”
“I’m sure I’ve read about a case of Hippogriff baiting,” said Hermione thoughtfully, trying to riffle
through the different books in her head, “where the Hippogriff got off. I’ll look it up for you,
Hagrid, and see exactly what happened.”
Hagrid howled still more loudly. Hermione and Harry looked at Ron to help them. They had each
tried; now it was Ron’s turn.
“Er - shall I make a cup of tea?” said Ron.
Hermione frowned at him. “It’s what my mum does whenever someone’s upset,” Ron muttered,
shrugging.
At last, after many more assurances of help, with a steaming mug of tea in front of him, Hagrid
blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and said, “Yer right. I can’ afford to go ter
pieces. Gotta pull meself together…”
Fang, the boarhound, came timidly out from under the table and laid his head on Hagrid’s knee.
“I’ve not bin meself lately,” said Hagrid, stoking Gang with one hand and mopping his face with
the other. “Worried abou’ Buckbeak, an’ no one likin’ me classes-”
“We do like them!” lied Hermione at once.
“Yeah, they’re great!” said Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. “We - how are the
Flobberworms?”
“Dead,” said Hagrid gloomily. “Too much lettuce.”
“Oh no!” said Ron, his lip twitching.
“An’ them Dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an’ all,” said Hagrid, with a sudden shutter.
“Gotta walk past ‘em ev’ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. ‘S like bein’ back in
Azkaban-”
He fell silent, gulping his tea. Hermione, Ron, and Harry watched him breathlessly. They had
never heard Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. After a brief pause, Hermione said
timidly, “Is it awful in there, Hagrid?”
“Yeh’ve no idea,” said Hagrid quietly. “Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin’ mad. Kep’
goin’ over horrible stuff in me mind… the day I got expelled from Hogwarts… day me Dad died…
day I had ter let Norbert go…”
His eyes filled with tears. Norbert was the baby dragon Hagrid had once won in a game of cards.
“Yeh can’ really remember who yeh are after a while. An’ yeh can’ see the point o’ livin’ at all. I
used ter hope I’d jus’ die in me sleep… when they let me out, it was like bein’ born again,
ev’rythin’ came floodin’ back, it was the bes’ feelin’ in the world. Mind, the Dementors weren’t
keen on lettin’ me go.”
“But you were innocent!” said Hermione.
Hagrid snorted.
“Think that matters to them? They don’ care. Long as they’ve got a couple o’ hundred humans
stitch there with ‘em, so they can leech all the happiness out of ‘em, they don’ give a damn who’s
guilty an’ who’s not.”
Hagrid went quiet for a moment, staring into his tea. Then he said quietly, “Thought o’ just letting
Buckbeak go… tryin’ ter make him fly away… but how d’yeh explain ter a Hippogriff it’s gotta go
inter hidin’? An’ - an’ I’m scared o’ breakin’ the law…” He looked up at them, tears leaking down
his face again. “I don’ ever want ter go back ter Azkaban.”
-----
The trip to Hagrid’s, though far from fun, nevertheless had the effect Hermione and Ron had
hoped. Though Harry had, by no means, forgotten about Black, he couldn’t constantly brood on
revenge if he wanted to help Hagrid win his case against the Committee for the Disposal of
Dangerous Creatures. Hermione, Ron, and Harry went to the library the next day and returned to
the empty common room laden with books which might prepare a defence for Buckbeak. The three
of them sat in front of the roaring fire, slowly turning the pages of dusty volumes about famous
cases of marauding beasts. If Hermione hadn’t been so hyperfocused on researching the case, she’d
be in awe of how diligently the boys were taking this. It was, by far, the most she had ever seen
them read. They continued for hours, speaking occasionally when they ran across something
relevant.
“Here’s something: there was a case in 1722… but the Hippogriff was convicted. Urgh. Look what
they did to it! That’s disgusting-”
“This might help, look: a Manticore savaged someone in 1296, and they let the Manticore off - oh
- no, that was only because everyone was too scared to go near it…”
Meanwhile, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations had been put up in the rest of the castle,
despite the fact that hardly any of the students remained to enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly
and mistletoe were strung along the corridors, mysterious lights shone from inside every suit of
armour, and the Great Hall was filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees glittering with golden
stars.
Hermione felt a twinge of guilt for missing another holiday with her parents but nothing they could
have done could rival what it felt like to be in Hogwarts castle at Christmastime. The hushed quiet
of the hallowed halls was an experience like none other. The castle definitely proved to be magical
even without Witches and Wizards navigating its halls.
Parvati, Lavender, Fay, and Alice all had gone home for the holidays, so Hermione was able to get
a lot of work done without their incessant chattering. She did, however, put her work aside to have
a sleepover with Ginny on Christmas Eve. They had so much fun, making fun of the boys and
chatting about all kinds of things.
On Christmas morning, Hermione was woken by Ginny throwing a pillow at her. “Oy! Presents!”
At the foot of their beds (Father Christmas and the owls must have known Ginny was staying in her
room) were two small heaps of parcels. Hermione’s parents had sent her a few different books
(most notably A People’s History of England by A.L. Morton and Victorian Feminists by Barbara
Caine) that she could use to teach Sophie with Muggle Studies, as well as some toys for
Crookshanks. Hermione hoped giving Crookshanks some toys would help to take his mind off of
Scabbers. As usual, her parents also sent her a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss. To make
Crookshanks feel a bit more festive, she put a bit of tinsel around his neck.
Ginny opened a few of her gifts from her family. There were about a dozen home-baked mince
pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of the most delicious nut brittle Hermione had ever tasted.
Ginny’s last box, a long, rectangular one with a ribbon tied around it, contained one of Mrs
Weasley’s famous home-knitted jumpers. It was a deep scarlet with a gold “G” knitted on the front.
It was also big enough to fit three of Ginny inside it.
“How much do you want to bet Mum got me and George mixed up,” Ginny said with a grin as she
tried to pull her hands out of the giant sleeves. “Mine would come up to his midriff!”
“If he could even get it over his head!” Hermione added, laughing at the mental image of George
prancing about in a midriff sweater with sleeves that come to his elbows.
The girls lounged about, snacking on Christmas cake and sweets from Honeydukes and thoroughly
enjoying each other’s company. Eventually, Hermione decided to go visit with Harry and Ron in
their room. Ginny told her to go on without her - she would rather “take a kip before lunch than
spend time in the smelly boys’ room.”
Hermione scooped up Crookshanks and made her way to the boys’ dorm. As she walked into Ron
and Harry’s room, they were giggling like little school girls.
“What’re you two laughing about?”
“Don’t bring him in here!” said Ron, hurriedly snatching Scabbers from the depths of his bed and
stowing him in his pyjama pocket. She paid him no attention and dropped Crookshanks onto
Seamus’s empty bed. Something on Harry’s bed caught her eye. She gasped; she may not be a
sports fan, but even she knew what a Firebolt was.
“Oh, Harry! Who sent you that?!” she asked, staring open-mouthed at, arguably, one of the best
Quidditch brooms in the world.
“No idea,” said Harry. “There wasn’t a card or anything with it.”
Hermione’s insides went cold, and she could feel the blood drain from her face. She bit her lip with
worry.
“What’s the matter with you?” said Ron.
“I don’t know,” said Hermione slowly. “But it’s a bit odd, isn’t it? I mean, this is supposed to be
quite a good broom, isn't it?”
Ron sighed exasperatedly. “It’s the best broom there is, Hermione,” he said.
“So it must’ve been really expensive…” Didn’t they see the problem?
“Probably cost more than all the Slytherins’ brooms put together,” said Ron happily.
“Well… who’d send Harry something as expensive as that and not even tell him they’d sent it?”
asked Hermione. Clearly, they had to see the issue.
“Who cares?” said Ron impatiently. “Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it? Can I?”
“I don’t think anyone should ride that broom just yet,” said Hermione shrilly. They obviously
weren’t thinking clearly.
“What d’you think Harry’s going to do with it, sweep the floor?” said Ron.
But before Hermione could answer, Crookshanks sprang from Seamus’s bed, right at Ron’s chest.
“GET HIM OUT OF HERE!” Ron bellowed as Crookshanks’ claws ripped his pyjamas, and
Scabbers attempted a wild escape. It all happened in a chaotic blur. Ron seized Scabbers by the tail
and tried to kick Crookshanks, who pounced easily out of the way. Ron, instead, kicked the trunk
at the end of Harry’s bed, knocking it over, and caused Ron to start hopping on the spot, grabbing
his leg and howling with pain.
Everything paused as if frozen. Crookshanks’ stood as still as a statue, his fur suddenly on end. A
shrill, tinny whistling was filling the room. The Pocket Sneakoscope had become dislodged and
was whirling and gleaming on the floor.
“I forgot about that,” Harry said, bending down and picking up the Sneakoscope and the dirty
socks he had kept it in. “I never wear those socks if I can help it…”
The Sneakoscope whirled and whistled in his palm. Crookshanks was hissing and spitting at it.
“You’d better take that cat out of here, Hermione,” said Ron furiously. “Can’t you shut that thing
up?” he added to Harry.
Seething with annoyance, Hermione scooped up Crookshanks and stalked out of the room.
Crookshanks perched himself on Hermione’s shoulder, keeping an eye on Ron as they walked out
of the room. She could hear them as she walked down the hall:
“He’s not looking too good, is he?”
“It’s stress! He’d be fine if that stupid great furball left him alone!”
Hermione gave Crookshanks a tight squeeze. “You can’t help but be a cat,” she murmured into his
fur. “It’s not your fault.”
When she reached her own dorm room, Ginny was nowhere to be found. She shut Crookshanks
into the room and started walking around the empty girls’ dormitory. The sound of a toilet flush
caught her attention.
“Ginny? Is that you?” Hermione asked.
A retching sound was her reply.
“Oh no, what happened?” Hermione asked. Ginny was clearly ill.
“I think I’ve eaten too many mincemeat pies,” Ginny groaned. “That, or one of the sweets Fred and
George sent was one of their Puking Pastilles they had been making.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
“No, thank you,” Ginny answered. “I just want to go to bed.”
“Ok, well, feel better and just yell if you need anything!”Hermione felt horrible for her friend but
knew she’d want to be left alone if it were her.
Christmas spirit was definitely thin on the ground in the Gryffindor common room that morning.
Hermione was furious with Ron for trying to kick Crookshanks; Ron was still fuming about
Crookshanks’s fresh attempt to eat Scabbers. Harry gave up trying to make them talk to each other
and devoted himself to examining the Firebolt, which he had brought down to the common room
with him. That annoyed Hermione as well - how the boys couldn’t see the thing was potentially
dangerous was beyond her. For all they knew, Sirius Black could have jinxed it and then sent it to
Harry.
They went down to the Great Hall at lunchtime and found that the house tables had been moved
against the walls again. A single table, set for twelve, stood in the middle of the room. Professors
Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick were there, along with Filch, the caretaker,
who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather mouldy-looking
tailcoat. There were only three other students: two extremely nervous-looking first-years and a
sullen-faced Slytherin fifth-year. Sophie, Neville, and all of Hermione’s other friends had gone
home to spend the holidays with their families.
“Merry Christmas!” said Dumbledore as Hermione, Ron, and Harry reached the table. “As there
are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the house tables. Sit down, sit down!”
Hermione, Ron, and Harry obliged and sat down side by side at the end of the table.
“Crackers!” said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver one to Snape, who
took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large,
pointed witch’s hat topped with a stuffed vulture.
Hermione immediately recognised the similarities between the Popper hat and the hat Neville’s
Boggart Snape wore. She and the boys tried not to giggle. Snape’s mouth thinned, and he pushed
the hat towards Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard’s hat at once.
“Tuck in!” he advised the table.
“Where’s Miss Weasley?” asked Professor McGonagall, who was sitting across from Hermione. “I
assumed she’d be joining us as well.”
“She’s ill, unfortunately,” Hermione said. Ron’s ears perked up.
“Ginny’s sick?”
“Did you not notice she hasn’t been around all day?” Hermione said.
“Guess not,” Ron said, passing the roast potatoes to Harry.
The doors of the Great Hall opened suddenly. Professor Trelawney floated towards them as though
on wheels. She had a green sequined dress on, making her look like a glittering, oversized
dragonfly. Hermione tried not to turn up her nose at the new guest.
“Sybill! This is a pleasant surprise!” said Dumbledore, standing up.
“I have been crystal-gazing, Headmaster,” said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most faraway
voice. Hermione and Professor McGonagall both made a slight snorting noise. “And, to my
astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to
refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my
lateness…”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “Let me draw you up a chair-”
And he did, indeed, draw a chair in mid-air with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds
before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney,
however, did not sit down. Her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly
uttered a kind of soft scream.
“I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky!
Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!”
“We’ll risk it, Sybill,” said Professor McGonagall impatiently. Hermione smirked. “Do sit down.
The turkey’s getting stone cold.”
Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth
clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Professor McGonagall poked a
large spoon into the nearest tureen.
“Tripe, Sybill?”
Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, “But
where is dear Professor Lupin?”
“I’m afraid the poor fellow is ill again,” said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start
serving themselves. “Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day.”
Full moons didn’t revolve around holidays, Hermione thought to herself. She glanced down the
table to Snape, who, it appeared, was thinking the same thing.
“But surely you already knew that, Sybill?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised.
Hermione giggled again but tried to hide it in a cough.
Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall an icy look.
“Certainly I knew, Minerva,” she said quietly. “But one does not parade the fact that one is AllKnowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye so as not to make others
nervous.”
“That explains a great deal,” said Professor McGonagall tartly.
Professor Trelawney’s voice suddenly became a good deal less misty.
“If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very
long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal
gaze for him –”
“Imagine that,” said Professor McGonagall drily. Hermione loved her favourite professor’s sass. It
was like her own personal Christmas present.
“I doubt,” said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to Professor
McGonagall and Professor Trelawney’s conversation, “that Professor Lupin is in any immediate
danger. Severus, you’ve made the Potion for him again?”
Hermione’s head whipped around the table, taken aback that Dumbledore would so blatantly
mention the potion.
“Yes, Headmaster,” said Snape.
“Good,” said Dumbledore. “Then he should be up and about in no time ... Derek, have you had any
of these chipolatas? They’re excellent.”
The first-year boy went furiously red on being addressed directly by Dumbledore and took the
platter of sausages with trembling hands.
Professor Trelawney behaved almost normally until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours
later. Full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing their cracker hats, Harry and Ron got
up first from the table, and she shrieked loudly.
“My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?”
“Dunno,” said Ron, looking uneasily at Harry.
“I doubt it will make much difference,” said Professor McGonagall coldly, “unless a mad axe-man
is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall.”
Professor McGonagall’s attempt at a joke snapped Hermione back to the very concerning problem
currently propped up near Harry's bed in the Gryffindor dormitories: the Firebolt. Harry and Ron
still had no qualms about the mysterious present and clearly did not have the forethought to realise
if something was too good to be true, it usually was. The more Hermione thought about it, the
more she believed the broomstick was, indeed, sent by Sirius Black and should be considered
extremely dangerous. She also knew that neither Harry nor Ron would listen to her concerns.
Flying around in freezing cold circles outside was, apparently, more important than the fact there
was a “mad axe-man” trying to kill Harry Potter.
Hermione made a decision right then and there. It was not an easy one, nor would it be popular, but
it was a very necessary one.
“Coming?” Harry said to Hermione.
“No,” Hermione muttered. “I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall.”
Professor McGonagall glanced up at the mention of her name as Harry and Ron shrugged and
walked out of the Great Hall.
“What can I help you with, Miss Granger?” she asked with a smile.
“Would it be ok if we spoke in private?” Hermione asked, eying the rest of the table. “Perhaps in
your office?”
“Of course,” Professor McGonagall said with a hint of concern.
Hermione and Professor McGonagall excused themselves from the table and, a few moments later
were alone in the deputy headmistress’ office.
“What can I help you with, Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall asked with concern. “Is
everything alright? Is there a problem with your Time-Turner?”
“No, no, not that,” Hermione said. She gulped. “I’m very worried about Harry, Professor.”
“Why?”
“Well,” Hermione started. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the ball of anxiety bouncing
in her chest. “He received a very expensive present this morning for Christmas.”
“That is, for all intents and purposes, the reason for the season,” Professor McGonagall said, trying
to add a little levity.
“It was anonymous, though,” Hermione said.
“So Mr Potter has a secret admirer?”
“No - well, yes,” Hermione said. She figured she had to just come right out and say it. No more
stalling. “He got a broom, professor. He got a firebolt. And I think it is from Sirius Black.”
----Hermione and Professor McGonagall reached the portrait hole in record time. Sir Cadogan was
enjoying a Christmas party with a couple of monks, several previous Headmasters of Hogwarts,
and his fat pony. He pushed up his visor and toasted them with a flagon of mead.
“Merry - hic - Christmas! Password!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. “Scurvy cur,” she replied
impatiently.
“And the same to you!” Sir Cadogan roared as the painting swung forward to admit them.
Harry and Ron were sitting near the fire with the Firebolt and the broom servicing kit Hermione
had gotten him for his birthday. If the circumstances had been different, Hermione would have
been delighted to see Harry enjoying the present she had brought him.
Harry and Ron stared up at them. Hermione could barely contain her anxiety. She knew what was
about to happen and couldn’t bear to watch. She walked around the boys, grabbed a book, and hid
her face behind it. She kept telling herself, “It’s for the best,” over and over and over.
“So that’s it, is it?” said Professor McGonagall beadily, walking over to the fireside and staring at
the Firebolt. “Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter.”
Harry and Ron looked around at Hermione. They could see her forehead reddening over the top of
her book, which was upside-down.
“May I?” said Professor McGonagall, but she didn’t wait for an answer before pulling the Firebolt
out of their hands. She examined it carefully from handle to twig-ends. “Hmm. And there was no
note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?”
“No,” said Harry blankly.
“I see …” said Professor McGonagall. “Well, I’m afraid I will have to take this, Potter.”
“W-what?” said Harry, scrambling to his feet. “Why?”
“It will need to be checked for jinxes,” said Professor McGonagall. “Of course, I’m no expert, but I
daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down–”
“Strip it down?” repeated Ron, as though Professor McGonagall was mad.
“It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks,” said Professor McGonagall. “You will have it back if
we are sure it is jinx-free.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it!” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. “Honestly, Professor-”
“You can’t know that, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, “not until you’ve flown it,
at any rate, and I’m afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been
tampered with. I shall keep you informed.”
Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which
closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his
hands. Ron, however, rounded on Hermione.
“What did you go running to McGonagall for?”
Hermione threw her book aside. She was still pink in the face but stood up and faced Ron
defiantly.
“Because I thought – and Professor McGonagall agrees with me – that that broom was probably
sent to Harry by Sirius Black!”
The Patronus
Hermione knew better than sitting and trying to talk sense to Harry and Ron, so she made an effort
to avoid them the rest of the break. She kept reminding herself that she needed the time to study
anyways instead of being sad that she was missing out on being with her best friends. Hermione
also had the monumental task of figuring out the logistics of her new timetable (everyone’s
schedules switched slightly for the second term to accommodate the change in season).
Ginny had started to feel better the following day and joined Hermione in the deserted library.
While Hermione studied and secretly planned out lessons for Muggle Studies with Sophie, Ginny
found a book on hexes and jinxes and was pouring over the yellowed pages. Every once in a while,
Ginny asked Hermione to be the victim of one of the newest jinxes she read about, and Hermione
dutifully complied. She did, however, draw the line at the Jelly-Brain jinx; Hermione needed to
stay sharp to keep up with her work.
Ginny noticed the animosity between the Golden Trio and asked Hermione what had happened.
After Hermione explained (and Ginny had a moment to freak out over someone stripping down a
Firebolt), Ginny confirmed that she had done the right thing. “If those gits don’t realise you meant
well, they’re stupider than I thought.”
Hermione couldn’t respond. She was on the verge of tears.
“I know what will cheer you up!” Ginny said with a grin. “Do you want to hear embarrassing
stories about Ron when he was a kid?”
A mischievous grin broke out over Hermione’s face. She nodded eagerly.
“Ok,” started Ginny, leaning in. “When Ron was about five or six, I remember he had this teddy
bear stuffy that he carried around everywhere. It was purple with green dots on it. Ron loved it. He
called it ‘Tessie’ after some random great-aunt we have, but she’s weird, so I don’t know why he’d
name a stuffy after her.
“Well, Fred and George were quite good at magic, even at a young age. They would steal the older
boys’ wands and do all kinds of stuff. Somehow, they figured out how to transfigure stuff and one
day, they had me distract Ron while they stole Tessie-”
“Oh no,” murmured Hermione. She had a good idea how this story was going to end.
“Oh yes,” Ginny said with a laugh. “I started telling Ron a story about one of the garden gnomes
while the twins grabbed the stuffy….” Ginny paused for dramatic effect. “And transfigured it into
a purple and green spider!”
“No wonder Ron’s afraid of spiders!”
“He screamed for hours ,” Ginny said. “Had nightmares for years. Fred and George had to
apologise, but that didn’t do much to help Ron, nor did it stop them from doing other stuff to him
either.”
“What else did they do?” Hermione asked though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the
answer.
“Oh! There was that one time that they made Ron eat an Acid Pop,” Ginny laughed at the memory.
“Burned a hole right through his tongue. Sometimes you can hear him speak in a faint lisp if he’s
really tired or upset - we barely got him to St. Mungos in time.”
It wasn’t long before Hermione was laughing hysterically. She had no idea what she’d do without
Ginny.
On the last day of break, students started streaming back into the castle, breaking the silence of the
Holidays. Hermione tried not to look as annoyed as she felt when her dormmates returned and
moved all of her things around.
Lessons started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours
on the grounds on a raw January morning. Still, Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders
for their enjoyment. They spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep
the fire blazing while the fame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot
logs.
Later that day, as they walked back from Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hermione overheard Ron
and Harry talking. They still hadn’t talked to her since the Firebolt incident.
“Still looks ill, doesn’t he?” said Ron. “What d’you reckon’s the matter with him?”
Hermione couldn’t help herself - a loud and impatient “tuh” escaped her lips.
“And what are you tutting at us for?” said Ron irritably.
“Nothing,” Hermione said in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder.
“Yes, you were,” said Ron. “I said I wonder what’s wrong with Lupin, and you-”
Hermione was so tired of everything. She was tired of studying. She was tired of walking on
eggshells. She was tired of Ron and Harry being so incredibly dense. “Well, isn’t it obvious?!” said
Hermione.
“If you don’t want to tell us, don’t,” snapped Ron.
“Fine!” said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off.
----“You wanted to see me, Professor?” Hermione said, closing Professor McGonagall’s door behind
her. Her heart was beating wildly. Had she done something wrong? Had someone caught her using
the Time-Turner? It was nearly two months into the second term, and Hermione was barely staying
above water. The only reason she wasn’t drowning was all of the free time she had to study - Harry
and Ron were still not talking to her much.
“Yes, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said. “Please take a seat.” She gestured to the plush
wingback chairs near her desk.
Hermione tried to put her satchel down carefully, so the heavy weight of her books didn’t make a
noise, but she was too tired to control gravity. The bag fell to the floor with a thud. “Sorry,”
Hermione murmured.
“I just wanted to check in with you,” Professor McGonagall said. She peered at Hermione from
over her spectacles. “And to make sure you were all right. Are you?”
“Yes, of course, Professor,’ Hermione said, but her voice betrayed her. She cleared her throat.
“Everything is going just fine.”
“I know Mr Potter and Mr Weasley aren’t very happy with you,” the professor continued without
her usual edge. “I want to reiterate that you absolutely did the correct thing in telling me about the
Firebolt.”
“Did you or any of the other professors find anything yet?” Hermione said.
“Not yet,” said Professor McGonagall. Hermione’s face fell. “Miss Granger, even if we don’t find
a single thing wrong with the broomstick, it was still the right thing to do. Sirius Black is a
deranged criminal intent on harming Mr Potter. We cannot lower our guard.”
“Did you know Sirius Black?” Hermione asked, purposefully changing the subject. She knew the
answer to her question but was curious to hear what Professor McGonagall would say. Either way,
it would take the conversation in a different direction.
The deputy headmistress hesitated and looked at Hermione for a few moments. “Yes,” she sighed.
“Mr Black was one of my students and a member of Gryffindor house.”
“Black was in Gryffindor?!” Hermione exclaimed. She knew she was making generalisations about
houses again, but she had just assumed he was a Slytherin.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Professor McGonagall sighed. “A black stain on our house, I must say.”
“What was he like?”
“I’m afraid he was quite normal,” Professor McGonagall said. “There were no indications or
warning signs, and, believe me, I have done a lot of reflecting on that period to see if something
would stick out.”
“And did it?”
“No, nothing. He was a gifted student and an even better friend. He had a talent for magic that you
don’t see in many students. In fact, I remember he was one of the only students in his year that
could produce a corporeal Patronus Charm… which is certainly ironic because of where he ended
up.”
Hermione recognised the word but couldn’t remember it exactly. “What, exactly, is a Patronus
Charm?” she asked.
“The Patronus Charm is one of the most powerful defensive charms known to Wizardkind and is
one of the most difficult spells to cast correctly,” said Professor McGonagall. “When it does work
correctly, it conjures up a Patronus which is a kind of guardian that acts as a shield between you
and a Dementor. There are two types of Patronuses: corporeal and incorporeal Patronus. Corporeal
Patronuses have a particular shape, usually in the form of an animal. Incorporeal Patronuses have
no particular shape and do not protect against Dementors the way corporeal Patronuses do.”
“How do you cast it?” Hermione asked eagerly. Maybe if she learned how to conjure a Patronus
Charm, she could protect Harry from the Dementors, and he’d start talking to her again.
“Keep in mind, Miss Granger, the vast majority of witches and wizards are unable to produce any
form of Patronus, and to create even an intangible one is generally considered a mark of superior
magic ability,” said the professor. “That’s why it was such an accomplishment for Mr Black to be
able to produce one at all, let alone one with a corporeal shape.
“To cast the spell, the caster must think of the happiest memory they can think of (the happier the
memory, the better the charm will work). The next step is to begin drawing circles with their wand
so as to increase the power of their spell. They must say the incantation: Expecto Patronum. The
Patronus will come from the top of the wand and can be directed towards a target by pointing their
wand.”
“Could you teach me?” Hermione asked.
“The Patronus Charm is advanced magic, Miss Granger. Far beyond N.E.W.T. level. There is no
need for a third-year student to learn it.”
“Except when the third-year student is at a school surrounded by Dementors,” Hermione said
sarcastically. She covered her mouth just as soon as the words came out of her mouth. “I’m so
sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean-”
“-to get so mouthy?” Professor McGonagall smirked. “I suppose I earned that. Regardless, I still
maintain that a third-year student has no business learning the Patronus Charm, even with our
current security situation.”
Hermione’s face fell.
“Learning the Patronus Charm will not change your other current situation with Mr Potter and Mr
Weasley either,” Professor McGonagall said softly.
Hermione felt tears welling behind her eyes.
“Perhaps you should consider dropping a class or two,” Professor McGonagall continued. “I’m
afraid you are stretching yourself too thin, Miss Granger.”
“No!” Hermione gasped. “I can’t! It’s nearly two months into term!”
“You most certainly can,” Professor McGonagall said. “I can make almost anything happen in this
school, Miss Granger. You just need to say the word.”
“I just need to refine my revision schedule,” said Hermione hurriedly. “I’ll be fine. I just got behind
because of the holidays, and I’ve just really caught back up..”
Professor McGonagall sighed. “I won’t force you to do anything, Miss Granger. But please
remember giving up a class or two is not a failure by any means. It will just prove that you know
and can adhere to your limits… which is one of the hardest lessons one can ever learn.”
Hermione shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine, Professor.”
“If you change your mind-”
“-I’ll let you know.” Hermione picked her bag back up and made for the door, feeling more alone
than she had before.
----Hermione hadn’t been able to find much time for Arithmancy Club. She could see Sophie trying to
catch her eye from the Slytherin table during most meals, but Hermione pretended not to see her. It
wasn’t like Sophie could just waltz up to the Gryffindor table in the middle of dinner.
The Library, however, was fair game.
Hermione wasn’t ignoring Sophie because she didn’t want to hang out with her. She was ignoring
her because she had absolutely no free time between all of her classes and helping Hagrid with
Buckbeak’s case. Time felt as though it was unravelling.
Hermione had hunkered down in her favourite corner of the library. Her past (or present… or
future?) self was also up in her window seat in Gryffindor Tower. She was reading a rather lengthy
section in A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot when a shadow crossed over the page.
Hermione looked up to see Sophie staring down at her.
“All right, Granger?” Sophie’s Essex accent seemed particularly sharp, even in a whisper.
“Hi Sophie,” Hermione said meekly.
“Myrtle and I’ve missed you at Arithmancy club. Plus, I think you owe me some Muggle classes
too.”
“Yes! Of course!” whispered Hermione. “I’m sorry - I’ve just been really busy lately.” Hermione
felt the tears that seemed to be constantly on the verge of falling swell behind her eyes.
Sophie must have noticed because her sharp features softened slightly. “Anything I can do?”
Hermione shifted A History Of Magic to reveal another stack of books about animal rights and the
Wizard judicial system. “Do you know anything about getting a Hippogriff acquitted?”
“Malfoy actually took him to court?”
“No, not really,” Hermione sighed. “Malfoy Sr. is basically forcing the Board of Governors to take
action against Buckbeak with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.”
“That boy is a right proper git. The whole family, in fact. They’re all rubbish,” Sophie cursed.
“But, yeah, I know a bit. My dad used to work for the Disposal unit. He may have some ideas. I’ll
send him a letter.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said earnestly. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d fail Arithmancy,” Sophie said with a grin. “Otherwise known as getting second to the top
marks in Hermione-speak.”
----A few days later, Hermione was in the common room (and the library) when there was a ruckus at
the portrait hole door.
“Where’d you get it, Harry?”
“Will you let me have a go?”
“Have you ridden it yet, Harry?”
“Ravenclaw’ll have no chance. They’re all on Cleansweep Sevens!”
“Can I just hold it, Harry?”
Hermione’s heart fluttered. Had Professor McGonagall finally returned Harry’s firebolt?! She
wanted to run over to see but didn’t know if having the Firebolt back would change anything
between the three of them. She, instead, just sat on the edge of the common room while everyone
else gawked over the broom.
About ten minutes later, the commotion had died down, and Harry and Ron walked over to
Hermione.
“I got it back,” said Harry, grinning at her and holding up the Firebolt.
“See, Hermione? There wasn’t anything wrong with it!” said Ron.
“Well, there might have been!” said Hermione. “I mean, at least you know now that it’s safe!”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” said Harry. “I’d better put it upstairs.”
“I’ll take it!” said Ron eagerly. “I’ve got to give Scabbers his Rat Tonic.”
He took the Firebolt and, holding it as if it were made of glass, carried it away up the boys’
staircase.
“Can I sit down, then?” Harry asked Hermione.
“I suppose so,” said Hermione, moving a great stack of parchment off a chair. She didn’t want to
get her hopes up.
She looked up to see if Harry was sitting down. He was looking at all of her books in awe. “How
are you getting through all this stuff?” Harry asked her.
“Oh, well - you know - working hard,” said Hermione, searching for her Rune dictionary instead of
making eye contact.
“Why don’t you just drop a couple of subjects?” Harry asked.
“I couldn’t do that!” said Hermione, looking scandalised.
“Arithmancy looks terrible,” said Harry, looking at her number chart.
“Oh, no, it’s wonderful!” said Hermione. “It’s my favourite subject! It’s-”
She was interrupted by a strangled yell echoing from the boys' staircase. The whole common room
fell silent. There came hurried footsteps, growing louder and louder - and then, Ron came leaping
into view, dragging a bedsheet.
“LOOK!” he bellowed, striding over to Hermione. “LOOK!” he yelled, shaking the sheets in her
face.
“Ron, what-”
“SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!”
Hermione looked at the sheet Ron was holding. There was something red on it. Something that
looked horribly like“BLOOD!” Ron yelled into the stunned silence. “HE’S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS
ON THE FLOOR?”
“N-no,” said Hermione in a trembling voice.
Ron threw something down onto Hermione’s Rune translation. Hermione and Harry leant forward.
Lying on top of her book were several long, ginger cat hairs.
Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw
It honestly seemed like the end of Hermione and Ron’s friendship. Hermione maintained fiercely
that Ron had no proof that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers; the ginger hairs could have been there
since Christmas. Plus, Ron had been prejudiced against her cat ever since Crookshanks had landed
on Ron’s head in the Magical Menagerie.
Harry tried to maintain some neutrality, spending time with each friend separately. One day, he
tried to broach the subject with Hermione, pointing out that all of the evidence pointed to
Crookshanks eating Scabbers.
“Ok, side with Ron! I knew you would!” she said shrilly. “First the Firebolt, now Scabbers.
Everything’s my fault, isn’t it?! Just leave me alone, Harry. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Hermione did admit that it didn’t necessarily look good for the bandy-legged cat. However, there
were things Ron and Harry didn’t know that cast some doubt as to his guilt. For example, on the
day in question, Crookshanks had eaten a full meal before and after Scabbers went missing. He
was too full to eat a rat. Also, whenever Crookshanks had found and killed other creatures in the
castle, he brought them to Hermione’s room as a present (much to the dismay of her dormmates).
There were no dead Scabbers at the foot of Hermione’s bed that night.
Instead of worrying about the fate of their friendship (or even acknowledging there was something
seriously wrong), Hermione threw herself into her work even more than before. She became hyperfocused on anything academic-related, leaving no room in her head to worry about what Ron and
Harry were doing and thinking. Any time a thought snuck in, Hermione just pulled out another
book. It was just too painful, and she didn’t have time for any pain.
Luckily, Hermione had no trouble finding work to do with all of her classes. The second term was
notoriously more brutal, and Hermione was feeling each and every ounce of pressure that came
with it. With a crashing realisation one evening, Hermione realised she was up to almost thirty-four
hours a day. She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to keep it up… but pushed the
thought aside every time she turned the Time-Turner’s crown.
Regardless of the number of hours she was up to on any given day, she made time for two things:
Helping Hagrid with Buckbeak’s case and Arithmancy club.
Since she wasn’t with Harry, Hermione was free to walk down to Hagrid’s hut to help him prepare
a defence. Harry had always been closer to Hagrid, and Hermione found his giant personality
somewhat intimidating, but she had never met someone as genuinely kind and empathetic as
Rubeus Hagrid.
“Hermione! It's good ter see yeh again!” Hagrid bellowed.
“Hi Hagrid!” she said softly, entering through the enormous door frame of Hagrid’s hut, her arms
full of books she had checked out of the library. Madam Pince was never particularly helpful
(compared to Mildred, at least), but she was able to point Hermione in the right direction.
Hermione had a multitude of books on the care of animals, magical law enforcement, and standard
wizarding law books.
“I can' thank yeh enough fer helpin’ me an’ Buckbeak,” Hagrid said, huge tears welling in his eyes.
He had said the same thing each time Hermione had come down that month, each time as genuine
as the last.
“It’s no bother, Hagrid,” Hermione said. “You know how much I enjoy research!”
“Righ’ but I know yer busy with all yer classes n’at,” said Hagrid.
Hermione’s mind flashed to the memory of the first day of term when Professor McGonagall told
Hermione all of her professors knew she had the Time-Turner. She didn’t tell Hagrid, did she?
Hagrid may have all of the best intentions, but his ability to keep a secret was not his strongest
asset.
“It’s quite alright, Hagrid. I have the time,” Hermione said, eying him to see if he knew anything.
Hagrid looked blissfully unaware of the double meaning of Hermione’s statement, and she gave a
sigh of relief.
“Me an’ Buckbeak do appreciate it,” said Hagrid. “As a than’ yeh, maybe yeh wanna take
Buckbeak fer a ride roun’ the grounds? Ge’ up there inna fresh air?”
There was nothing she wanted less than to fly on the back of a Hippogriff. Hermione put a smile on
her face. “No, thank you, Hagrid. Maybe some other time. Let’s get to work!”
Hermione started at once with the first book on top of her stack. She ran her finger through the
extensive index, trying to find keywords she could look further into: Hippogriff, Animal Welfare,
Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, and so on.
They spent much of the afternoon reading. Hermione had to give Hagrid credit - he read nearly as
fast as she did. “I ‘ave a theory ‘bout tha’,” Hagrid said when she brought it up. “Me eyes are so
big tha’ I can jus’ read mo’ than the av’rage person in one sittin’,” Hagrid said. “Doesn’ mean I
understan’ it as much as them, though.”
“Don’t say that, Hagrid!” Hermione exclaimed. “You’re just as smart as anyone else!”
“Yer too kind,” Hagrid said with a sad smile. “Bu’ I know I ain’ as bright compared ter some
people.”
“Hagrid, you’re absolutely brilliant when it comes to magical creatures!” Hermione said with not a
single hit of a lie. It was true - Hagrid knew more than anyone about creatures.
“An’ look where it go’ us,” Hagrid said, beginning to cry. “Buckbeak’s gonna g - g - git…”
Hagrid’s voice dropped off as he started to wail into his open book.
Hermione hurried to get Hagrid another cup of tea and rubbed his gigantic back. “It’s going to be
ok, Hagrid. We’re going to figure this out.”
“Yeh really thin’ so?”
“I do,” Hermione said, resolving to do anything in her power to help. “But if you want to help,
you’ve got to stop crying. You’re not going to be able to read as much with tears in your eyes!”
“Yer righ’,” Hagrid said, wiping away his tears. “Yer always righ’.”
They continued reading to the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth and Fang’s snores. Every
once in a while, Hermione would jot down a note or reference a passage on a long piece of
parchment. She was particularly interested in learning more about Law Fifteen B. Law Fifteen B
was a piece of legislation passed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical
Creatures of the Ministry of Magic. It decreed that non-human, intelligent creatures (such as most
Beings, Centaurs, and Merpeople) were subject to punishment upon attacking any human.
However, it said that un-intelligent creatures were not held to the same standards. Unfortunately,
the passage was extremely vague, so Hermione wrote it down to research it later.
“Me eyes are goin’ crossed,” Hagrid said after another hour of reading. “I thin’ we better stop fer
the day, what’a yeh say?”
Hermione glanced at her watch and tried not to panic at how much time she had spent down at
Hagrid’s hut: it was worth the exhaustion of having to use the Time-Turner to save Buckbeak. “I’ll
come back next week with a few more books,” said Hermione. “I found some very interesting leads
that I’d like to explore more.”
“How ‘bout comin’ back nex’ week with Harry an’ Ron?” Hagrid said softly.
Hermione’s eyes instantly filled with tears.
“They don’t much like me these days,” Hermione said.
“Is it still ‘cause o’ the Firebolt?” Hagrid asked. Hermione just cried harder. “Somethin’ else?”
“They think Crookshanks ate Scabbers,” she hiccupped through her tears.
“They’re mad ‘cause a cat ate a rat?” Hagrid asked incredulously. “Tha’s wha’ cats do!”
“I don’t think Crookshanks ate him,” Hermione said, but even she wasn’t really sure anymore.
“Even if he did, tha’s what cats do! Why else d’yeh think Hogwarts doesn’ want students to have
pet rats!”
“What do you mean?” said Hermione, sniffling.
“Don’ yeh rem’ber yer firs’ year letter? It said students could bring an owl OR cat OR toad. Rats
weren’ ‘cluded on the list ‘cause cats were.”
Hermione did, vaguely, remember reading that section. She never questioned it, though, nor did she
put two and two together.
“List’n, ‘Mione. Yeh just pay no mind t’ those gits. They’ll come ‘round. Don’ yeh worry.”
“I hope so, Hagrid,” Hermione said, her eyes welling up again.
Hagrid gave her a giant hug, crushing the breath out of her and then sent her along her way with a
steaming thermos of tea.
----Whereas researching Buckbeak’s defence was emotional, depressing, and frustrating, Arithmancy
club had the opposite effect - it was the highlight of her week. It turned into much more than
Arithmancy. Hermione and Sophie (and Myrtle) were spending hours in the second-floor girls’
lavatory, frequently losing track of time and not getting back to their respective house common
rooms until the wee hours of the morning. Hermione would almost always use the Time-Turner to
go back and get work done, but it was worth it.
She had let Sophie borrow the Muggle books Hermione had received from her parents for
Christmas. Once Sophie got over the fact none of the pictures in the books moved, she was
extremely interested in the content. They had figured out how to transfigure the books to look like
copies of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charms (by E. Limus) and Big Foot’s Last Stand
(by Ortiz O’Flaherty), so no one would suspect the Slytherin was reading about Muggles.
“So, let me repeat this to see if I understand,” Sophie said one night in the girls’ lavatory. “There
are these things Muggles use to talk to each other called tella-phones?”
“Telephones, yes,” Hermione corrected.
“And when you speak into the telephone,” Sophie continued, stressing the proper pronunciation.
“And your voice is turned into little soundwaves into a thin, metal disk inside the telephone called
a diaphragm - not to be confused with the body part - and are converted into electrical energy. The
energy, in turn, travels over this vast network of wires to whoever they want to call. The energy is
then transferred back into soundwaves and then comes out through the earpiece of that other
phone. And that happens back and forth in a split second repeatedly all over the world?”
“Yep! That’s basically it!”
“But how do the soundwaves and electrical energy know where to go? Which wires to travel
through?”
Hermione smiled. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”
“Always the long version, Granger. Always the long version.”
“Well, if you go back to the days of the manual switchboard, it is easy to understand how the larger
phone system works,” Hermione explained. “In the days of the manual switchboard, there was a
pair of copper wires running from every house to a central office in the middle of town. The
switchboard operator sat in front of a board with one jack for every pair of wires from each house
entering the office. Above each of those jacks was a small light. When someone picked up the
telephone receiver in their home, the light would turn on and let the operator know that the
telephone wanted to make a call. The operator would connect their headset into that jack and ask
who the person would like to talk to. The operator would then send a ring signal to the receiving
party and wait for them to pick up the phone. Once they did that, the operator would connect the
two people together!
“In a modern phone system, the operator has been replaced by an electronic switch,” Hermione
continued. Sophie was listening and absorbing each and every word. “When you pick up the
phone, the switch senses the completion of your loop, and it plays a dial tone sound like this-”
Hermione made a monotone humming sound to demonstrate. “If you hear that when you pick up
the telephone, you know that the switch and your phone are working.
“Each house has its own individual identifying phone number. When you want to call someone,
you find out what their phone number is. Then you use the number pad on the telephone to ‘dial’
the number. Each number has its own tone so the automated switch can identify each number and
connect the call.”
Sophie was silent for a few minutes, absorbing it all. “And they figured all of this out without
magic?”
“To my knowledge, yes,” Hermione said. “They applied this same concept of the telephone to
something called the internet as well. It’s still relatively new, but the theory is that you can use a
machine with a screen and keyboard called a computer to access photos and text through a network
of phone wires. You can connect with people just like a phone, but you can connect with much
more than that. You can access information from anywhere in the world.”
“I hate to admit it,” Sophie said. “But this is almost more impressive than some of the advanced
magic I know.”
“I guess I’ve always taken advantage of it all,” Hermione said, “but when I have to explain it, it
really does seem pretty magical.”
“Do you have a telephone at home?”
“Yeah, we have a few in the house, but they’re all connected to the same line,” Hermione
explained and then told Sophie the story of Ron trying to use the telephone to call her and Harry
over the summer holidays.
“You know, as much as I want to make fun of the Weasley prat, I’d have probably done the same
thing,” said Sophie. “Is he still mad at you because your cat acted like a cat would and ate his
mouse?”
“It was a rat, but yes, he’s still furious,” Hermione said. “But I’m still not sure if Crookshanks did
anything! There’s no real hard proof.”
“I hate to break it to you, Granger… but… Cats eat mice.”
“I know that,” Hermione said stubbornly. “But there are some doubts.”
“Well, regardless of who killed who, Weasley needs to put it all into perspective. It was just a
stupid rat. I can catch him a new one in the dungeons tonight… and again tomorrow… and the next
day. He can have a boxful of rats if that’s what he wants.”
“I guess Scabbers has been in his family for twelve years, though,” Hermione said. She didn’t want
to defend Ron, but she couldn’t help herself.
“He’s lying to you,” said Sophie bluntly.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Rats don’t live more than a few years at most. A twelve-year-old rat just isn’t possible. He’s
lying.”
“His whole family talk about how Scabbers had been around for twelve years though.” Hermione
was confused.
“Then they’re lying too,” Sophie said simply. “Either that or they’ve been replacing the rat over the
years and not telling him. Which, if that’s the case, I’ll catch you another rat, and you can give it to
him and just call it Scabbers. He obviously wouldn’t know the difference.”
Not that Hermione doubted Sophie, but nothing about it made any sense. Why would all of the
Weasleys lie about the rat? Up until this year, when Scabbers was “threatened” by Crookshanks,
Ron had seemed slightly embarrassed to have an elderly rat as a pet; he saw it as a commentary on
his family’s inability to buy them all new things and pets.
“You sure know an awful lot about rats,” Hermione said.
Sophie shrugged. “I spend a lot of time down in the Slytherin common rooms near the dungeons.
Rats make decent friends until they die after a year or so. Unless you’re Weasley’s rat, I guess.
Then it’s a wizard in disguise.”
Hermione chuckled in response, but the whole situation bothered her. Sophie was trying to make
light of it, but Hermione couldn’t shake the idea that someone was lying… she just couldn’t figure
out who. Nonetheless, she decided to change the subject. “Oh, I forgot to ask! What did you write
for the sixteenth question on the Charms exam last week?” Hermione loved finding another person
who reviewed her answers as much as she did.
“I wrote something to the extent of, ‘The General Counter-Spell terminated all spell effects of
simple dark charms. When cast by multiple people at once, it becomes more effective.’ How about
you?”
“About the same. I added in the incantation just to be safe.”
“Smart,” Sophie said. “I should have done that as well, but was afraid I was about to run out of
time. What did you put for number three?”
Hermione tried to picture the exam in her head. “The one about the incantation?” Sophie nodded.
Hermione read off the page from her mind’s eye: “Finite is simply a more straightforward way of
casting the Counter-Spell to terminate the effects of a single spell. Saying the full incantation,
Finite Incantatem, has little to no effect on the strength of the counter-spell.”
“Brilliant,” Sophie said. “That’s what I put down too.”
The pair kept trading answers back and forth and started to discuss their various essay ideas for
History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts.
“Why aren’t you a Ravenclaw?” Sophie blurted out.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re obviously brilliant. Why were you sorted into Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw?”
“The Sorting Hat nearly sorted me into Ravenclaw,” Hermione said. “Spent a few seconds
weighing the options, and I guess Gryffindor won out.”
“Do you wish you were in Ravenclaw instead?”
Hermione had thought about that very question so many times in the last three years. She loved
being a member of Gryffindor and found that pushing herself to be brave, courageous, and daring
was one of the greatest challenges of her life. However, this year, keeping up with her schoolwork
became an even greater challenge. Would things be different if she had the support of like-minded
academics in Ravenclaw?
“Well, what about you?” Hermione said, turning the question around rather than answering it.
“I asked you first,” Sophie said.
Hermione sighed. She knew there was no arguing with Sophie. “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. It
really depends on the day. I wanted to push myself by learning something other than what I could
find in books, so I hoped I would be sorted into Gryffindor… but I didn’t think all of the focus
would be on bravery and courage and all of that. I think that’s why I like our Arithmancy club - I
get the best of both worlds. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense,” Sophie said.
“So does that mean you wish you were in Ravenclaw too?” Hermione said.
It was Sophie’s turn to pause to take a deep breath. “Yeah, the Sorting Hat wanted me in
Ravenclaw, but…” her voice drifted off. Hermione remained quiet, letting her friend find the
words. “But I was scared of what my family would say if I wasn’t in Slytherin. Not my mum and
dad so much,” she added. “They were both Slytherins, but they really aren’t your typical Slytherins
that your ilk assume they are. It’s their parents and our extended family who still subscribe to the
importance of pure-bloods and stuff like that.”
“Why are you and your parents-” Hermione couldn’t think of the right words. “-not like that?”
“When I was a few years old, we were on holiday, and I wandered into the water and started to
drown. A muggle family noticed and saved me,” said Sophie. “Ever since then, they’ve been
supporters of Muggles. They haven’t been very outspoken, mind, but they’ve stood up for them on
occasion and taught me to do the same.”
“That’s awful! I’m so glad you’re alright,” Hermione said.
“I am, too,” Sophie said with a smirk. “But, let’s change the subject because I don’t want to talk
about sappy stuff anymore. Who do you think is going to win the Quidditch match this weekend?”
----The following Saturday, Hermione woke up much later than she wanted to. She was just so tired.
She contemplated skipping the Quidditch match to make up some time (instead of using the TimeTurner) but ultimately decided against it. She vaguely remembered promising Ginny she’d go to
the game with her and didn’t want to let yet another Weasley down.
She rolled out of bed and got dressed. She put a few extra layers of clothes on - the day was clear
yet cold - and went down to the washroom to brush her teeth and hair. Before leaving her room,
Hermione grabbed her copy of Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles to read if the game
got boring or ran long.
Ginny met Hermione down in the Great Hall for breakfast. A little further down the table, Harry
and Ron were attracting a crowd with the Firebolt. Even people from the Ravenclaw and
Hufflepuff tables were coming over to look. Penelope Clearwater, Percy Weasley’s Ravenclaw
girlfriend, asked if she could hold the broom.
“Not now, Penny. No sabotage!” said Percy heartily. “Penelope and I have a bet on,” he told
anyone who was listening. “Ten Galleons on the outcome of the match.”
“Have I ever told you how much Penny annoys me?” whispered Ginny.
Hermione laughed. “Only about ten times.”
“Once for every Galleon Percy doesn’t have,” Ginny said.
Both Hermione and Ginny held their breath as Draco Malfoy sauntered up to the table.
“Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?” said a cold, drawling voice.
“Yeah, I reckon so,” said Harry casually.
“Got plenty of special features, hasn’t it? Said Malfoy. “Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute in case you get too near a Dementor.”
Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. Ginny rolled her eyes.
“Pity you can’t attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy,” Harry said. “Then it could catch the Snitch
for you.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, and he stalked away as most of the Gryffindor table laughed.
“I bet his father will hear about that,” Ginny laughed.
About a half-hour later, Hermione, Ginny, and the rest of the school were taking their seats around
the Quidditch Pitch. Hermione noticed Ron was sitting with Seamus and Dean and tried not to be
jealous.
The pitch exploded into tumultuous applause. The Ravenclaw team, dressed in blue, had just come
out to the pitch. Their Seeker, Cho Chang, was the only girl on their team and the only female
seeker in the school. Another thunderclap of applause erupted as the Gryffindor team walked out as
well.
The captains for both teams met in the centre of the pitch near Madam Hooch, the Quidditch
professor and referee. They shook hands and mounted their brooms.
Suddenly they were off! All fourteen players kicked off into the air. Harry and his Firebolt zoomed
higher and faster than any other broom; he soared around the stadium, presumably searching for
the Golden Snitch.
“They’re off!” Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins’ friend, was providing the commentary for this
game. “The big excitement of this match is the Firebolt which Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor.
According to Which Broomstick , the Firebolt’s going to be the broom of choice for the national
teams at this year’s World Championship-”
“Jordan, would you mind telling us what’s going on in the match?” interrupted Professor
McGonagall’s voice.
“Right you are Professor - just giving a bit of background information. The Firebolt, incidentally, a
built-in auto-break and-”
“Jordan!”
“Ok, ok. Gryffindor in possession. Katie Bell of Gryffindor heading for the goal…”
Hermione was starting to get bored, but she knew it was a bit too early to pull out her book and
read. She tried to get as excited as everyone else was, but all she could think of was the four
hundred and twenty-two pages she had to read in her book.
A great “Ooooooh” of disappointment from the Gryffindor stands brought Hermione’s attention
back to the game.
“Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go! Potter’s really putting it
through its paces now. See it turn - Chang’s Comet is just no match for it. The Firebolt’s precisionbalanced is really noticeable in these long-”
“JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE
COMMENTARY!”
Hermione had to chuckle at Professor McGonagall - Lee Jordan’s commentary always seemed to
annoy her. The Gryffindor head of house always tried to maintain objectivity, but Hermione knew
she was very passionate about Quidditch and winning the house cup.
Hermione looked up to the sky to find Harry and caught a scarlet blur as Harry dove, presumably
after the Golden Snitch. Cho was right behind him. Hermione had a moment of hope - if Harry
caught the snitch, the game would be over, and she would be able to go back to the castle to read!
She followed his trajectory to see if she could catch a glimpse of the elusive Golden Snitch but,
instead, what she saw made her heart skip a beat: there were three Dementors in the stands!
Harry seemed to spot them at the exact same time Hermione did. Harry plunged his hands inside
his robes, drew out his wand, and (to Hermione’s great surprise) screamed, “Expecto Patronum!”
It all happened in a matter of seconds: something silvery and white erupted from the end of his
wand; the ethereal mist shot towards the Dementors who seemed to cower in fear; Harry reached
out his wandless hand and grabbed the Golden Snitch from out of thin air.
The Gryffindors roared. Ginny started jumping up and down. Hermione joined her out of sheer
shock: Harry had just performed the Patronus charm, one of the most difficult spells in the
Wizarding World while playing around with flying balls and brooms.
The crowd descended upon the pitch, and Hermione tried not to get trampled. She wondered what
had happened to the Dementors - she was shocked to see Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and another
Slytherin laying on the ground, wrapped up in long, black, hooded robes, where the Dementors had
just been. Professor McGonagall was there, standing over them, as mad as Hermione had ever seen
her.
“An unworthy trick!” she was shouting. “A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor
Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor
Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ahh, here he comes now!”
Hermione used the Headmaster’s arrival as a distraction so she could get back to the castle. She
walked into the nearly empty common room and took a seat in her usual chair. A few minutes later,
however, the portrait hole slammed open, and the rowdy Gryffindors streamed in, ready to party.
Hermione was too tired to find another place. Plus, deep down, she hoped someone would invite
her to partake in the fun.
The party went on all day and well into the night. Fred and George Weasley disappeared for a
couple of hours and returned with armfuls of bottles of Butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and several bags
full of Honeydukes sweets. Hermione suspected they used one of the magic map’s secret passages.
Neither one of them offered her a single sweet.
Trying not to let her anxiety completely snowball out of control (why didn’t she just agree to be
sorted in Ravenclaw? Can students switch houses? Will she ever be friends with Harry and Ron
again?), Hermione tried to focus on her Muggle Studies book. Unfortunately, the particular section
she was reading was about Muggle Dentists, and it just made Hermione incredibly homesick. She
was so busy trying not to completely break down that she didn’t even notice Harry had come over
to her.
“Did you even come to the match?” he asked her.
“Of course I did,” said Hermione, willing her voice not to betray her… but it did. It wavered
slightly. She cleared her throat and tried to calm down. “And I’m very glad we won, and I think
you did really well, but I need to read this by Monday.”
“Come on, Hermione, come and have some food,” Harry said.
“I can’t, Harry. I’ve still got four hundred and twenty-two pages to read!” said Hermione, the ball
of anxiety nearly at the surface. “Anyway,” she said, glancing over at Ron. “He doesn’t want me to
join in.”
Ron chose that moment to say loudly, “If Scabbers hadn’t just been eaten, he could have had some
of these Fudge Flies. He used to really like them -”
That was the last straw. Hermione couldn’t keep it in anymore. She burst into tears. Before anyone
could say or do anything, Hermione had tucked her book under her arm and ran up the stairs to her
room.
She fell into her bed and ripped the curtains around her. She couldn’t stop crying. She could hardly
breathe. Nothing was making sense. Nothing was working.
Through her racking sobs, she felt her bed bounce slightly. Crookshanks. Hermione struggled to
open her eyes. Crookshanks could always calm her down.
What she saw made everything a thousand times worse.
Crookshanks had brought her a gift - a big, fat rat - and dropped it onto her bed with a happy meow.
----Hermione didn’t know when she finally calmed down enough to fall asleep, but she did. Her
dreams were absolutely terrifying and confusing. Nothing really made much sense, and the anxiety
of not knowing what was happening had a physical reaction to the sleeping Gryffindor. She was
trembling and breathing hard.
Her dreams switched rapidly from vignette to vignette. In one of them, Ron was screaming at the
top of his lungs about Sirius Black with a knife. Dream Hermione was running through the castle
but couldn’t find him anywhere. Finally, she saw him at the top of one of the moving staircases!
She started running up the steps, only to fall into the trick staircase andHer body jerked awake. She could still hear Ron’s cries. Hermione tried to shake the sleep from
her eyes, but the screams didn’t stop. She pulled the curtains off her bed and realised she wasn’t
the only one who heard them. Parvati and Lavender were up too, opening their room door to
investigate.
Hermione jumped out of bed, her heart racing. She grabbed her robe and followed Parvati,
Lavender, and some of the other girls towards the Gryffindor common room, where Ron was
clearly yelling.
Fred Weasley was coming down the boys’ staircase at the exact same time as Hermione and the
rest of the girls. “Excellent, are we carrying on?” said Fred.
“Everyone back upstairs!” said Percy, hurrying into the common room and pinning his Head Boy
badge to his pyjamas as he spoke.
Ron looked disheveled and pale. “Perce! Sirius Black!” he panted. “In our dormitory! With a knife!
Woke me up!”
The common room went very still.
“Nonsense,” said Percy, looking startled. “You had too much to eat, Ron. Had a nightmare-”
“I’m telling you-”
“Now, really, enough’s enough!” Professor McGonagall was at the portrait door. She slammed the
portrait behind her as she entered the common room and stared furiously around.
“I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting ridiculous! Percy, I expected
better of you!”
“I certainly didn’t authorize this, Professor!” said Percy, puffing himself up indignantly. “I was just
telling them all to get back to bed! My brother Ron here just had a nightmare-”
“IT WASN’T A NIGHTMARE!” Ron yelled. “PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS
BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!”
Professor McGonagall stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Weasley, how could he possibly have
got through the portrait hole?”
“Ask him!” said Ron, pointing a shaking finger at the back of Sir Cadogan’s picture. “Ask him if
he saw-”
Glaring suspiciously at Ron, Professor McGonagall pushed the portrait back open and went
outside. The whole common room listened with bated breath.
“Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter Gryffindor Tower?”
“Certainly, good lady!” cried Sir Cadogan.
There was a stunned silence, both inside and outside the common room.
“You – you did?” said Professor McGonagall. “But – but the password!”
“He had ’em!” said Sir Cadogan proudly. “Had the whole week’s, my lady! Read ’em off a little
piece of paper!”
Professor McGonagall pulled herself back through the portrait hole to face the stunned crowd. She
was white as chalk.
“Which person,” she said, her voice shaking. “Which abysmally foolish person wrote down this
week’s passwords and left them lying around?”
There was utter silence, broken by the smallest of terrified squeaks. Neville Longbottom, trembling
from head to fluffy-slippered toes, raised his hand slowly into the air.
Snape's Grudge
No one in Gryffindor Tower slept that night. They knew that the castle was being searched again,
and the whole house stayed awake in the common room, waiting to hear whether Black had been
caught. Professor McGonagall came back at dawn to tell them that he had escaped again.
Everywhere they went the next day, they saw signs of tighter security: Professor Flitwick could be
seen teaching the front doors to recognise a large picture of Sirius Black; Filch was suddenly
bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse
holes.
Sir Cadogan had been sacked. His portrait had been taken back to its lonely landing on the seventh
floor near Divination, and the Fat Lady was back. She had been expertly restored (Hermione
couldn’t help but be impressed with Filch’s work) but was still extremely nervous and had only
agreed to return to her job on the condition that she was given extra protection. A bunch of surly
security trolls had been hired to guard her. They paced the corridor in a menacing group, talking in
grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.
Ron had become an instant celebrity. For the first time in his life, people were paying more
attention to him than to Harry, and it was clear that Ron was rather enjoying the experience.
Though still severely shaken by the night’s events, he was happy to tell anyone who asked what
had happened with a wealth of detail.
“...I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise, and I thought it was in my dream, you know? But
then there was this draught... I woke up, and one side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled
down... I rolled over... and I saw him standing over me... like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair...
holding this great long knife, must’ve been twelve inches... and he looked at me, and I looked at
him, and then I yelled, and he scarpered!”
Ron was quite the storyteller.
Neville was in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him
from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him detention and forbidden anyone to give him the
password into the Tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night
for somebody to let him in while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him. However, none of
these punishments came close to matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days
after Black’s break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could receive over
breakfast – a Howler.
The school owls swooped into the Great Hall, carrying the post as usual, and Neville choked as a
giant barn owl landed in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak. Hermione, who was
sitting a few seats down from him, recognised the letter as a Howler at once – Ron had got one
from his mother the year before.
“Run for it, Neville!” she heard Ron advise.
Neville didn’t need telling twice. He seized the envelope and, holding it before him like a bomb,
sprinted out of the Hall, while the Slytherin table exploded with laughter at the sight of him. They
heard the Howler go off in the Entrance Hall – Neville’s grandmother’s voice, magically
magnified to a hundred times its usual volume, shrieking about how he had disgraced the whole
family.
Hermione felt horrible for him, of course, and also knew it was partly her fault - she was the one
who had gotten him the notebook to help him with the passwords in the first place. She went back
to reading the enormous Magical Law Enforcement book she had in front of her to, hopefully,
drown out Neville’s telling off.
Buckbeak’s case against the Committee for Disposal of Dangerous Creatures was the following
Friday. They were running out of time. Hermione felt like a complete failure for not being able to
find much of a defence for the poor Hippogriff other than Malfoy initiated the attack and acted
against the orders of his teacher. Hagrid didn’t think that defence would go well since most of the
school governors and the committee were “in the Malfoy’s pocket.”
Hermione was trying to avoid running into Ron or Harry if at all possible. Thankfully, they
disappeared for most of the day, and Hermione got a few quiet hours to study. Around dinner time,
the Gryffindor common room started buzzing as Percy posted a flyer to the board: another
Hogsmeade weekend.
She found it slightly reprehensible that the school would allow students to go back to Hogsmeade
with all of the security issues, but she supposed Dumbledore knew better than she did. Nonetheless,
Harry had better not think he would be safe to go this time.
Hermione happened to look up from her book as Harry and Ron entered the common room through
the portrait hole as if her thoughts summoned them. Their attention was immediately drawn to the
flyer on the wall. Hermione watched with bated breath to see how they’d react.
“Hogsmeade, next weekend!” Ron said as he and Harry passed Hermione to sit down. They didn’t
even see her sitting right there. “What d’you reckon?”
“Well, Filch hasn’t done anything about the passage into Honeydukes…” Harry said quietly.
“Harry!” Hermione hissed. Harry started and looked around at Hermione. Ron followed suit.
“Harry, if you go into Hogsmeade again… I’ll tell Professor McGonagall about that map!”
“Can you hear someone talking, Harry?” growled Ron, not looking at Hermione.
“Ron, how can you let him go with you?! After what Sirius Black nearly did to you?! I mean it, I’ll
tell-”
“So now you’re trying to get Harry expelled!” said Ron furiously. “Haven’t you done enough
damage this year?”
Hermione opened her mouth to respond. But with a soft hiss, Crookshanks leapt onto her lap.
Hermione took one frightened look at the expression on Ron’s face, gathered Crookshanks up, and
hurried away towards the girls’ dormitories with tears in her eyes.
----The following week was incredibly horrible for Hermione. Not only was she terribly upset about
yet another fight with her so-called best friends, but she also kept falling asleep when she should
have been doing her work. She had, however, read a few chapters ahead in her copy of Magical
Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger and saw that they were due to be working on the Wideye
Potion (also known as the Awakening Potion, which prevents the drinker from falling asleep) that
following week. It gave her one of her most brilliant (or hair brain) ideas to date. Hermione
knocked on Professor McGonagall’s office door after classes on Monday.
“Come in, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said. “What can I help you with? Is everything
alright?”
“Yes, Professor,” Hermione lied. “But I was hoping you could help me, if possible.”
“I can certainly try.”
“I was hoping you could speak with Professor Snape for me to see if I could have his permission to
work in the Potions Classroom this weekend so I can practice some brewing techniques?”
“Did he say no?” the professor asked. Hermione shook her head. “Did you even ask him?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Why wouldn’t you-” started Professor McGonagall but then stopped herself. “Nevermind. I
understand. Professor Snape is not the easiest to talk to. Of course. Consider it done.”
“Thank you so much, Professor,” Hermione said, turning to leave.
“Wait, Miss Granger,” said Professor McGonagall. “This Saturday is another Hogsmeade
weekend.”
“I know,” Hermione said. “I’d rather just use the time to catch up on Potions if that’s ok.”
“Of course! I just wanted to make sure you were aware. It’s not often I have students choosing
school work over a Hogsmeade visit.”
Hermione smiled and walked out of the office. Sure, she’d practice some of the different
techniques… she’d practice them while brewing enough Wideye Potion to get her through the rest
of the term.
Saturday seemed to come upon her in no time, even though Hermione was now averaging thirty-six
hours a day. All of her fellow third years (with the exception of Neville and, she hoped, Harry) and
above raced to get out of the castle while Hermione just made her way down to the dungeons.
Professor McGonagall had promised Hermione that she had discussed the plan with Professor
Snape and that she was permitted to use the classroom to practice.
As she walked lower and lower into the bowels of the castle, however, Hermione’s anxiety started
to rise. What if Snape was there? What if he just agreed to Professor McGonagall but would not
permit her into the classroom?
Hermione tried to quiet the anxious barrage of questions and put her hand on the door to the
classroom. As usual, it seemed much colder down in the dungeons than in the upper parts of the
castle, but the emptiness seemed to amplify the chill. Hermione could see her own breath as she
pushed open the door, steeling herself to a confrontation with her least favourite professor.
With a freezing sigh, she realised with relief she was alone in the classroom. Hermione went
straight to her usual table and started dumping out the contents of her bag: mortar, cauldron, snake
fangs, Billywig Stings, and a few sprigs of Wolfsbane. She propped up her potion book and got to
work. If she were able to successfully brew the potion, she’d have enough for the month AND be
able to brew it again in class for full marks.
Hermione set to work adding the necessary ingredients to her mortar to crush. The potion wasn’t
necessarily complex, but it needed to be very precise. Just as she was adding the dried Billywig
Stings, a low, rumbling voice echoed in the empty classroom, making her jump early a foot in the
air.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Granger,” Professor Snape hissed as he slithered into the room.
“Professor McGonagall said I-”
“I’m well aware of what Professor McGonagall said, Miss Granger,” Snape sneered. “What I don’t
understand is why you found it necessary to ask her for the use of my classroom?”
Hermione didn’t know how to answer. Her heart was beating so loudly, she was sure Professor
Snape could hear it. She stayed silent as he strode over to her table and inspected her workstation.
“Working on some Wideye Potion?”
Hermione said nothing.
“Can’t keep up with actual Witches and Wizards on your own merits, eh Miss Granger? Have to
magically stay awake just to stay on track?” Snape scoffed. “You are a disgrace to the Wizarding
World, Miss Granger. Muggles like you should not be in this school.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Did he know about the Time-Turner? He couldn’t!
Professor McGonagall wouldn’t have chanced telling anyone, especially Snape. Suddenly, her
mind went completely blank except for one thought: Do NOT let him see you cry.
“But, by all means, please use my classroom to continue your charade,” said Snape, his voice
dripping with greasy sarcasm. “I wouldn’t want to get on Professor McGonagall’s bad side.”
With a flourish of his billowing black robes, Snape turned on his heel and stalked through his
office door, slamming it behind him.
Hermione started to have a panic attack as soon as the door slammed shut. She couldn’t catch her
breath. Her heart was slamming against her chest. All she could hear was the roar of blood rushing
to her head. Her vision started to tunnel. She got so lightheaded that she had to grip the table to
support herself.
“Postman Pat, Postman Pat; Postman Pat and his black and white cat; Early in the morning, just as
day is dawning; He picks up all the post bags in his van,” Hermione forced herself to sing over and
over and over until she got a tiny bit of control over her body and mind. She also pulled the folded
up note from Professor McGonagall that she received with her exam marks that summer:
Miss Granger,
Congratulations on such an amazing accomplishment. I look forward to seeing your work in the
upcoming term and anticipate you will do just as well with all of your upcoming third-year classes.
I am incredibly proud to have you as a Gryffindor.
Sincerely,
1. McGonagall
Hermione focused on her breathing and, finally, after almost a half-hour, she felt back in control of
herself. Part of her knew Snape was just a horrible human being that had no business teaching
children, but the awful things he had said were things she had already said to herself.
She decided to get back to work and figure out her emotions later. A part of her was beyond angry
with the way Professor Snape had spoken to her, and she used that to fuel the courage she needed to
stay in the classroom and finish what she had set out to do. She may not necessarily be brave but
she sure could be spiteful.
Just as Hermione was about to crush the ingredients in her mortar, she heard voices from Snape’s
office. She strained to listen.
“Sit!” came Snape’s voice through the door. “Mr Malfoy has just been to see me with a strange
story, Potter.”
Hermione’s anxiety fluttered again - Harry was in Snape’s office!
“He tells me that he was up by the Shrieking Shack when he ran into Weasley - apparently alone,”
Snape paused, but Hermione didn’t hear Harry respond. Snape continued. “Mr Malfoy states that
he was talking to Weasley when a large amount of mud hit him on the back of his head. How do
you think that could have happened?”
Again, Hermione couldn’t hear any response from Harry. She nervously took a few small steps
closer to the closed office door.
“Mr Malfoy then saw an extraordinary apparition. Can you imagine what it might have been,
Potter?” There was a pause. “It was your head, Potter! Floating in mid-air!”
Hermione gasped. Had Harry snuck off to Hogsmeade in his invisibility cloak in spite of all of the
security concerns? Hermione took a few more small steps towards the office to hear better.
“What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?! Your head is not allowed to be in
Hogsmeade. No part of your body has any permission to be in Hogsmeade.”
“I know that,” Hermione thought she heard Harry say. “It sounds like Malfoy’s having hallucin-”
“Malfoy is not having hallucinations!” snarled Snape. The rest of what he said was too low for
Hermione to hear over the sound of her heart pounding against her chest. Snape’s voice rose again
slightly, but Hermione missed some of what he said.
“Everyone from the Minister for Magic -- keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But
famous Harry Potter -- the ordinary people worry about his safety! Famous Harry Potter goes -with no thought for the consequences -- like your father -- exceedingly arrogant -- Quidditch pitch
made him think -- strutting around --”
“My dad didn’t strut,” said Harry’s raised voice. “And nor do I.”
Snape growled a response that Hermione couldn’t hear. She took a few more steps, so she was
almost inches from the door.
“SHUT UP!” Harry screamed. Hermione jumped back in alarm.
“What did you say to me, Potter?”
“I told you to shut up about my dad!” Harry yelled. “I know the truth, all right? He saved your life!
Dumbledore told me! You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my dad!”
There was a long pause. Hermione suspected Snape was speaking, but she couldn’t hear what he
was saying. Suddenly, his voice rose again. “I would hate for you to run away with a false idea of
your father, Potter. Have you been imagining some act of glorious heroism? Then let me correct
you – your saintly father and his friends played a highly amusing joke on me that would have
resulted in my death if your father hadn’t got cold feet at the last moment. There was nothing brave
about what he did. He was saving his own skin as much as mine. Had their joke succeeded, he
would have been expelled from Hogwarts.”
Hermione had heard enough. This wasn’t a conversation she was meant to hear. She needed to
leave. She frantically threw her things back in her bag and tried to clean up her ingredients as the
conversation took a turn in the other room.
“Turn out your pockets, or we go straight to the Headmaster! Pull them out, Potter!”
“Ron gave them to me. He - he brought them back from Hogsmeade last time-”
There was more muffled speaking as Hermione accidentally spilt the dried and crushed Billywig
Stings everywhere. She willed her shaking hands to sweep them up more quickly.
“Indeed? And you’ve been carrying them round ever since? How very touching - what is this?”
“Spare bit of parchment.”
“Surely you don’t need such a very old piece of parchment? Why don’t I just throw this away?
“No!”
“So, is this another gift from Mr Weasley? Or is it something else? A letter, perhaps, written in
invisible ink? Or instructions to get into Hogsmeade without passing the Dementors?”
He had found the map. Snape had found it. It was all over. Hermione brushed the rest of the
Billywig Sting powder onto the floor, abandoning all hope of saving enough to brew later. She had
to get out of there. She was full-on panicking - there was no way she could be in the same room
when Harry Potter was expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
She burst through the classroom door and ran the whole way back to the Gryffindor dormitories
before she finally broke down in tears. She had no idea why she had been so overcome with the
need to get away and abandon her friend, but, whatever the reasons, she couldn’t forgive herself.
She let her panic win. How could she call herself a Gryffindor? How could she call herself a witch?
Hermione was, scarily enough, past the point of crying at that by then. She was numb inside.
Things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
And then she heard a familiar tap on her dorm window; an owl with a letter in its mouth.
Things had gotten much worse.
Hermione stumbled down from her room and through the Portrait of the Fat Lady. She had to go
back down there. She had to tell Harry.
A few steps from the door, Ron and Harry rounded the corner. Hermione stopped in her tracks.
“Come to have a good gloat?” said Ron savagely. “Or have you just been to tell on us?”
“No,” said Hermione, trembling. “I just thought you ought to know… Hagrid lost his case.
Buckbeak is going to be executed.”
The Quidditch Final
“He - he sent me this,” Hermione said, holding out the letter.
Harry took it. Hermione watched him, and Ron read the words she already knew:
Dear Hermione,
We lost. I’m allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts. Execution date to be fixed. Beaky
has enjoyed London.
I won’t forget all the help you gave us.
Hagrid
“They can’t do this,” said Harry. “They can’t! Buckbeak isn’t dangerous!”
Strangely enough, the numbness was allowing her to think somewhat rationally. She quickly
assessed Harry’s demeanour - he was upset, but not as upset as he would be had he just been
expelled. Hermione gave a small sigh of relief before speaking.
“Malfoy’s dad frightened the Committee into it,” said Hermione, wiping her eyes. “You know
what he’s like. They’re a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. There’ll be an appeal,
though. There always is. Only I can’t see any hope ... nothing will have changed.”
“Yeah, it will,” said Ron fiercely. “You won’t have to do all the work alone this time, Hermione.
I’ll help.”
The numbness immediately ceased. Her whole body filled with a warm sense of hope - the first in
months. Without thinking, Hermione flung her arms around Ron’s neck. “Oh, Ron!” she managed
to say before completely breaking down. She could feel Ron patting her back and head with
concern. It was as if the floodgates had finally opened. All of her anxiety washed away (albeit
temporarily) through her tears. For a brief second, she remembered she forgot what had started
their fight to begin with. Then, it all came rushing back. She drew back.
“Ron, I’m really, really sorry about Scabbers,” she started sobbing again.
“Oh - well - he was old,” said Ron. “And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad
might get me an owl now.”
There was nothing in the world Hermione hoped more for at that moment.
----All was right in the world for a few precious moments before the realisation of everything else that
was going on came flooding back. The “golden trio” were back together again, but there was still
much to worry about. The anxiety was still there in full force around every corner of Hermione’s
path.
The safety measures imposed on the students since Black’s second break-in made it impossible for
Hermione, Ron, and Harry to go and visit Hagrid in the evenings. Their only chance of talking to
him was during Care of Magical Creatures lessons.
Hagrid seemed as numb as Hermione had been.
“‘S all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin’ there in black robes an’ I kep’ droppin’ me
notes and forgettin’ all them dates yeh looked up fer me, Hermione. An’ then Lucius Malfoy stood
up an’ said his bit, and the Committee jus’ did exac’ly what he told ’em.”
“There’s still the appeal!” said Ron. “Don’t give up yet, we’re working on it!”
They walked back up to the castle with the rest of the class. Ahead they could see Malfoy, who
was walking with Crabbe and Goyle and kept looking back, laughing derisively.
“‘S no good, Ron,” said Hagrid sadly as they reached the castle steps. “That Committee’s in Lucius
Malfoy’s pocket. I’m jus’ gonna make sure the rest o’ Beaky’s time is the happiest he’s ever had. I
owe him that…”
Hagrid turned round and hurried back towards his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.
“Look at him blubber!”
Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had been standing just inside the castle doors, listening.
“Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?” said Malfoy. “And he’s supposed to be our
teacher!”
Something within Hermione snapped. All of the pain, anger, anxiety, and exhaustion from the past
five months came raging to the surface. The peripheral of her vision started to fade. All she could
see was the blond bully directly in front of her. As if it had a mind of its own, her right hand swung
back and then hurled forward, her open palm aiming for Draco Malfoy’s cheek.
It connected with a satisfying crack - the most satisfying crack in the world.
Her palm immediately stung. She smiled. If her hand hurt that bad, she could only imagine what
his cheek felt like. She raised her hand again.
“Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul - you evil-”
“Hermione,” said Ron weakly, and he tried to grab her hand to prevent her from hitting Malfoy
again.
“Get off , Ron!”
Hermione pulled out her wand. If Ron wouldn’t let her hit Malfoy again, she’d just jinx him.
Ginny had taught her a few good ones she wanted to use
But then common sense prevailed. Knowing her luck, if she jinxed Draco Malfoy, she’d get
expelled. At the very least, any chance Hagrid had at an appeal would be gone entirely. Besides, it
was slightly more satisfying to know she silenced Draco with a plane old slap rather than using
magic.
“C’mon,” Malfoy muttered, and the next moment, all three of them had disappeared into the
passageway to the dungeons. He looked like a small, wounded animal, sulking back to his nest.
“Hermione!” Ron said again, sounding both stunned and impressed.
“Harry, you’d better beat him in the Quidditch final!” Hermione said shrilly. “You just better had
because I can’t stand it if Slytherin wins!”
“We’re due in Charms,” said Ron, still looking at Hermione like she was made of gold.
Hermione positioned herself behind the boys as they ran up the marble staircase towards the
Charms Classroom. Unfortunately, Hermione had planned on using the Time-Turner to finish up
her Charms and Arithmancy homework before class, so she had to sneak away as the boys kept
going up the steps. She’d join them in - according to their clocks - a few minutes. In reality, she
was planning on a two-hour homework session.
Hermione was able to sit in the Gryffindor common room to study since most of the Gryffindors
had class. She pulled out her Charms homework and got to work. Luckily for her, the Charms
essay (compare and contrast the casting methods for Lumos and Lumos Maxima) and she was able
to dive right into her Arithmancy.
Just a moment later, she felt someone prodding her shoulder. “Wh-what?” said Hermione, waking
with a start and staring wildly around. She was so confused. “Is it time to go? W-which lesson have
we got now?”
“Divination, but it’s not for another twenty minutes,” said Harry. “Hermione, why didn’t you come
to Charms?”
“What? Oh no!” Hermione squeaked. “I forgot to go to Charms!”
“But how could you forget?” said Harry. “You were with us til we were right outside the
classroom!”
“I don’t believe it!” Hermione wailed. She was still extremely disoriented and confused but still
knew not to directly answer any of Harry’s questions. “Was Professor Flitwick angry?” Suddenly, a
(very satisfying) thought came to her that would help excuse her mistake. “Oh, it was Malfoy, I
was thinking about him, and I lost track of things!”
“You know what, Hermione?” said Ron, eyeing up her Arithmancy book. “I reckon you’re
cracking up. You’re trying to do too much.”
“No, I’m not!” said Hermione, brushing her hair out of her eyes and staring hopelessly around her
for her bag. She couldn’t remember where she had put it. “I just made a mistake, that’s all! I’d
better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry. I'll see you in Divination!”
Hermione ran from the Portrait room as fast as she could. That was a close call. She’d have to be
much more careful now that Ron and Harry were talking to her again and would be paying
attention to where she was most of the time.
Professor Flitwick was not angry at all, thank goodness. Hermione, however, was much more
furious at herself than he was. The cheerful Charms professor gave her a copy of his lecture notes,
mentioning to look them over before the exams, and sent her on her way.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione joined Ron and Harry at the foot of the ladder to Professor
Trelawney’s classroom twenty minutes later.
“I can’t believe I missed the Cheering Charms! And I bet they come up in our exams. Professor
Flitwick hinted they might!”
Together they climbed up the ladder into the dim, stifling tower room. Glowing on every little
table was a crystal ball full of pearly white mist. Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat down together at
the same rickety table. Even though she positively despised this class, Hermione was thankful to be
sitting with her friends again. To make matters even better, Bem was already seated right next to
her at the table to her right so they could partner up if need be.
“All of these crystal balls,” Bem whispered with a grin, gesturing around the room. “Must’ve cost
a fortune. ” Hermione giggled.
“Good day to you!” said the familiar, misty voice. Professor Trelawney made her usual overlydramatic entrance out of the shadows. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes while Parvati and
Lavender quivered with excitement, their faces lit by the milky glow of their crystal ball.
“I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned,” said Professor
Trelawney, seating herself with her back to the fire and gazing around. “The fates have informed
me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient
practice.”
Hermione snorted. She couldn’t help it. Ron and Harry looked at her like she was completely mad.
“Well, honestly... ‘the fates have informed her.’ Who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing
prediction!” she said, not troubling to keep her voice low. Maybe she was going mad.
It was hard to tell whether Professor Trelawney had heard them, as her face was hidden in shadow.
She continued, however, as though she had not.
“Crystal-gazing is a particularly refined art,” she said dreamily. “I do not expect any of you to See
when first you peer into the Orb’s infinite depths. We shall start by practising relaxing the
conscious mind and external eyes’”– Ron began to snigger uncontrollably and had to stuff his fist
in his mouth to stifle the noise – “so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if
we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of the class.”
And so they began.
Hermione tried. She really did. But nothing could convince her that this class had any merit.
“See anything yet?” Harry asked after a quarter of an hour’s quiet crystal-gazing.
“Yeah, there’s a burn on this table,” said Ron, pointing. “Someone’s spilt their candle.”
“This is such a waste of time,” Hermione hissed, saying the quiet part out loud. “I could be
practising something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms-”
Professor Trelawney rustled past.
“Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy portents within their Orb?” she
murmured over the clinking of her bangles.
“I don’t need help,” Ron whispered. “It’s obvious what this means. There’s going to be loads of
fog tonight.”
Both Harry and Hermione burst out laughing.
“Now, really!” said Professor Trelawney, as everyone’s heads turned in their direction. Parvati and
Lavender were looking scandalised. “You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!” She
approached their table and peered into their crystal ball.
Hermione held her breath and tried desperately not to roll her eyes again.
“There is something here!” Professor Trelawney whispered, lowering her face to the ball so that it
was reflected twice in her huge glasses. “Something moving ... but what is it?”
Hermione leaned away from Trelawney and towards Bem. “A hundred to one, it’s the grim,” she
whispered.
“I’d be a fool to take that bet,” he whispered back.
“My dear,” Professor Trelawney breathed, at last, gazing up at Harry. “It is here, plainer than ever
before… my dear, stalking towards you, growing ever closer. The Gr-”
Something within Hermione snapped again. “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” said Hermione loudly. She
had just been joking with Bem. “Not that ridiculous Grim again!”
Professor Trelawney raised her enormous eyes to Hermione’s face. Parvati whispered something to
Lavender, and they both glared at Hermione, too. Professor Trelawney stood up, surveying
Hermione with unmistakable anger.
“I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my dear, it has been
apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don’t remember
ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly Mundane.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then –
“Fine!” said Hermione suddenly before she could think about what she was doing. She stood and
started stuffing Unfogging the Future back into her bag. “Fine!” she repeated, swinging the bag
over her shoulder and almost knocking Ron off his chair. “I give up! I’m leaving!”
And to the whole class’s amazement, Hermione strode over to the trapdoor, kicked it open, and
climbed down the ladder out of sight.
----Once she got over the absolute shock of walking out of a class, Hermione was much happier to be
rid of that dreadful class. Her happiness was short-lived, however, as the Easter holidays brought
with them even more homework. All of the third-years seemed to be drowning under homework.
Ron had, thankfully, taken over responsibility for Buckbeak’s appeal. When he wasn’t doing his
own work, he was poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The Handbook of
Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality . He was so absorbed
that he even forgot to be horrible to Crookshanks. There was one day where he even
absentmindedly pet Crookshanks’ fur as he sat on the table.
The whole of Gryffindor house was also obsessed with the coming match against Slytherin.
Gryffindor hadn’t won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley (Ron’s secondoldest brother) had been Seeker, and now the cup was just within reach.
Never, in anyone’s memory, had a match approached in such a highly charged atmosphere. By the
time the holidays were over, the tension between the two teams and their houses was at a breaking
point. Several minor scuffles broke out in the corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a
Gryffindor fourth-year and a Slytherin sixth-year ended up in the hospital wing with leeks
sprouting out of their ears.
Hermione was equally vested in the match - she still desperately wanted to watch Draco Malfoy
lose. She found it amusing that the blond Slytherin went out of his way to avoid Hermione at all
costs.
Sophie had even heard about “the slap heard around the world” and gave her a high five at
Arithmancy Club. “It makes it even better that you’re a Muggle and shut him up without using
magic whatsoever,” Sophie said with a smile.
The night before the match, all usual pursuits were abandoned in the Gryffindor common room the
night before the match. Even Hermione had put down her books.
“I can’t work, I can’t concentrate,” she said nervously.
There was a great deal of noise. Fred and George Weasley were dealing with the pressure by being
louder and more exuberant than ever. Oliver Wood was crouched over a model of a Quidditch
pitch in the corner, prodding little figures across it with his wand and muttering to himself.
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were laughing at Fred and George’s jokes. Harry was sitting with
Hermione and Ron, removed from the centre of things.
“You’re going to be fine,” Hermione told him, though she wasn’t too sure.
“You’ve got a Firebolt!” said Ron, trying to be the voice of reason.
“Yeah…” said Harry apprehensively. It clearly wasn’t working.
Oliver Wood took that moment to stand up and announce the entire Gryffindor team had to go to
bed. Harry stood up without another word and made his way towards the boys’ staircase.
Hermione glanced at Ron. He screwed up his face into one of pure uncertainty and terror.
Hermione didn’t feel as certain about the game all of a sudden.
----Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall the next day to enormous
applause. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were clapping them, too. The Slytherin table hissed
loudly as they passed. However, Hermione noticed Sophie was sitting off to the side, her nose
buried in her book.
Oliver Wood spent the whole of breakfast urging his team to eat, while touching nothing himself.
Then he hurried them off to the pitch before anyone else had finished so that they could get an idea
of the conditions. As they left the Great Hall, everyone applauded again.
Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville all finished breakfast and walked down to the pitch together.
Hermione tried to show her Gryffindor pride with a new Quidditch sweater she had ordered by owl
from Diagon Alley.
The Gryffindor team walked out onto the pitch to a tidal wave of noise from three out of the four
sides of the pitch. Three-quarters of the crowd were wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags
with the Gryffindor lion upon them or brandishing banners with slogans such as “GO
GRYFFINDOR” and “LIONS FOR THE CUP!” Behind the Slytherin goalposts, however, two
hundred people were wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glittered on their flags.
Professor Snape sat in the front row, wearing green like everyone else and a grisly smile.
“And here are the Gryffindors!” yelled Lee Jordan, who was acting as a commentator as usual.
“Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best
side Hogwarts has seen in a good few years –”
Lee’s comments were drowned by a tide of ‘boos’ from the Slytherin end.
“And here come the Slytherin team, led by captain Flint. He’s made some changes in the line-up
and seems to be going for size rather than skill –”
“Captains, shake hands!” said Madam Hooch.
Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, approached Oliver Wood. Each grasped the other’s hands very
tightly; it looked as though each was trying to break the other’s fingers.
“Mount your brooms!” said Madam Hooch. “Three… Two… One…”
The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air.
Harry started to fly around in search of the Golden Snitch with Malfoy on his tail.
“And it’s Gryffindor in possession, Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight
for the Slytherin goalposts, looking good, Alicia! Argh, no – Quaffle intercepted by Warrington,
Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the pitch – WHAM! – nice Bludger work there by George
Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it’s caught by – Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession,
come on, Angelina – nice swerve round Montague – duck, Angelina, that’s a Bludger! – SHE
SCORES! TEN–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!”
Hermione jumped up and down with Ginny as Angelina celebrated up in the air. Suddenly, Marcus
Flint flew right into her, nearly throwing her off the broom. Hermione booed along with at least
three-quarters of the crowd.
The next moment, Fred Weasley had chucked his Beater’s club at the back of Flint’s head. Flint’s
nose smashed into the handle of his broom and began to squirt blood everywhere.
“This is getting nasty,” Hermione said to Ginny.
“I think it’s going to get much worse,” Ginny replied.
“That will do!” shrieked Madam Hooch, zooming between them. “Penalty to Gryffindor for an
unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!”
“Come on, Alicia!” yelled Lee into the silence that had descended on the crowd. Alicia lined up her
shot. “YES! SHE’S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!”
Flint, still bleeding, flew up to take his penalty shot against Oliver Wood as keeper. Hermione held
her breath. She felt Ron and Ginny do the same on either side of her.
“‘Course, Wood’s a superb Keeper!”Lee Jordan told the crowd as Flint waited for Madam
Hooch’s whistle. “Superb! Very difficult to pass – very difficult indeed – YES! I DON’T
BELIEVE IT! HE’S SAVED IT!”
Hermione wasn’t sure if her heart could take much more. Then she realised the game had only just
begun. She did a bit of math in her head - Harry had to hold Malfoy off the Snitch until Gryffindor
was more than fifty points up to clinch the cup.
“Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession – no! – Gryffindor back in possession and
it’s Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she’s streaking up the pitch – THAT
WAS DELIBERATE!”
Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the Quaffle,
had grabbed her head. Katie cartwheeled in the air, managed to stay on her broom but dropped the
Quaffle.
Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out again as she soared over to Montague and began shouting at him.
A minute later, Katie had put another penalty past the Slytherin Keeper.
“THIRTY–ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING –”
“Jordan, if you can’t commentate in an unbiased way –!”
“I’m telling it like it is, Professor!”
Hermione watched as Harry flew towards the Slytherin goalposts as if he saw the Snitch. He had to
wait! Gryffindor needed more points! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blur hurtling toward
Harry: a Bludger.
“Harry, watch out!” Hermione screamed, even though there was no way Harry’d be able to hear
her above the roar of the crowd.
The first Bludger streaked past Harry’s right ear. The second Bludger had grazed Harry’s elbow.
Both of the Slytherin Beaters were flying at Harry from different directions. They were going to fly
right at him!
“Harry, go!” Hermione shouted again. Even though it was impossible that he had heard her
warning, at exactly that second, Harry pulled his Firebolt upwards at precisely that second, and the
two beaters collided into each other with a sickening crunch that could be heard throughout the
Pitch.
“Ha haaa!” yelled Lee Jordan, as the Slytherin Beaters lurched away from each other, clutching
their heads. “Too bad, boys! You’ll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt! And it’s
Gryffindor in possession again, as Johnson takes the Quaffle – Flint alongside her – poke him in
the eye, Angelina! – it was a joke, Professor, it was a joke – oh, no – Flint in possession, Flint
flying towards the Gryffindor goalposts, come on, now, Wood, save –!”
But Flint had scored; there was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swore so
badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug the magical megaphone away from him.
“Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won’t happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and
Gryffindor in possession –”
The game devolved into one of the dirtiest, most violent scenes Hermione had ever witnessed.
There was so much going on that Hermione couldn’t really follow who had what ball… but the
scoreboard kept ticking upwards: Forty-ten. Katie scored. Fifty-ten. The Slytherin Beaters took
advantage of Katie’s score to aim both Bludgers at Wood.
Madam Hooch was beside herself. “You do not attack the Keeper unless the Quaffle is within the
scoring area!” she shrieked at Bole and Derrick. “Gryffindor penalty!”
And Angelina scored. Sixty–ten.
Moments later, Fred Weasley pelted a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle out of his
hands; Alicia seized it and put it through the Slytherin goal: seventy–ten.
The Gryffindor crowd below were screaming themselves hoarse – Gryffindor were sixty points in
the lead, and if Harry caught the Snitch now, the Cup was theirs.
Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville were all grabbing on to each other in a desperate sort of hug,
staring at the sky. Suddenly Harry put on a huge burst of speed. He had seen the Snitch! Ginny’s
nails were cutting into Hermione’s arm and she was sure hers were doing the same to Ron’s.
Harry started to lose speed. A glance behind directly behind the Gryffindor Seeker revealed a
maddening sight - Malfoy had grabbed hold of the Firebolt’s tail and was pulling it back.
“Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I’ve never seen such tactics!” Madam Hooch screeched, shooting
up to where Malfoy was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.
“YOU CHEATING SCUM!” Lee Jordan was howling into the megaphone, dancing out of
Professor McGonagall’s reach. “YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B—”
Professor McGonagall didn’t even bother to tell him off. She was actually shaking her fist in
Malfoy’s direction; her hat had fallen off, and she, too, was shouting furiously.
Alicia took Gryffindor’s penalty, but she was so angry she missed by several feet. The Gryffindor
team was losing concentration, and the Slytherins, delighted by Malfoy’s foul on Harry, were
being spurred on to greater heights.
“Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal – Montague scores –” Lee groaned. “Seventy–
twenty to Gryffindor …”
Harry and Draco were flying knee to knee in search of the Snitch again. Meanwhile, Angelina had
the Quaffle and was headed towards the Slytherin goalposts. Harry swung his broom around and
cleared the way for Angelina to throw it through the hoop.
‘SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor lead by eighty points to twenty!’
Harry, who had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in mid-air, reversed and
zoomed back into the middle of the pitch.
Hermione’s attention waivered at a gasp from the green section. Her eyes searched the pitch to see
what they were reacting to. There, on the other side of the Pitch, was Draco Malfoy diving toward
the grass. He had seen the Snitch, and Harry was miles away.
Hermione watched as Harry shot off like a rocket after Malfoy. “Go! Go! Go!” chanted Hermione
and the rest of the Gryffindors.
Harry’s broom handle soon was parallel with Draco’s bristles.
Then it was even with Draco’s ankles.
Then Draco’s chest.
Then he was level with Malfoy.
Then Harry James Potter was ahead of Draco.
The youngest Seeker in the history of Hogwarts threw himself forward, taking both hands off his
broom. He knocked Malfoy’s arm out of the way and-
The crowd roared louder than any lion ever could.
Harry had the Snitch!
Gryffindor won the cup!
Chants of “We’ve won the Cup! We’ve won the cup!” echoed through the Scottish hills.
Wave upon wave of crimson supporters was pouring over the barriers onto the pitch. Ron grabbed
Hermione (who, in turn, grabbed Ginny and Neville) so she wouldn’t get trampled. They headed
towards the center of it all.
Harry and the rest of the team were hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd. Hagrid was in the
midst as well, screaming, “Yeh beat ’em, Harry, yeh beat ’em! Wait till I tell Buckbeak!”
There was Percy, jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten.
Professor McGonagall was sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous
Gryffindor flag.
And then, the crowd parted to reveal Dumbledore, standing on the side of the pitch, waiting with
the enormous Quidditch Cup.
They had done it. They had won.
Professor Trelawney’s Prediction
The euphoria of winning the Quidditch cup lasted about a week before everyone got bogged down
by homework again. Exams were nearly upon them, and instead of lazing around outside in the
gorgeous June weather, the students were forced to remain inside the castle, trying to bully their
brains into concentrating.
Even Fred and George Weasley had been spotted working; they were about to take their O.W.Ls
(Ordinary Wizarding Levels). Percy was getting ready to sit his N.E.W.Ts (Nastily Exhausting
Wizarding Tests), the highest qualification Hogwarts offered. As Percy hoped to enter the Ministry
of Magic, he needed top grades. Hermione hoped to duplicate his career trajectory someday.
Sophie was just as busy, and they had to put off Arithmancy Club in lieu of studying. Hermione
was both sad and relieved.
Harry and Ron had given up asking Hermione how she was managing to attend several classes at
once, but they couldn’t restrain themselves when they saw the exam timetable she had drawn up
for herself. She had forced herself to sit down after the huge Quidditch celebration to ensure she
would be as organised as possible going into exams. It took her nearly four hours to figure out. The
first column read:
Monday:
-9 am Arithmancy
-9 am Transfiguration
Lunch
-1 pm Charms
-1 pm Ancient runes
“Hermione?” Ron said cautiously because she was liable to explode when interrupted these days.
“Er, are you sure you’ve copied down these times, right?”
“What?” snapped Hermione, picking up the exam timetable and examining it. “Yes, of course, I
have.”
“Is there any point asking you how you’re going to sit two exams at once?” said Harry.
“No,” said Hermione shortly. “Has either of you seen my copy of Numerology and Grammatica?”
“Oh yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading,” said Ron, but very quietly. Hermione started
shifting heaps of parchment around her table, looking for the book. Just then, there was a rustle at
the window, and Harry’s snowy white owl, Hedwig, fluttered through it, a note clutched tightly in
her beak.
“It’s from Hagrid,” said Harry, ripping the note open. “Buckbeak’s appeal - it’s set for the sixth.”
“That’s the day we finish our exams,” said Hermione, still looking everywhere for her Arithmancy
book and trying to ignore the constant flutter of anxiety.
“And they’re coming up here to do it,” said Harry, still reading from the letter. “Someone from the
Ministry of Magic and - and an executioner.”
Hermione looked up, startled.
“They’re bringing the executioner to the appeal! But that sounds as though they’ve already
decided!”
“Yeah, it does,” said Harry slowly.
“They can’t!” Ron howled. “I’ve spent ages reading up on stuff for him! They can’t just ignore it
all!”
But Hermione had a horrible feeling that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures
could just ignore it all. Her stomach clenched in anxiety and anger at the unfairness of it all.
She wished she had the mental capacity to give Hagrid and Buckbeak all of the attention they
deserved, but the fact was Hermione was drowning. With exams beating down the door, Hermione
was now averaging close to forty hours a day. She was starting to mix subjects and dates up and
could never find the book she was looking for. Panic attacks (she decided just to call them what
they were instead of some juvenile description like “word vomit”) were a frequent occurrence - so
frequent, in fact, that Hermione barely needed to excuse herself from the room anymore.
Usually, the panic attacks started with her heart beating faster and faster, getting louder and louder.
The sound of her heart would drown out most of the other sounds in the room. Her lungs felt as
though they were being clamped down upon, and taking anything other than a shallow, unfulfilling
breath, was impossible. Then a voice in her head would start screaming over the sound of her
beating heart, hurtling millions of worst-case scenario questions at once. It was utter chaos and felt
like the end of the world every single time.
The only thing that could somewhat be construed as “good” was that she had them multiple times a
day. Hermione had so much practice that she could hide the majority of them. There were still
some, however, that made her run for her closet or the nearest bathroom.
Even though the repetition and rhythm of the Postman Pat song helped ground her most of the
time, Hermione thought it was a total waste of her very precious time. Instead, she would try to
calm herself by rattling off facts from whatever the current subject she was studying at that time
was. Her thinking was that if she had to suffer a panic attack, she might as well make it worth her
time.
Crookshanks had been mysteriously missing most nights, so Hermione couldn’t use his cute flat
face and soft ginger fur to ground her during her late-night study sessions. In the middle of the
night, just before the big Quidditch match, Hermione was up in her little window seat and noticed
Crookshanks down on the castle grounds with a cute little black dog. She was glad Crookshanks
had found a friend to prowl around with, but she missed his company.
It was hard to fathom that Buckbeak’s appeal was only days away. The end of exams seemed like a
lifetime of time. Draco, who had been noticeably subdued since Gryffindor’s triumph in the
Quidditch final, appeared to regain some of his old swagger over the next few days. From sneering
comments Hermione, Harry, and Ron had overheard, Malfoy was certain Buckbeak would be
killed and seemed thoroughly pleased with himself for bringing it about.
Hermione hoped Hagrid was doing ok. She knew it would be impossible to visit him (not only did
she have no time, but they also weren’t allowed to leave the castle with Harry), but she wanted to
make sure he knew she was thinking of him. She made herself take a quick five-minute break and
wrote him a little note of encouragement.
Hermione knew it wasn’t enough, not by a long shot… but it would just have to suffice until after
exams.
----Exam week began, and an unnatural hush fell over the castle. Hermione felt utterly out of control
and helpless. Usually, she was so sure of her academic ability, but her brain was so saturated with
so much information that she couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. One thing (perhaps the only
thing) Hermione knew for sure was that she had not a single speck of patience left. Everything and
everyone, including herself, annoyed her. She tried to remind herself of why she had put herself
through this in the first place, but she was too tired to care.
The only thing Hermione could control was what order she sat her exams and how often she could
study. After hours of consideration, Hermione decided to sit for her Arithmancy exam at 9 am first
and then use the Time-Turner to go back to sit for her Transfiguration exam.
Breakfast went by in an absolute blur. Hermione had used the Time-Turner so much in the last
week that her stomach was in a constant state of lurching, regardless of whether or not she was
turning time. She vaguely remembered picking at her toast and being totally disgusted by Ron
shovelling food into his mouth, but that could have been a memory from another day.
Hermione excused herself from breakfast and told Ron and Harry she’d just meet them for
Transfiguration in a few minutes. However, instead of heading to the bathroom, Hermione ducked
down the corridor towards the Arithmancy classroom.
Halfway there, she met up with Sophie. Sophie was almost as frazzled as Hermione felt, though
Hermione doubted her friend had been putting in near forty-hour days as she had. “Are you ready
for this?” Sophie asked.
“No,” Hermione said. “Are you?”
“No,” Sophie shook her head. “But I guess we don’t have much of a choice, do we, Granger?”
Hermione stifled a sob.
“Hey, Granger - you got this. You know those equations better than I do at this point.”
“I do not!”
“You do! You just second-guess yourself too much.”
“I hope so,” Hermione said.
“Every time you get mad at yourself or frustrated, just remember how brilliant you felt when you
slapped that smirk off of Draco, the daddy’s boy.”
Hermione laughed - the first time in a few days, at least.
“That did feel pretty brilliant,” Hermione said.
“And I’ll do the same. I wish I could go back in time and see that,” Sophie said. Hermione tried not
to react.
“I ran our numbers, though,” Hermione said.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “We both will pass the exam, though I was too afraid to calculate our scores.”
Sophie took a deep breath. “I was terrified even just to calculate the odds of passing. I wouldn't
even think of figuring the scores. I’d waste all three hours figuring which ones I got wrong.”
“That was exactly what I was thinking, too! I got too scared to calculate the odds of passing any of
my other exams, though. So after this one, I’m in the dark,” Hermione said.
“Hey,” Sophie said, stopping suddenly. “Thanks for doing that,” she said.
“Thanks for helping me all year,” Hermione replied.
They had reached the door. Padma Patil was already seated at the front of the room, quizzing
herself with flashcards. She looked like she, too, hadn’t slept in days.
The rest of the class filtered in various stages of dishevelment. Promptly at 9 am, Professor Vector
arrived and started to hand out their thick exam booklets.
“It must be mentioned that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to your
examination booklets. No mathematical tools or apparatuses other than the abacus shall be
permitted to be used during your examination. All work must be shown. You will have three hours
to complete the exam. You may begin.”
Hermione got straight to work. The first three predictions were pretty straightforward calculations
using the magic number seven as an integer. The following few long-form questions concerned
abundant numbers and identifying the patterns within them.
The three hours went by in a flash, but Hermione was quite sure she did better than she had
anticipated. As she turned in her exam booklet, a small weight lifted off of her shoulders.
After quickly discussing a few answers with Sophie, Hermione ran to her closet near the Great Hall
to use the Time-Turner. Three and a half turns would take her back to approximately the time she
had excused herself from breakfast with the other Gryffindors. She barely registered the lurch in
her stomach as she slid back in time.
She got to the entrance of the Great Hall just as everyone was walking to the Transfiguration
classroom. A great hush fell over the classroom as Professor McGonagall appeared at the front of
the classroom.
“Good morning, class,” she said in a thin voice. “Today’s Transfiguration exam will consist of two
parts: a written examination and a practical examination. I will be calling you in one by one for the
practical assessment.”
Hermione had guessed that would be the format, so she didn’t seem as horrified as some of the
other students in the classroom. Ron, in particular, looked positively green.
“As you will undoubtedly hear many times this week, please keep in mind that strict Anti-Cheating
charms have been applied to your exam parchment-” with a flick of her wand, Professor
McGonagall sent their exam parchments flying to each desk “-and will be in effect as you are tested
on your spell casting skills one on one. You may now begin your exam. You have precisely three
hours. Good luck.”
Hermione’s name was already carefully written at the top of her page in what she recognised as
Professor McGonagall’s handwriting. She took a deep breath, let her eyes drift down the page to
the first question, and began.
Hermione was so focused on the questions, she didn’t even register that Professor McGonagall had
started calling students up in alphabetical order for the practical portion of the exam. She couldn’t
hear anything over the pounding of her heart echoing in her ear.
“Miss Granger!” Professor McGonagall nearly shouted. Hermione nearly jumped ten feet in the
air. She had no idea how many times the professor had called her name, but it seemed as though to
have been at least a few.“It’s your turn for the spell portion.”
“Coming, professor,” Hermione said, scribbling one more word of her answer on her sheet and
grabbing her wand on her way to Professor McGonagall’s office.
She shut the door behind her and tried to quickly assess the situation. Before her, on Professor
McGonagall’s desk, was a golden silk pillow with a delicate green teacup overturned on top.
“For your third-year Transfiguration exam, you will demonstrate your understanding of the core
concepts of the subject by transfiguring this teacup into a tortoise,” Professor McGonagall said in
an official-sounding voice. She pulled a gold pocket watch from beneath her robes. “You will have
five minutes to successfully cast the spell, starting now.”
Hermione had prepared for a multitude of potential practical spells, thankfully including this one.
However, the last thing Hermione wanted to do was have a false sense of security. She did not
want to be hasty in the least; she had five minutes, and she was going to use them.
She approached the desk and examined the delicate teacup. It was a pale, sage green with a
finespun filigree design around the lip in a slightly deeper colour. Hermione noticed with great
relief that the teacup’s shape was more rounded than most - its shape would make it marginally
easier to transfigure it into the more rounded and domed shape of a Tortoise’s shell.
Hermione took her quill (instead of her wand) and practised the wand movements in the air:
Diagonal down-right, then up straight, then diagonal down-right again;
Diagonal down-right, then up straight, then diagonal down-right again;
Diagonal down-right, then up straight, then diagonal down-right again.
Hermione paid particular attention to make sure her movements were precise - the angles had to be
precisely forty-five degrees at each turn. The wand movement was also extremely rigid, with no
rounded corners and precise, decisive changes in direction. Additionally, all three strokes should be
approximately the same length.
She tried the wand movement a few more times and was satisfied with the length of her strokes and
the angle of the diagonal corners. Finally, Hermione took a deep breath and switched her quill for
her real wand. She loved the feel of her wand in her hand - it felt so soft and warm. While she knew
its weight by heart, she made a few casual up-down movements (without any intent) to make sure
she could still control her strokes.
Hermione glanced over to Professor McGonagall, who appeared to be hiding an amused smile.
Hermione looked back at the teacup and imagined it all once more in her mind. She could see the
Tortoise’s shell in her mind, visualising it turning from the cup. She took a deep breath.
Diagonal down-right. Up Straight. Diagonal down-right.
There was a flashlight and, before her very eyes, the teacup turned into….
A turtle.
Or maybe a tortoise.
A turtle-ish looking tortoise.
“Well done, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, scribbling something on her parchment.
“Are you kidding?” Hermione spat out in a panic. “It looks like a turtle! There’s nothing ‘well
done’ about it!”
“Compared to your fellow students’ tortoises thus far, Miss Granger, you are a Transfiguration
master.”
Hermione scoffed. She was angry. She wanted to be the best because she mastered the spell, not
because everyone else failed. Hermione opened her mouth to tell her just that“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall interrupted her before Hermione could say anything. “It
would behove to you to take the passing grade and move on without any sort of comment that you
may regret later.”
Hermione sighed. Professor McGonagall was right, as usual. “Thank you, professor,” she said and
walked back into the classroom and to her desk to finish her written exam.
The third-years emerged from Transfiguration at lunch-time limp and ashen-faced, comparing
results and lamenting the difficulty of the tasks they had been set:
“Mine still had a spout for a tail. What a nightmare…”
“Were the tortoises supposed to breathe steam?”
“It still had a willow-patterned shell. D’you think that’ll count against me?
Then, after a hasty lunch, it was straight back upstairs for the Charms exam. Hermione had been
right; Professor Flitwick did indeed test them on Cheering Charms. Harry slightly overdid his out
of nerves, and Ron, who was partnering him, ended up in fits of hysterical laughter and had to be
led away to a quiet room for an hour before he was ready to perform the Charm himself.
After dinner, the students hurried back to their common rooms, not to relax, but to start revising for
the rest of their exams. Hermione, however, had to use the Time-Turner to go back to sit for her
Ancient Runes exam.
Hermione was able to finish the exam with nearly an hour to spare and was fairly certain she did
well. She wasn’t sure what to do with her extra hour since she couldn’t risk leaving the classroom
and being seen in two places at once, so she sat and double and triple checked her answers.
When they were all to her satisfaction, Hermione glanced at her watch. She still had twenty
minutes. Hermione let her mind start to wander. The question of whether or not she would take all
of the same classes and use the Time-Turner again last year had been looming over her for weeks
now, but Hermione never had any time to think about it. Since she had nothing else she could do
for the next twenty minutes, Hermione started thinking through her decision.
She had already dropped Divination, so that was one less class she’d have to worry about.
Hermione had also been on the fence about Muggle Studies - while she found some of the lectures
interesting, she was learning far more about how Muggles were thought of by Sophie. Since there
was no way she would drop Arithmancy, she knew Arithmancy Club with Sophie (and Myrtle)
would continue and, therefore, she’d get her “Muggle Studies” that way.
Ancient Runes was a decent class, and Hermione thoroughly enjoyed decoding letters and whatnot.
She also found it fascinating to see the correlation between certain wand movements and the
shapes of some of the Runes. Hermione resolved to wait to find out her Ancient Runes marks
before making a final decision.
As for the Time-Turner… Hermione knew that she wouldn’t make it another year like this one. If
she decided to keep it, things would have to drastically change. For example, Hermione would have
to make sure to keep strict limits on how many times she could use it each week and limit it as
much as possible.
However, Hermione realized the Time-Turner had gotten to be a sort of unhealthy obsession.
Whenever she wasn’t Time-Turning, she was thinking about Time-Turning. She couldn’t honestly
say she wouldn’t abuse it again if given the opportunity to use it again. She knew she’d always be
able to rationally convince herself that she needed to use it. She was, quite frankly, terrified of the
hold it had over her.
At that precise moment, Hermione Granger decided that the smartest thing she could ever do
would be to give up the Time-Turner.
Hermione felt lighter than she had in months. There was an end in sight. Yes, she’d have to use it to
get through the rest of her exams… but now, she had an end date. On the sixth, Hermione Jean
Granger, would get her life (and time) back.
---Hagrid presided over the Care of Magical Creatures exam the following morning with a very
preoccupied air indeed; his heart didn’t seem to be in it at all. He had provided a large tub of fresh
Flobberworms for the class and told them that, to pass the test, their Flobberworm had to still be
alive at the end of one hour. As Flobberworms flourished best if left to their own devices, it was
the easiest exam any of them had ever sat and also gave Hermione, Ron, and Harry plenty of
opportunity to speak to Hagrid.
“Beaky’s gettin’ a bit depressed,” Hagrid told them, bending low on the pretence of checking that
Harry’s Flobberworm was still alive. “Bin cooped up too long. But still ... we’ll know day after
tomorrow – one way or the other.”
That afternoon was their Potions exam. Hermione was dreading it completely. Most of her exams
were reasonably easy to anticipate what was covered. Professor Snape, however, was impossible to
figure out in more ways than one.
As they entered the classroom, each student took their own table. The tables had been shrunk down
so that only one student could be at each table. Hermione and the rest of the class were taking out
their potion-making materials in the meantime when they were startled by a massive crash. Neville
had fallen face-first into the ground.
Suspiciously, Draco Malfoy just so happened to be seated right where Neville had fallen with his
leg stuck straight out into the walkway. Malfoy was doubled over in laughter, as were the
Slytherins around him. Hermione saw red. The same anger that had washed over when she slapped
Malfoy was back. All she wanted to do at that second was tackle the blond to the ground.
“Give me words of encouragement right now, so I don’t kill Draco Malfoy,” said Hermione
through clenched teeth to Ron and Harry.
“Erm - Azkaban doesn’t have books...?” Harry said.
Hermione took a deep, grounding breath. “Thanks.” That was a rational enough answer to calm her
down ever so slightly. Instead of killing Malfoy, Hermione bent down to help Neville with his
things.
“I would hope Longbottom was capable of cleaning up things he dropped,” came Snape’s sudden
voice behind her. “If not, he’s even worse off than I had thought. Back to your seat, Miss Granger,
before I take any points away from Gryffindor.”
Hermione used her arm to sweep as many loose items as she could toward Neville before standing
up and taking her seat. Snape gave her one last disgusted glare before addressing the class.
“For your exam, you must brew a Confusing Concoction. You have three hours. Begin.”
Hermione immediately pulled out her cauldron and started the fire. Then she pulled out her mortar,
ingredients, and Potions book and got to work. Two and a half hours later, she was ready to cast the
Confundus Charm over the cauldron and submit her potion for grading. Hermione grabbed her
wand and made a shape like the left half of a heart over her cauldron. It bubbled and hissed and
turned a bright shade of pink, which looked, in her opinion, exactly how it should look.
Snape came over and dipped his ladle into her potion and inspected it. Hermione held her breath.
The professor took his wand and prodded her cauldron and then dipped his head toward the
bubbling brew and took a big sniff. Hermione secretly wished Snape would accidentally taste it and
be confused for the rest of the day, but the professor was, of course, not going to do that. Instead,
Snape dumped his ladle, wrote down a few notes on his parchment with a sneer, and moved on to
the next student.
Then came Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower. Hermione was able to identify most of
the stars in the night sky correctly. She was only unsure of two, though she made a very well
educated guess.
The next morning was History of Magic. Hermione’s essay on the evolution of medieval witch
hunts took on a very French flair. Six rolls of parchment, and three hours later, Hermione knew she
had an excellent essay worthy of top marks.
That afternoon was their exam in Herbology. The greenhouse glass magnified the hot sun, and they
all left with sunburnt necks. Neville walked away from the greenhouse smiling more than he had
since the incident with the passwords. During dinner, Hermione discussed the answers with Neville
to gauge how well she did.
Their second from the last exam on Thursday morning was Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Professor Lupin had compiled the most unusual exam any of them had ever taken; a sort of
obstacle course outside in the sun.
Hermione was definitely much more prepared for a written exam (as it had been in past years), and
the obstacle course completely threw her off. She could feel her anxiety start to overtake her. It
seemed as though Professor Lupin was taking them in reverse alphabetical order (Ron wasn’t very
happy about that), so she excused herself to “run to the loo.”
As soon as Hermione got inside the castle, she ran for her closet near the Great Hall. Thankfully,
she had the forethought to bring her knapsack with her, which contained her textbook and all of the
notes she had taken through the year. Hermione pulled the Time-Turner from beneath her robes
and turned it twice - she wasn’t necessarily sure one hour would be enough.
Hermione started flipping fervently through The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts for
potential dark creatures or spells that would work well in an obstacle course. Hermione was
positive that a Boggart would be one of the tasks; Red Caps, Grindylows, and Hinkypunks were
other contenders. Hermione doubted werewolves would be included for many obvious reasons, so
she skipped that section.
After using her first hour to look up the potential obstacles, Hermione used the second to refresh
herself on the spells and wand movements to banish or control them all. As the minutes ticked
away, her anxiety ticked up and up. She had to do well on her Defence Against the Dark Arts
exam. She was, after all, Harry Potter’s best friend. The Dark Arts would always be a dangerous
possibility with Harry around.
With five minutes left, Hermione tried to figure out what her Boggart would take the shape of. She
had Harry never got their turn in front of the Boggart at the beginning of the year, so she had a
significant disadvantage over her classmates. What was she afraid of? She was definitely fearful of
seeing Harry or Ron hurt - she had seen it enough the last two years. She supposed she was scared
of werewolves after reading so much about them (she did, after all, have to make sure Lupin wasn’t
a threat to her friends and classmates), but not so terrified that a boggart would turn into one.
Maybe a Basilisk? She was pretty scared of that in her second year.
Her five minutes were up. Hermione left her closet and made her way back to the ground, still with
no idea of what shape her Boggart would take. Both Ron and Harry had already gone - the students
who had already taken the exam were on the other side of the grounds as to not tell their friends
what they had faced. Hermione had to give it to Lupin - he really was a fantastic professor. She
hoped that his werewolf status wouldn’t make any waves.
Finally, it was Hermione’s turn. Lupin gave her a warm smile and explained her first task: wading
through a deep paddling pool filled with a Grindylow and using the correct defensive spell to keep
it at bay. The small, horned, pale-green-skinned water demon looked angry, though Hermione
didn’t blame him - at least 15 students (just in her class) had already gone through its pool shooting
spells at it.
Thanks to Hermione’s quick study session, she distinctly remembered the correct defence spell to
ward off Grindylows was the Revulsion Jinx because, underwater, it shot jets of boiling water.
Hermione put on the provided bright yellow waders and set forth into the pool. As soon as she
caught sight of the Grindylow coming towards her, Hermione plunged her wand into the cool
water and flicked it up, right, then up again while saying, “Relashio!” Hermione could feel the
water around her wand hand instantly warm and the current change. The Grindylow swam away as
fast as it could.
“Excellent work, Hermione,” Professor Lupin said with a smile.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the waders off.
Her next task was to cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps. The Red Cap was a small, dwarflike magical beast that inhabited wherever human blood had been shed, such as in the dungeons of
castles, the potholes of old battlefields, or holes underground. They were usually around three or
four feet tall, with red eyes and long, sharp nails. Hermione didn’t want to think about where
Lupin got the human blood to attract them.
She shook the thought from her head and focused on the task at hand. Red Caps could be repelled
by dousing them in Beautification Potion, as their temporary "beautiful" appearance was repulsive
to them. Hermione grabbed her wand and shot a simple beautification spell at the first Red Cap
that peeked out from the pothole. The Red Cap caught its reflection in the pothole and squealed as
though it had just been shot. It jumped from the hole and ran off into the bush. The other Red Caps
had similar reactions, though it was curious when two “beautiful” Red Caps saw each other and
started to fight.
“Again, Hermione, that was fantastic work.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“For the next task,” Lupin said, “You must find your way through this marsh to the other side.”
Hermione frowned. What creature could possibly be lurking in the marsh? She ran through her
Defence Against the Dark Arts book in her mind like a Rolodex. Hinkypunks! It had to be! A
Hinkypunk was a diminutive, one-legged magical creature with the appearance of wispy blue, grey,
or white smoke. It had a proclivity for luring travellers off of their paths at night into treacherous
bogs or wetlands under the guise of a helpful, lamp-bearing being. They were impish creatures
who revel in inconveniencing magical folk and non-magical folk alike. They could propel fireballs
far from their lamps, causing severe damage.
Hermione squelched her way through the murky marsh, ignoring the “helpful” directions of the
Hinkypunk (who was extremely persistent and very hard to ignore, even when you were expecting
them). Professor Lupin’s smile was enormous when she emerged.
“Excellent job again,” Lupin said.
“Thank you,” Hermione said. She knew she was almost done with the obstacle course, which
meant the Boggart was coming up next. They walked over to a large, unassuming trunk with a step
stool next to it.
“For your final task, you must face whatever is in this trunk. The trunk has been magically altered
to be big enough on the inside for you and what you are about to face. Just crawl in and then
descend the ladder to face your final creature.”
Hermione’s anxiety was escalating exponentially. She had no idea what the Boggart was going to
take the shape of. Professor Lupin lifted the heavy trunk lid, and Hermione swung her legs over the
side to the ladder's first rung. She slowly descended, taking care to not slip on the cool, metal
rungs. As Hermione climbed lower and lower, the trunk’s walls grew wider and wider. As her feet
hit the floor, she glanced around a room about the size of Hermione’s bedroom at home in
Lavenham. She glanced up just as Professor Lupin was shutting the trunk lid about ten meters up.
There was an eerie cool glow to the room that reminded Hermione of a basement-type room
severely lit by fluorescent bulbs. In the corner was a large wardrobe that was shaking violently.
There was nothing else in the room.
Hermione took a deep breath. She knew she’d lose her nerve if she waited too long. She just
wanted to get it all over with. Her trembling hand reached out, turned the brass handle, and pulled.
The door swung open with more force than Hermione had used to pull it open. She looked up to
see what had pushed the door from the inside. Her breath caught in her throat; Professor
McGonagall was standing inside the wardrobe.
“P-P-Professor,” she stuttered. “W-w-what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to tell you how utterly disappointed I am of you, Miss Granger. I went to a lot of trouble
getting you that Time-Turner only for you to fail all of your exams!? How disappointing!”
“I failed?!” Hermione shrieked. She couldn’t breathe. There was no breath.
“Yes, Miss Granger. You failed miserably. I don’t know how you failed this badly. I didn’t think it
was possible.”
“No, I couldn’t have failed that badly!” Hermione choked out.
“I can assure you, Miss Granger, you certainly have. You will, unfortunately, have to leave
Hogwarts.”
“NO!” Hermione slapped her hands over her ears. She couldn’t listen to any more of it. “No! No!
No! You’re just a Boggart!” Hermione started hyperventilating.
“I am not!”
“No! You are! You are a Boggart! You have to be!” Hermione sobbed. “Riddikulus. Riddikulus.
Riddikulus!”
Nothing was happening. Hermione was gasping for air. “Riddikulus!” she shouted again, pointing
her wand at the professor.
“Stop that ridiculous spell! You can never do magic again! You’re expelled!”
Hermione willed her mind to think of something, anything that could be construed as remotely
funny. All that came to mind was Bem’s jokes in Divination. Hermione was down on her knees at
this point, trying to force herself to breathe.
“Roddikulus!” she choked out with her wand out straight.
“I got expelled from mime school… must have been something I said,” Boggart Professor
McGonagall said and then gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Hermione managed a tiny
snort of laughter.
Thankfully, that’s all it needed. Professor McGonagall disappeared back into the wardrobe, and the
door slammed shut. Hermione wasted absolutely no time - she needed out of that room
immediately. Her panic attack was still in full swing. She scaled the ladder as quickly as she could
and started banging on the lid of the trunk with one hand, her other grasping the ladder.
“Let me out!” she screamed, completely panicking by now. Lupin wasn’t opening the lid fast
enough. Hermione let go of the ladder and started pounding with both hands. “Let me out! Please!”
she pleaded. She felt her body weight begin to shift. She quickly grabbed the ladder again before
falling backwards back down into the pit… back down with Professor McGonagall.
She was blinded by a white light and nearly fell again. Someone had opened the lid of the trunk.
She scrambled out of it and shut the lid herself. She was sobbing and couldn’t stop.
“Hermione!” said Lupin, startled. “What’s the matter?”
“P-P-Professor McGonagall!” Hermione gasped, pointing into the trunk. “Sh-she said I’d failed
everything!”
“It was just the Boggart,” Professor Lupin said in a calming voice. “It wasn’t real.”
“I know that!” Hermione snapped.
“You didn’t fail anything, Hermione,” Lupin said softly. “Please, let’s focus on your breathing.
Breath in-two-three. Breath out-two-three. Breath in-two-three. Breath out-two-three. Good. Keep
breathing”
Hermione could feel the breath fill up her lungs, and she started to calm down ever so slightly.
Tears were still streaming from her eyes, but she wasn’t sobbing uncontrollably anymore. “I’m so
sorry, Hermione,” Lupin continued. “This is my fault. You were the only one who didn’t get to
face the Boggart this year. Plus,” he lowered his voice, “I know you have a bit of added stress with
all of the classes you’ve been taking. I should have offered a tutoring session or two to give you
time with the Boggart. Can you forgive me?”
Hermione looked at Lupin and nodded, though she wasn’t sure if her nod was genuine. She was
too upset to forgive anyone at that moment. All she knew was that she needed to get away from
him before she said something she would regret later.
It took a little while for Hermione to calm down. She, Ron, and Harry went back up to the castle
when she finally did calm down. Ron looked like he wanted to say something, probably to make
fun of her about her Boggart, but Hermione was in no mood for Ron’s wisecracks.
When they reached the steps to the castle, they noticed a portly little man in a pinstriped cloak and
a lime green bowler. It was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. The minister was startled at
the sight of Harry, clearly not expecting to see the raven-haired boy.
“Hello there, Harry!” Fudge said. “Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?”
“Yes,” said Harry. Hermione and Ron stayed behind Harry, both slightly intimidated to see the
Minister of Magic standing in front of them.
“Lovely day,” said Fudge, looking out over the lake. “Pity, pity…”
He sighed deeply and looked down at Harry.
“I’m here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous
Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad Hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to
check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in.
“Does that mean the appeal’s already happened?” Ron interrupted, stepping forwards.
“No, no, it’s scheduled for this afternoon,” said Fudge, looking curiously at Ron.
“Then you might not have to witness an execution at all!” said Ron stoutly. “The Hippogriff might
get off!”
Before Fudge could answer, two wizards came through the castle doors behind him. One was so
ancient he appeared to be withering before their very eyes; the other was tall and strapping, with a
thin black moustache. Hermione gathered that they were representatives of the Committee for the
Disposal of Dangerous Creatures because the very old wizard squinted towards Hagrid’s cabin and
said in a feeble voice, “Dear, dear, I’m getting too old for this ... two o’clock, isn’t it, Fudge?”
The black-moustached man was fingering something in his belt; Hermione saw with horror that he
was running one broad thumb along the blade of a shining axe. Ron opened his mouth to say
something, but Hermione nudged him hard in the ribs and jerked her head towards the Entrance
Hall.
“Why’d you stop me?” said Ron angrily as they entered the Great Hall for lunch. “Did you see
them? They’ve even got the axe ready! This isn’t justice!”
“Ron, your dad works for the Ministry. You can’t go saying things like that to his boss!” said
Hermione, but she, too, looked distraught. “As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time and argues
his case properly, they can’t possibly execute Buckbeak…”
But Hermione didn’t even believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. The executioner
wasn’t here by mistake or “just in case.” The appeal’s outcome had been determined long before
that afternoon.
Her last exam was Muggle Studies (while Ron and Harry went to Divination). Hermione wasn’t
worried in the least and found herself finished with the exam in a little less than an hour. They had
to complete a simple circuit with a battery as well, and Hermione was able to wire it together in
only a minute or two. Professor Burbage wanted Hermione to stay after she finished and “chat,” but
Hermione wanted nothing more than to go back to her room and take a quick celebratory nap for
surviving the year (and that terrifying Boggart).
As she walked back to the common room, Hermione felt every single muscle scream in exhaustion.
The end of her exams meant the end of the adrenaline high she had been riding all year. While she
should be feeling relieved to be done with everything and proud of what she had accomplished,
Hermione instead felt positively miserable. The depression just made her choice all the more clear:
she would give Professor McGonagall back the Time-Turner. It was wonderful to have had the
opportunity to take so many classes and learn so many things, but she missed the feeling she got
when she learned new things; that feeling had been snuffed out by exhaustion all year.
That settled it. Hermione would take a short nap, and then she would march down to Professor
McGonagall’s office and turn in the Time-Turner.
However, when she got back to the common room, an owl was sitting on the comfy chairs she and
the boys usually sat on. Hermione was just going to ignore the owl and walk up the stairs, but the
owl flew into her path.
“Ok, fine,” Hermione said with a hint of annoyance. She just wanted to nap before everyone got
back. She took the letter out of the owl’s beak, and it flew away before she could rip the envelope
open. She started to read and immediately started to cry.
Lost appeal. They’re going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don’t come
down. I don’t want you to see it.
Just at that moment, Ron came through the portrait hole. “What’s wrong, another Boggart?” he
said with a silly, well-meaning grin that immediately fell as soon as he saw Hermione’s face. He
rushed over and put his hand on her arm. “‘Mione, what is it? What happened?”
She handed him the letter and watched his face fall even further as he read it. “Those bastards!”
Ron yelled. “I can’t believe them!”
“Ron, don’t swear,” Hermione said absentmindedly.
“That was a lot better than the word I used in my head,” he murmured. “Harry should be back soon.
Trelawney had us each in by ourselves. Harry was called right after me.”
Hermione was so angry. All of her anxiety and exhaustion rolled into a wave of seething anger at
the unfairness of it all. How could they do such a thing? They needed to do something, but she
couldn’t figure out what. Harry was the “idea person.” He was, as Sophie pointed out, an expert
meddler.
Hermione looked up to see Harry crawl through the portrait hole not ten minutes later. Harry would
know what to do. He seemed out of breath. “Professor Trelawney,” Harry panted, “just told me-”
“Buckbeak lost,” said Ron weakly. “Hagrid’s just sent this.”
They watched as Harry read Hagrid’s note.
“We’ve got to go,” said Harry at once. “He can’t just sit there on his own, waiting for the
executioner!”
“Sunset, though,” said Ron, who was staring out of the window. “We’d never be allowed…
‘specially you, Harry.”
“If we only had the Invisibility Cloak,” he said with his head in his hands.
“Where is it?” asked Hermione.
“The last time I was in Hogsmeade, Malfoy saw me, and I had to run back to the castle before he
did. I had to leave the cloak in the secret passageway under the one-eyed witch statue to
Honeydukes so Snape couldn’t take it when he caught me. I nearly got expelled for that. If Snape
sees me anywhere near there again, I’m in serious trouble,” Harry said.
“That’s true,” said Hermione, getting to her feet. She was done with playing by the rules and still
having horrible things happen. “If he sees you. How do you open the witch’s hump again?” Harry
had told her, but she wasn’t paying attention since she hadn’t approved of him sneaking off to
Hogsmeade.
“You - you tap it and say, ‘Dissendium,’” said Harry. “But-”
Hermione didn’t wait for the rest of his sentence. She strode across the room, pushed the Fat
Lady’s portrait open, and vanished from sight. She marched straight to the one-eyed witch (whose
proper name was Gunhilda of Gorsemoor) on the third floor, ignoring everyone she passed.
Luckily, there was no one in the corridor, so she had no trouble tapping the witch and saying
“Dissendium.” The hump on the witch’s back opened to reveal a short slide into a tunnel.
Hermoine swept her arm around the ground, trying to find the invisibility cloak. Her hand touched
something soft, and she knew she had found it. She took it with her back to the common room,
folding it and tucking it beneath her robes and under her arm so no one would see it.
“Hermione, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately!” said Ron, astounded. “First you hit
Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor Trelawney-”
His voice trailed off in awe. Hermione was rather flattered.
----They went down to dinner with everyone else but did not return to Gryffindor Tower afterwards.
Harry had the cloak hidden down the front of his robes; he had to keep his arms folded to hide the
lump. Hermione’s anxiety had been replaced with a different sort, fueled by the adrenaline that
came with breaking the rules with Harry.
They sulked in an empty chamber off the Entrance Hall, listening, until they were sure it was
deserted. They heard the last pair of people hurrying across the Hall and a door slamming.
Hermione poked her head around the door.
“Ok,” she whispered. “No one there. Cloak on.”
Walking very close together so no one would see them, they crossed the Hall on tiptoe beneath the
cloak. Hermione was in the middle of the two boys and very uncomfortable, but kept telling herself
it wouldn’t be too much longer.
They reached Hagrid’s cabin and knocked. He was a minute in answering, and when he did, he
looked all around for his visitor, pale-faced and trembling.
“It’s us,” Harry hissed. “We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in, and we can take it off.”
“Yeh shouldn’ve come!” Hagrid whispered, but he stood back, and they stepped inside. Hagrid
shut the door quickly, and Harry pulled the cloak off them all.
Hagrid was not crying, nor did he throw himself upon their necks. He looked like a man who did
not know where he was or what to do. This helplessness was worse to watch than tears.
“Wan’ some tea?” he asked. His great hands were shaking as he reached for the kettle.
Hermione looked around the cabin. The Hippogriff was nowhere to be found. She had a sinking
feeling; what if Hagrid let the creature escape? What would his punishment be then? “Where’s
Buckbeak, Hagrid?” said Hermione hesitantly.
“I-I took him outside,” said Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he filled up the jug. “He’s
tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an’ - an’ smell fresh air - before-”
Hagrid’s hand trembled so violently that the milk jug slipped from his grasp and shattered all over
the floor and, with it, broke Hermione’s heart. She felt horrible for the sweet man.
“I’ll do it, Hagrid,” she said quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the mess. It was the
least she could do. She had to do something, and this seemed to be the only thing she could do.
“There’s another one in the cupboard,” Hagrid said, sitting down and wiping his forehead on his
sleeve.
“Isn’t there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?” Harry asked fiercely, sitting down next to Hagrid.
“Dumbledore-”
“He’s tried,” said Hagrid. “He’s got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told ‘em Buckbeak’s
all right, but they’re scared… yeh know what Lucius Malfoy’s like… threatened ‘em, I expect. An’
the executioner, Macnair, he’s an old pal o’ Malfoy’s… but it’ll be quick an’ clean. An’ I’ll be
beside him…”
Hagrid gulped. His eyes were darting all over the cabin as though looking for some shred of hope
or comfort. Hermione tried to give him the most comforting look she could muster.
“Dumbledore’s gonna come down while it- while it happens. Wrote me this mornin’. Said he
wants ter - ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore…”
Hermione’s heart broke all over again, and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She pulled it back
inside, trying to stay strong for Hagrid. If he could hold it together, so could she. She stood up with
the new jug in her hands and set her jaw tightly.
“We’ll stay with you too, Hagrid,” she said, but Hagrid shook his head.
“Yeh’re ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don’ wan’ yeh watchin’. An’ yeh shouldn’ be
down here anyway. If Fudge an’ Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh’ll be in
big trouble.”
Hermione lost the fight at holding her tears - they were streaming down her face, but she did her
best to hide them from Hagrid. She would NOT let him see her cry. Hermione tried to busy herself
making more tea. She picked up the heavy milk bottle to pour some into the jug. She glanced into
the pitcher to judge how much milk would fit and shrieked at what she saw.
“Ron! I - I don’t believe it! It’s Scabbers!”
Ron gaped at her.
“What are you talking about?”
Hermione carried the milk jug over to the table and turned it upside-down. With a frantic squeak
and much scrambling to get back inside, Scabbers the rat came sliding out onto the table.
“Scabbers!” said Ron. “Scabbers, what are you doing here?”
He grabbed the rat and held it up; it looked dreadful. He was thinner than ever, large tufts of hair
had fallen out, leaving broad bald patches, and he writhed in Ron’s hands as though desperate to
free himself. He was, however, very much alive.
“It’s ok, Scabbers!” said Ron. “No cats! There’s nothing here to hurt you!”
Hagrid suddenly stood up, his eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face had gone the
colour of parchment.
“They’re comin’.”
Hermione, Ron, and Harry whipped around to look out the window. A group of men was walking
down the distant castle steps. In front was Albus Dumbledore. Next to him waddled Cornelius
Fudge, and behind them came the feeble old Committee member and the executioner, Macnair.
“Yeh gotta go,” said Hagrid. He was trembling violently. “They mustn’ find yeh here. Go on,
now!”
Ron stuffed Scabbers into his pocket, and Hermione picked up the cloak. She didn’t want to leave
him. It wasn’t fair.
“I’ll let yeh out the back way,” said Hagrid.
They followed him to the door into his back garden. Hermione stifled a sob as she caught sight of
Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. Buckbeak seemed
to know something was happening. He turned his sharp head from side to side and pawed the
ground nervously.
“It’s ok, Beaky,” said Hagrid softly. “It’s ok…” The love that man showed for animals was so
pure. Hermione felt the tears well again. Hagrid turned to them once more. “Go on,” he said. “Get
going.”
But they didn’t move. They couldn’t. They all talked at once.
“Hagrid, we can’t-”
“We’ll tell them what really happened-”
“They can’t kill him-”
“Go!” said Hagrid fiercely, startling Hermione. She had never seen him like that. “It’s bad enough
without you lot in trouble an’ all.”
They had no choice. As Hermione threw the cloak over Harry and Ron, they heard voices at the
front of the cabin. Hagrid looked at the place where they had just vanished from sight.
“Go quick,” he said hoarsely. “Don’ listen.”
And he strode back into his cabin as someone knocked at the front door.
Slowly, in a kind of horrified trance, Hermione, Ron, and Harry set off silently around Hagrid’s
hut. Just as they reached the other side, the front door closed with a sharp snap.
“Please, let’s hurry,” Hermione whispered. Hagrid was right - they shouldn’t be there to hear it. “I
can’t stand it. I can’t bear it…”
Her voice trailed off because she thought she saw something very peculiar in the woods. She
blinked a few times, and it was gone.
They started up the sloping lawn towards the castle. The sun was sinking fast; the sky had turned
to a clear, purple-tinged great, but to the west, there was a ruby-red glow.
Ron stopped dead.
Hermione grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to get him to keep going.
“Oh, please, Ron,” Hermione said.
“It’s Scabbers - he won’t - stay put-”
Ron was bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat was going berserk; squeaking
madly, twisting and flailing, trying to sink his teeth into Ron’s hand.
“Scabbers, it’s me, you idiot. It’s Ron!” Ron hissed.
They heard a door open behind them and men’s voices.
“Oh Ron, please let’s move! They’re going to do it!” Hermione whispered. Her heart was beating
so loudly, she was sure the men at Hagrid’s hut would hear it.
“Ok, Scabbers, stay put!”
They walked forwards, but Ron stopped again.
“I can’t hold him - Scabbers, shut up! Everyone’ll hear us!”
The rat was squealing wildly, but not loudly enough to cover up the sounds drifting from Hagrid’s
garden. There was a jumble of indistinct male voices, a silence and then, without warning, the
unmistakable swish and thud of an axe.
Hermione felt as though she was going to faint. She swayed back and forth. “They did it!” she
whispered. “I d-don’t believe it! They did it!”
Cat, Rat, and Dog
Hermione’s legs nearly gave out beneath her, but she was able to lean against Harry before she
sank to the ground. The three of them stood transfixed with horror under the Invisibility Cloak. The
very last rays of the setting sun were casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. Then,
behind them, they heard a wild howling. Hermione realised at once it was Hagrid wailing in agony.
Harry recognised it too.
“Hagrid,” Harry muttered and turned back towards the hut. Both Hermione and Ron seized his
arms.
“We can’t,” said Ron, who was paper white. “He’ll be in worse trouble if they’ve known we’ve
been to see him.”
Under any other circumstances, Hermione would be impressed with Ron’s rational thinking. But,
at that moment, she could barely think straight. She was on the verge of another panic attack.
“How - could - they?!” She choked. “How could they?!”
“Come on,” said Ron, whose teeth seemed to be chattering.
They set off back towards the castle, walking slowly to keep themselves hidden under the Cloak.
The light was fading fast now. By the time they reached open ground, darkness was settling like a
spell around them.
“Scabbers, keep still,” Ron hissed, clamping his hand over his chest. The rat was wriggling madly.
Ron came to a sudden halt, trying to force Scabbers deeper into his pocket. “What’s the matter
with you, you stupid rat? Stay still – OUCH! He bit me!”
“Ron, be quiet!” Hermione whispered urgently. “Fudge’ll be out here in a minute –”
“He won’t – stay – put –”
Scabbers was plainly terrified. He was writhing with all his might, trying to break free of Ron’s
grip.
“What’s the matter with him?”
Hermione saw a flash of yellow glinting eerily in the darkness. Something was slinking towards
them, its body low to the ground. Hermione immediately realised what it was and groaned.
“Crookshanks! No! Go away, Crookshanks! Go away!
But the cat was getting nearer.
“Scabbers - NO!”
The late slipped between Ron’s fingers, hit the ground, and scampered away. Hermione watched,
horrified, as Crookshanks sprang after him. Before anyone knew what was happening, Ron threw
the invisibility cloak off of himself and pelted away into the darkness in the direction of Scabbers
and Crookshanks.
“Ron!” Hermione moaned.
She and Harry exchanged a look and then followed Ron (and Crookshanks and Scabbers) at a
sprint. It was like a horrible parade. She and Harry found it impossible to run under the invisibility
cloak in tandem so, therefore, threw it off themselves, letting it flutter behind them like a cape or
banner in their very dysfunctional and extremely dangerous parade. They continued to follow
Ron’s thudding footsteps and his shouts at Crookshanks as they ran further and further from
Hagrid’s hut onto the grounds.
“Get away from him - get away! Scabbers, come here!”
There was a loud thud.
“Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat!”
Hermione and Harry almost fell over Ron; they skidded to a stop right in front of him. He was
sprawled on the ground, but Scabbers must have been back in his pocket; he had both hands held
tight over the quivering lump.
“Ron - come on - back under - the cloak -'' Hermione panted. “Dumbledore - the Minister - they’ll
be coming - back out - in a minute-” If they got caught, it wasn’t just expulsion they had to be
worried about.
But before they could cover themselves again, before they could even catch their breath, they
heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws. Something was bounding towards them out of the dark an enormous, pale-eyed, jet black dog.
Hermione fumbled for her wand, but the Invisibility Cloak had twisted around her arms. The dog
made an enormous leap straight towards Harry, knocking him over violently. Hermione’s voice
caught in her throat as the dog bared its teeth. Hermione could see Harry was also struggling to
breathe under the massive dog’s weight on his chest.
However, instead of lunging for Harry’s neck, the dog pounced up and towards Ron, who was up
on his feet. The dog growled, getting ready to attack. In a flash, it sprang towards Ron, its jaw
latching around Ron’s outstretched arm. Ron screamed, unlocking Hermione’s voice. She
screamed too and dove to try to help Harry grab at the animal. Hermione’s hands grabbed a large
tuft of fur, but the dog easily manoeuvred out of her grasp as it started dragging Ron away as easily
as if he were a ragdoll.
Hermione tried to grab at the dog again, but something hit her so hard across the chest she fell
backwards. Pain erupted across her chest and the back of her head, which hit the ground with a
thud. She looked to the side wildly and saw Harry had been knocked to the ground too.
“Lumos,” Harry said beside her. She wished she had thought of that. The light from the tip of
Harry’s wand illuminated the trunk of a thick tree. Hermione recognised it at once with a sickening
realisation; they had chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow, and its branches
were creaking as though in a high wind, whipping backwards and forwards to stop them going
nearer.
And there, at the base of the trunk, was the dog, dragging Ron backwards into a large gap in the
roots - Ron was fighting furiously, but his head and torso were slipping out of sight“Ron!” Harry shouted, trying to follow, but Hermione watched as a heavy branch whipped lethally
through the air, knocking Harry flat on his back again.
All they could see now was one of Ron’s legs, which he had hooked around a root in an effort to
stop the dog from pulling him further underground. Hermione flipped over onto her stomach,
ignoring the pain in her chest and head, and tried to crawl towards Ron to him before he completely
disappeared underground, all the while dodging the whiplike branches. She got a few feet before a
sickening crack cut the air like a gunshot. Ron’s leg had broken, and, the next second, his limp foot
vanished from sight. All that was left of Ron was his screams.
“Harry, we’ve got to go for help!” Hermione cried. She noticed blood coming from her shoulder,
but she couldn’t worry about that now - Ron was in mortal danger.
“No! That thing’s big enough to eat him. We haven’t got time-”
“We’re never going to get through without help-”
Another branch whipped down at them, twigs clenched like knuckles.
“If that dog can get in, we can,” Harry panted, darting here and there, trying to find a way through
the vicious, swishing branches, but he couldn’t get a single inch nearer to the tree-roots without
being in the range of the tree’s blows.
“Oh help, help,” Hermione whispered frantically to no one in particular. She was full-on panicking
now, and with every flutter of her heart, her shoulder pulsed with pain. “Please.”
As if he could understand her, Crookshanks darted forwards. He slithered between the battering
branches like a snake and placed his front paws upon a knot on the trunk as he did it a million
times before.
As though the tree had been turned to marble, it abruptly stopped moving. Not a leaf twitched or
shook.
“Crookshanks!” Hermione whispered in awe. She grabbed Harry’s arm to make sure he had seen
what she had just seen. “How did he know-”
“He’s friends with that dog,” said Harry. Hermione remembered seeing them that one night
travelling the grounds. “I’ve seen them together. Come on - and keep your wand out-”
They covered the distance to the trunk in seconds, not knowing when the Whomping Willow
would start attacking again. Crookshanks slid into a little gap between the roots with a flick of his
bottle brush tail. Harry followed him immediately, crawling forwards headfirst. Hermione took a
deep breath and slithered in after him down an earthly slope to the bottom of a shallow tunnel.
They could just make out Crookshanks in the light of Harry’s wand.
“Where’s Ron?!” she whispered in a terrified voice.
“This way,” Harry said, setting off, back bent, after Crookshanks.
“Where does this tunnel come out?” Hermione asked breathlessly. Knowing their luck, the tunnel
would lead them to somewhere horrible like the Chamber of Secrets or the bottom of the lake or
even right into Sirius Black’s secret hideout.
“I don’t know,” said Harry, filling Hermione’s stomach with dread. “It’s marked on the Marauder’s
Map, but Fred and George said no one’s ever got into it. It goes off the edge of the map, but it
looks like it ends up in Hogsmeade…”
They moved as fast as they could, but it was extremely difficult to move quickly while bent over at
the waist. Crookshanks’ tails bobbed in and out of view ahead of Hermione and Harry. Hermione
couldn’t believe Crookshanks knew where he was going. She must have missed all of his longer
trips with her studying over the school year.
On and on went the passage. All Hermione could think of was Ron in the jaws of that huge black
dog. To keep herself from a full-on panic attack again, Hermione tried to plan out what all she
could do to tend to Ron’s wounds. She wouldn’t be able to mend his broken leg, but she could
probably isolate the Body-Bind Curse (Petrificus Totalus) to just his leg, so the bones didn’t shift
more than they already had.
She was trying to think of a spell that would work for blood loss when the tunnel began to rise;
moments later, it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone. Hermione peered ahead over Harry’s bent
back and saw a dim light through a small opening up ahead. They both paused, gasping for breath,
edging forwards. Both also raised their wands to see what lay beyond.
Harry looked back at Hermione as if to see if she was ready. She was absolutely terrified but would
do whatever she needed to do to save Ron, even if it meant venturing into an unknown room with a
dangerous dog. She nodded that she was ready, and Harry pushed himself out of the hole.
Hermione immediately followed. The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open,
leading to a shadowy hallway.
Hermione realised where they were almost immediately. She grabbed Harry’s arm. “Harry,” she
whispered. “I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack.”
Both she and Harry looked about the room. Their eyes fell on a wooden chair near them. Large
chunks had been torn out of it, and one of the legs had been ripped off entirely.
“Ghosts didn’t do that,” he said slowly.
Harry was very right - that destruction was definitely caused by a living creature.
At that exact moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Both Hermione
and Harry looked up at the ceiling as if they could see through it. Hermione’s grip on Harry’s arm
was so tight, but she couldn’t help it. She was terrified, but they must find Ron before it was too
late.
Harry looked at her again to silently ask if she was ready. Hermione nodded again and let go of
Harry’s arm so he could use his wand. As quietly as they could, they crept out into the hall and up
the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a
wide, shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs.
Ron.
They reached a very dark landing. Trying to desperately have some leverage over the situation,
Harry muttered, “Nox,” to extinguish his wand light. Hermione did the same. Only one door was
open on the landing. They heard movement from within as they crept towards it: a low moan and
then a deep, loud purring. Ron and Crookshanks! It had to be! Hermione and Harry exchanged a
last look, a last nod. They were of one mind.
Wand held tightly before them, Harry kicked the door wide open, and they both stepped into the
room.
On a once magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the
sight of them. On the floor beside him, clutching his leg, which stuck out at a strange, painful
angle, was Ron.
Suddenly, the danger was no more. All Hermione could think of was Ron. Nothing else existed at
that moment. She and Harry rushed over to him.
“Ron - are you ok?!” Hermione asked breathlessly.
“Where’s the dog?” At least Harry was thinking of something other than Ron.
Ron moaned. His face was chalky white, and he looked like he was drifting in and out of
consciousness. Hermione held his clammy cheek. “Not a dog,” he grunted. His teeth were gritted
with pain. “Harry, it’s a trap-”
“What-”
“He’s the dog - he’s an Animagus-”
Ron’s eyes flashed over and stared over Harry’s shoulder. Hermione followed Ron’s gaze. Harry
wheeled around. With a snap, the man in the shadows closed the door behind them.
A mass of filthy, matted hair hung past his shoulders to his elbows. If eyes hadn’t been shining out
of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over
the bones of his face that it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin.
It was Sirius Black.
In his hand was something that looked terribly familiar: Ron’s wand that he had just gotten that
year.
“Expelliarmus!” he croaked, pointing the wand at them.
Hermione and Harry’s wands shot out of their hands, high in the air, and Black caught them. He
took a step closer. His eyes were fixed on Harry. Hermione couldn’t breathe. She made a move to
jump in front of her best friend, but his voice speaking from the darkness stopped her cold.
“I thought you’d come and help your friend,” he said hoarsely. His voice sounded as though he had
lost the habit of using it long ago. “Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you not
to run for a teacher. I’m grateful… it will make everything much easier…”
Hermione felt Harry’s whole body flinch as if Black had hit him. She could feel his muscles
tensing to attack. Ron felt it, too, and they both reached out and grabbed Harry’s arms to hold him
back.
“No, Harry!” Hermione gasped in a petrified whisper. She pushed him down to the ground. Ron
did too but used the leverage to stand.
“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!” he said fiercely, though the effort of standing
up had drained him of still more colour, and he swayed slightly as he spoke.
Something flickered in Black’s shadowed eyes.
“Lie down,” he said quietly to Ron. “You will damage that leg even more.”
“Did you hear me?” Ron said weakly, though he was clinging to Harry’s arm to stay upright.
Hermione stood and grabbed Ron to steady him and took a step in front of Harry. “You’ll have to
kill all three of us!” Hermione nodded in agreement.
“There’ll only be one murder here tonight,” said Black, and his grin widened.
“Why’s that?!” Harry spat from behind Hermione and Ron. She felt him trying to push past her and
shake her grip. “Didn’t care last time, did you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get
at Pettigrew? What’s the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?”
“Harry,” Hermione whimpered. He was antagonising Black, and that could only end badly. “Be
quiet!”
“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!” Harry roared, and with a considerable effort, broke free of
Hermione and Ron. Hermione tried to catch Ron before he fell, but he was much heavier than she
had anticipated. She was able to guide him down to the ground much more softly than had he just
fallen.
However, her concern for Ron allowed Harry to lunge at Black. He seemed to have forgotten that
he was a wizard or that he was thirteen and going against a grown man. Harry jumped at full speed
toward the convict. Perhaps it was the shock of Harry doing something so incredibly foolish, but
Black didn’t raise the wands in time. Hermione watched in horror as one of Harry’s hands grabbed
Black’s wrist while the other punched him in the side of the head.
They both fell backwards into the wall.
Hermione was screaming.
Ron was yelling.
Crookshanks was bellowing.
There was a blinding flash as the wands in Black’s hands sent into the air a jet of sparks that
missed Harry’s face by inches.
Black’s free hand had found Harry’s throat.
“No!” he hissed into Harry’s face. “I’ve waited too long-”
Hermione knew she had to do something. It took all of her courage, but she stood and aimed the
most brutal kick she could ever muster right into Black’s side, knocking him off-kilter. Black let
go of Harry’s throat with a grunt of pain. Ron, meanwhile, threw himself in the direction of his
own wand that Black had been using.
Hermione saw Harry diving for his own wand. Black saw him at the same time. Not even giving it
a second thought, Hermione jumped forward, grabbing Black’s arm to provide Harry with a slight
advantage to get it first.
Crookshanks had joined the fray. Hermione watched in horror as her beloved cat sunk his claws
into Harry’s arm. Harry threw him off, but Crookshanks now darted toward Harry’s wand. Black
tried to lunge as well, but Hermione grabbed his arm again, but he shook her off easily. Hermione
jumped back at Black, hitting and kicking him as much as she could. She felt another kick land in
something soft. Black jumped in pain, and his arm hit her mouth. Hermione’s head exploded in
stars, but she wouldn’t quit; she couldn’t quit.
“NO YOU DON’T!” roared Harry as he dove to get his wand before Crookshanks. He snatched up
the wand and turned on the spot. “Get out of the way!” he shouted at Hermione and Ron.
They didn’t need telling twice. Hermione, gasping for breath with her lip bleeding, scrambled
aside. She saw their wands on the ground and scooped them up. Ron crawled to the four-poster bed
and collapsed onto it, panting, his white face now tinged with green, both hands clutching his
broken leg.
As abruptly as the chaos started, everything seemed to be suspended. The silence was deafening.
Black was sprawled at the bottom of the wall. His thin chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched
Harry walking slowly nearer, his wand pointing straight at Black’s heart. Hermione couldn’t move
- she was paralysed with fear.
“Going to kill me, Harry?” he whispered.
“You killed my parents,” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. Hermione noticed, however, his
wand hand was scarily steady.
Black stared up at him out of those sunken eyes. “I don’t deny it,” he said, very quietly. “But if you
knew the whole story-”
“The whole story?” Harry repeated in an eerie, hollow tone that scared Hermione almost more than
the raving mad convict on the ground. “You sold them to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know!”
“You’ve got to listen to me,” Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. “You’ll
regret it if you don’t… You don’t understand…”
“I understand a lot better than you think,” said Harry. “You never heard her, did you? My mum…
trying to stop Voldemort from killing me. And you did that… you did it.”
The rage in Harry’s voice was beyond measurable. This was it. Harry was going to kill Sirius
Black. Hermione’s best friend was about to be a murderer. Hermione willed herself to close her
eyes - she didn’t want to be a witness to Harry’s horrible act.
But, before Harry could cast his spell, something ginger streaked past Harry. Crookshanks leapt
onto Black’s chest and settled himself right over Black’s heart. Black blinked and looked down at
the cat.
“Get off,” he murmured, trying to push Crookshanks off him.
But Crookshanks sank his claws into Black’s robes and wouldn’t shift. He turned his ugly,
squashed face to Harry and looked up at him with those great yellow eyes. To his right, Hermione
gave a dry sob. Her best friend was going to commit murder, and her cat would die as well.
Harry raised his wand.
Hermione gasped.
His hand started to tremble ever so slightly.
The seconds lengthened.
Harry stood frozen there, wand poised. Black was staring up at him, resigned to his fate.
Crookshanks was on Black’s chest, audibly purring. Ron’s ragged breathing came from near the
bed. Hermione couldn’t move.
And then came a new sound.
Muffled footsteps were echoing up through the floor - someone was moving downstairs!
Hermione snapped out of her spell. “We’re up here!” Hermione screamed suddenly. Her voice was
hoarse; whoever it was may not have heard her. She tried again. “WE’RE UP HERE - SIRIUS
BLACK - QUICK!”
Black made a startled movement that almost dislodged Crookshanks. Harry jumped but didn’t cast
his spell. The footsteps were thundering up the stairs.
The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks, and Professor Lupin came hurtling into
the space, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. His eyes flickered over Ron, lying on the
floor, over Hermione, cowering next to the door, to Harry, standing there with his wand covering
Black, and then to Black himself, crumpled and bleeding at Harry’s feet. They were saved!
“Expelliarmus!” Lupin shouted.
Harry’s wand flew once more out of his hand; so did the two Hermione was holding. Lupin caught
them all deftly, then moved into the room, staring at Black, who still had Crookshanks lying
protectively across his chest.
Any inkling of hope Hermione had dissipated in an instant.
She was despondent but couldn’t even muster any tears at this point. She felt empty. She was
paralysed in despair.
Lupin spoke in an odd voice that shook with some suppressed emotion. “Where is he, Sirius?”
Black’s face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn’t move at all. Then, very slowly,
he raised his empty hand and pointed straight at Ron. Hermione stifled a gasp.
“But then,” Lupin muttered, staring at Black so intently that it seemed he was trying to read his
mind. “Why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless-” Lupin’s eyes suddenly widened, as
though he was seeing something beyond Black, something none of the rest could see. “Unless he
was the one… unless you switched… without telling me?”
Very slowly, his hollow gaze never leaving Lupin’s face, Black nodded.
“Professor Lupin,” Harry interrupted loudly. “What’s going on?”
Did he not realise it? Lupin was in on it! Realisation finally dawned on Harry’s face as he watched
Lupin lower his wand. Hermione watched as well, shaking with anger, as their Defence Against the
Dark Arts professor - the man who Hermione carried a secret for - walked to Black’s side, seized
his hand, pulled him to his feet, and embraced Black like a brother. Hermione exploded. She
jumped to her feet.
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Hermione screamed. Lupin let go of Black and turned to her. “You you-”
“Hermione-”
“-you and him!”
“Hermione, calm down-”
Being told to calm down had the reverse effect on her. “I didn’t tell anyone anything!” Hermione
shrieked. “I’ve been covering up for you-”
“Hermione, listen to me, please!” Lupin shouted. “I can explain!”
“I trusted you!” Harry joined in the shouting. His voice, like Hermione’s, was wavering out of
control. “And all the time you’ve been his friend!”
“You’re wrong,” said Lupin. “I haven’t been Sirius’ friend for twelve years, but I am now… let me
explain-”
Hermione snapped just as she had with Draco Malfoy. “NO!” she screamed. “Harry, don’t trust
him! He’s been helping Black get into the castle. He wants you dead too - he’s a werewolf!” Lupin
looked as though her words had slapped him.
There was a ringing silence. Everyone’s eyes were now on Lupin.
“Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione,” he said. “Only one out of three, I’m afraid. I have
not been helping Sirius get into the castle, and I certainly don’t want Harry dead.” An odd shiver
passed over his face. “But I won’t deny that I am a werewolf.”
Ron made a valiant effort to get up again but fell back with a whimper of pain. Lupin made it
towards him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped. “Get away from me, werewolf!”
Lupin stopped dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Hermione and said, “How long have
you known?”
“Ages,” Hermione whispered, the shame trying to silence her. Had she told someone, they
wouldn’t be here about to die at the hands of two murderers. “Since I did Professor Snape’s essay.”
“He’ll be delighted,” said Lupin coolly. “He set that essay hoping someone would realise what my
symptoms meant. Did you check the lunar chart and realise that I was always ill at the full moon?
Or did you realise the Boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?”
“Both,” Hermione said quietly.
Lupin forced a laugh.
“You’re the cleverest witch of your age I’ve ever met, Hermione.”
“I’m not,” Hermione whispered, fighting back tears. “If I’d been a bit cleverer, I’d have told
everyone what you are!”
“But they already know,” said Lupin. “At least the staff do.”
“Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf?!” Ron gasped. “Is he mad?”
“Some of the staff thought so,” said Lupin. “He had to work very hard to convince certain teachers
that I’m trustworthy-”
“AND HE WAS WRONG!” Harry yelled. “YOU’VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME!”
He was pointing at Black, who had crossed to the four-poster bed and sunk onto it, his face hidden
in one shaking hand. Crookshanks leapt up beside him and stepped onto his lap, purring. Ron
edged away from both of them, dragging his leg.
“I have not been helping Sirius,” said Lupin. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll explain. Look –”
He separated Harry, Ron and Hermione’s wands and threw each back to its owner; Hermione
caught hers. She was extremely suspicious. Something was not adding up correctly.
“There,” said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt. “You’re armed. We’re not. Now,
will you listen?”
“If you haven’t been helping him,” Harry said, with a furious glance at Black, “how did you know
he was here?”
“The map,” said Lupin. “The Marauder’s Map. I was in my office examining it–”
“You know how to work it?” Harry said suspiciously.
“Of course, I know how to work it,” said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. “I helped write it.
I’m Moony – that was my friends’ nickname for me at school.”
“You wrote –?”
“The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening because I had an idea that you,
Ron and Hermione might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his Hippogriff was
executed. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
He had started to pace up and down, looking at them. Little patches of dust rose at his feet.
“You might have been wearing your father’s old Cloak, Harry–”
“How d’you know about the Cloak?”
“The number of times I saw James disappearing under it…” said Lupin, waving an impatient hand
again. “The point is, even if you’re wearing an Invisibility Cloak, you show up on the Marauder’s
Map. I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid’s hut. Twenty minutes later, you left
Hagrid, and set off back towards the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else.”
“What?” said Harry. “No, we weren’t!”
“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” said Lupin, still pacing, and ignoring Harry’s interruption. “I thought
the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?”
“No one was with us!” said Harry.
“And then I saw another dot, moving fast towards you, labelled Sirius Black... I saw him collide
with you, I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow-”
“One of us!” Ron said angrily.
“No, Ron,” said Lupin. “Two of you.”
He had stopped his pacing, his eyes moving over Ron. Hermione was trying to piece it all
together.
“Do you think I could have a look at the rat?” he said evenly.
“What?” said Ron. “What’s Scabbers got to do with it?”
“Everything,” said Lupin. “Could I see him, please?”
Ron hesitated, then put a hand inside his robes. Scabbers emerged, thrashing desperately; Ron had
to seize his long bald tail to stop him from escaping. Crookshanks stood up on Black’s lap and
made a soft hissing noise.
Lupin moved closer to Ron. He seemed to be holding his breath as he gazed intently at Scabbers.
“What?” Ron said again, holding Scabbers close to him, looking scared. “What’s my rat got to do
with anything?”
“That’s not a rat,” croaked Sirius Black suddenly.
“What d’you mean – of course, he’s a rat –”
“No, he’s not,” said Lupin quietly. “He’s a wizard.”
“An Animagus,” said Black. “By the name of Peter Pettigrew.”
Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs
It took a few seconds for the absurdity of this statement to sink in.
“You’re both mental,” Ron said.
“Ridiculous,” Hermione said faintly.
“Peter Pettigrew’s dead!” said Harry, pointing at Black. “He killed him twelve years ago!”
“I meant to,” Black growled, his yellow teeth bared. “But little Peter got the better of me… not this
time, though!”
And Crookshanks was thrown to the floor as Black lunged at Scabbers; Ron yelled with pain as
Black’s weight fell on his broken leg.
“Sirius, NO!” Lupin yelled, launching himself forward and dragging Black away from Ron again.
“WAIT! You can’t do it just like that - they need to understand - we’ve got to explain-”
“We can explain afterwards!” snarled Black, trying to throw Lupin off, one hand still clawing the
air as it tried to reach Scabbers, who was squealing like a piglet, scratching Ron’s face and neck as
he tried to escape.
“They’ve - got - a - right - to - know - everything!” Lupin panted. He was trying to restrain Black as
he clawed at Scabbers. Ron looked like he was about to pass out. “Ron kept him as a pet! There
are parts of it even I don’t understand! And Harry - you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!”
Something of what he said got through. Black stopped struggling, though his eyes were still fixed
on Scabbers, who was clamped tightly under Ron’s bitten, scratched, and bleeding hands. He
looked horrible. All Hermione wanted to do was go and help him in any way she could.
“All right, then,” Black said. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the rat. “Tell them whatever you like.
But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for…”
“You’re nutters, both of you,” said Ron shakily. He looked round at Harry and Hermione for
support. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”
He tried to heave himself up on his good leg, but Lupin raised his wand again, pointing it at Ron
and Scabbers. Hermione gasped.
“You’re going to hear me out, Ron,” he said quietly. “Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you
listen.”
“HE’S NOT PETER, HE’S SCABBERS!” Ron yelled, trying to force the rat back into his front
pocket, but Scabbers was fighting too hard. Ron swayed and overbalanced. Thankfully, Harry was
able to grab him before he fell and pushed him back down to the bed. Then, ignoring Black, Harry
turned to Lupin.
“There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die,” Harry said. “A whole street full of them.”
Hermione was curious about that answer too. She had a few more, actually.
“They didn’t see what they thought they saw!” said Black savagely.
“Everyone thought Sirius killed Peter,” said Lupin, nodding. “I believed it myself - until I saw the
map tonight. Because the Marauder’s Map never lies… Peter’s alive. Ron’s holding him, Harry.”
Hermione shook her head. It just didn’t make any logical sense. She forced herself to speak up.
“But Professor Lupin, Scabbers can’t be Pettigrew. It just can’t be true. You know it can’t,” she
said in the calmest voice she could muster, trying to make her professor see sense.
“Why can’t it be true?” Lupin asked calmly, as if they were in class and Hermione had simply
spotted a problem in an experiment with Grindylows.
“Because... because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus. We did
Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework –
the Ministry keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there’s a register
showing what animal they become, and their markings and things... and I went and looked
Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have only been seven Animagi this century, and
Pettigrew’s name wasn’t on the list-”
Lupin started to laugh. “Right again, Hermione!” he said. “But the Ministry never knew that there
used to be three unregistered Animagi running through Hogwarts.” Hermione hated to admit Lupin
had a point.
“If you’re going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus,” snarled Black, who was still
watching Scabbers every desperate move. “I’ve waited twelve years. I’m not going to wait much
longer.”
“All right… but you’ll need to help me, Sirius,” said Lupin. “I only know how it began…”
Lupin stopped talking all at once. There had been a loud creak behind him. The bedroom door had
opened of its own accord. All five of them stared at it. Then Lupin strode towards it and looked out
into the landing. “No one there,” Lupin said, walking back into the room.
“This place is haunted,” Ron said.
“It’s not,” said Lupin. Ron cocked his head to the side in confusion. “The Shrieking Shack was
never haunted. The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me.” Lupin paused
and pushed his greying hair out of his eyes. “That’s where all of this starts - with my becoming a
werewolf. None of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitten and if I hadn’t been so
foolhardy…”
He looked sober and tired. Ron started to interrupt, but Hermione shushed him. He needed to let
Lupin talk.
“I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days,
there was no cure. The Potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent
discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I
keep my mind when I transform... I am able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for
the moon to wane again.
“Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a
month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren’t
likely to want their children exposed to me.
“But then Dumbledore became Headmaster, and he was sympathetic. He said that, as long as we
took certain precautions, there was no reason I shouldn’t come to school ...’ Lupin sighed and
looked directly at Harry. ‘I told you, months ago, that the Whomping Willow was planted the year
I came to Hogwarts. The truth is that it was planted because I had come to Hogwarts. This house –”
Lupin looked miserably around the room, “– the tunnel that leads to it – they were built for my use.
Once a month, I was smuggled out of the castle, into this place, to transform. The tree was placed
at the tunnel mouth to stop anyone coming across me while I was dangerous.
“My transformations in those days were – were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I
was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the
noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits. Dumbledore
encouraged the rumour... even now, when the house has been silent for years, the villagers don’t
dare approach it…
“But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first
time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius Black... Peter Pettigrew... and, of course, your
father, Harry – James Potter.
“Now, my three friends could hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all
sorts of stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see her... I was terrified
they would desert me the moment they found out what I was. But of course, they, like you,
Hermione, worked out the truth…”
Hermione grimaced. Lupin continued.
“And they didn’t desert me at all. Instead, they did something for me that would make my
transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi.”
“My dad, too?” said Harry, astounded.
“Yes, indeed,” said Lupin. “It took the best part of three years to work out how to do it. Your father
and Sirius here were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the
Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong – one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on
those attempting to do it. Peter needed all the help he could get from James and Sirius. Finally, in
our fifth year, they managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will.”
“But how did that help you?” said Hermione. It didn’t make any sense.
“They couldn’t keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,’ said Lupin.
‘A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James’s
Invisibility Cloak. They transformed ... Peter, as the smallest, could slip beneath the Willow’s
attacking branches and touch the knot that freezes it. They would then slip down the tunnel and
join me. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind
seemed to become less so while I was with them.”
“Hurry up, Remus!” snarled Black.
“I’m getting there, Sirius. I’m getting there… Well, highly exciting possibilities were open to us
now we could all transform. Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school
grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were
able to keep a werewolf in check. I doubt whether any Hogwarts students ever found out more
about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did ... And that’s how we came to write the
Marauder’s Map, and sign it with our nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was
Prongs.”
“What sort of animal-” Harry started, but Hermione cut him off.
“That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you’d given
the others the slip, and bitten somebody?”
“A thought that still haunts me,’ said Lupin heavily. ‘And there were near misses, many of them.
We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless – carried away with our own
cleverness.
“I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore’s trust, of course ... he had admitted me to
Hogwarts when no other Headmaster would have done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the
rules he had set down for my own and others’ safety. He never knew I had led three fellow
students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every
time we sat down to plan our next month’s adventure. And I haven’t changed…”
Lupin’s face had hardened, and there was self-disgust in his voice. “All this year, I have been
battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus.
But I didn’t do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I’d
betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I’d led others along with me ... and
Dumbledore’s trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me
a job, when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am.
And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using Dark Arts he learnt from
Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it ... so, in a way, Snape’s been right
about me all along.”
“Snape?!” said Black, his head whipping from Scabbers to Lupin for the first time since he began
to speak. “What’s Snape got to do with it?!”
“He’s here, Sirius,” said Lupin heavily. “He’s teaching here as well.” Hermione frowned. What did
Snape have to do with anything? Her head was swimming with everything. Lupin looked up at
Hermione, Ron, and Harry.
“Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the
Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be
trusted. He has his reasons… you see, Sirius here played a trick on him, which nearly killed him. A
trick which involved me-”
Black scoffed. “It served him right,” he sneered. “Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were
up to… hoping he could get us expelled…”
“Severus was very interested in where I went every month,” Lupin continued as if Black hadn’t
interrupted him. “We were in the same year, you know, and we – er – didn’t like each other very
much. He especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James’s talent on the Quidditch pitch...
anyway, Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me
towards the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be – er – amusing, to tell
Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he’d be able to get
in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it – if he’d got as far as this house, he’d have met a fully
grown werewolf – but your father, who’d heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled
him back, at great risk to his life... Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was
forbidden to tell anybody by Dumbledore, but from that time on he knew what I was…”
“So that’s why Snape doesn’t like you,” said Harry slowly. “Because he thought you were in on
the joke?”
“That’s right,” sneered a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin. She’d know that voice anywhere.
Severus Snape was pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing directly at Lupin.
The Servant of Lord Voldemort
Hermione screamed. Black leapt to his feet. Harry jumped in the air. Ron whimpered. Scabbers
squealed. Lupin sighed heavily.
“I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,” said Snape, throwing the Cloak aside. He kept
his wand levelled at Lupin’s chest. “Very useful, Potter. I thank you.”
Snape was breathless, but his face was full of a sickening suppressed triumph. Hermione’s stomach
turned. She still wasn’t convinced by Lupin and Black, but she’d hate to have to take Snape’s side
in it all. He was the very definition of evil; there were at least shades of grey to Lupin. Hermione
needed to know more before she could make any sort of judgement… however, it all was starting
to make sense before Snape had interrupted.
“You’re wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?” he said, his eyes glittering with hatred.
“I’ve just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your Potion tonight, so I took a gobletful
along. And very lucky I did… lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain map. One
glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of
sight.”
“Severus-” Lupin began, but Snape held up his hand to stop.
“I’ve told the Headmaster again and again that you’ve been helping your old friend Black into the
castle, Lupin, and here’s the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old
place as your hideout-”
“Severus, you’re making a mistake,” said Lupin urgently, just as he had when them a few moments
before. “You haven’t heard everything - I can explain - Sirius is not here to kill Harry-”
“Two more for Azkaban tonight,” said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. “I shall be
interested to see how Dumbledore takes this. He was quite convinced you were harmless, you
know, Lupin: a tame werewolf…”
“You fool,” said Lupin softly. “Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside
Azkaban?”
Instead of a reply, Snape flicked his wand with a BANG! Thin, snake-like cords burst from the end
of Snape’s wand and twisted themselves around Lupin’s mouth, wrist, and ankles. Lupin fell to the
floor in the same way Neville had once fallen during their first year. With a roar of rage, Black
jumped towards Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between Black’s eyes.
“Give me a reason,” he whispered, full of hate. “Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will.”
Black stopped dead in his tracks. Both men had a look of pure loathing on their faces. Hermione
knew she had to do something, or else they’d both try to kill each other and probably harm
everyone in the process. Both professors needed to be reminded that they were rational, evenkeeled instructors of magic, not teenage boys with raging emotions.
She glanced at Harry. He seemed to be completely frozen in uncertainty. Ron looked just as
confused as Harry, but was still fighting to keep hold of the struggling rat. Hermione took a very
uncertain step towards Snape and said in a very breathless voice, “Professor Snape - it - it wouldn’t
hurt to hear what they’ve got to say, w-wouldn’t it?”
“Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school,” Snape spat. “You, Potter, and
Weasley are out of bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in
your life, hold your tongue!”
She had to try again. “But, if - if there was a mistake-”
“KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Snape derangely shouted. Hermione stepped back,
terrified. “DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” A few sparks shot out
of the end of his wand, which was still pointing at Black’s face.
Hermione fell completely silent.
“Vengeance is very sweet,” Snape continued to Black, hissing in his face. “How I hoped I would be
the one to catch you…”
“The joke’s on you, again, Severus,” snarled Black and pointed towards Ron. “As long as this boy
brings his rat up to the castle, I’ll come quietly.”
In that exact moment of time, Hermione realised that she was more afraid of Professor Severus
Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry than she was of a convicted
serial killer who served twelve years in the worst kind of prison imaginable.
“Up to the castle?” said Snape in a terrifyingly haunted tone. “I don’t think we need to go that far.
All I have to do is call the Dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see
you, Black. Pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay….”
What little colour there was in Black’s face left it. For a brief flash, Black looked exactly like
Hagrid did when he talked about Azkaban.
“You - you’ve got to hear me out,” he croaked. “The rat - look at the rat-”
Snape looked maniacal. Hermione could barely breathe.
“Come on, all of you,” he said. He snapped his fingers. It was like a gunshot. Hermione jumped.
The ends of the cords that bound Lupin jumped as well and flew into his hands. “I’ll drag the
werewolf. Perhaps the Dementors will have a kiss for him too-”
In a blur, Harry had covered the length of the room to block the door. Snape turned his attention to
him.
“Get out of the way, Potter. You’re in enough trouble already,” snarled Snape. “If I hadn’t been
here to save your skin-”
“Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year,” Harry said. “I’ve been
alone with him loads of times, having defence lessons against the Dementors. If he was helping
Black, why didn’t he just finish me off then?”
There was no good way for Snape to answer that, and Hermione knew he knew that. “Don’t ask me
to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works,” deflected Snape. “Get out of the way, Potter.”
“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” Harry yelled, startling everyone in the room. “JUST BECAUSE THEY
MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL, YOU WON’T EVEN LISTEN-”
“SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!” roared Snape, looking like a madder
man than Sirius Black. “Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck. You should be
thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well-served if he’d killed you! You’d have
died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black - now get out of the
way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!”
Snape had snapped. Hermione watched it in his eyes. At that moment, he was the only threat in the
room. In a snap second, she made the decision to put her friends' lives over everything.
“Expelliarmus!” she screamed - except that her voice wasn’t the only voice that shouted. There
was a blast that made the door rattle on its hinges. Snape was lifted off his feet and slammed into
the wall. Then, like a bad cartoon, Snape slid down to the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from
under his hair. He was completely knocked out.
Hermione looked around. Both Ron and Harry had tried to disarm Snape at exactly the same time,
and the force of their three spells together must have increased the power of the disarming charm.
Snape’s wand had soared in a high arc and landed on the bed next to Crookshanks.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Black quietly. “You should have left him to me.”
Now it was Hermione’s turn to snap now that the imminent danger had passed momentarily. “We
attacked a teacher… we attacked a teacher…” Hermione whimpered, staring at the lifeless Snape
with frightening eyes. “Oh, we’re going to be in so much trouble…” She had no idea why her body
was choosing to hyperfocus on that instead of the evening at large, but she couldn’t stop her mind
from repeating that phrase over and over and over.
Lupin was struggling against his bonds. Black bent down quickly and untied him. Lupin
straightened up, rubbing his arms where the ropes had cut into them.
“Thank you, Harry,” Lupin said. He glanced at Hermione and then at Ron, offering them a silent
thanks as well.
“I’m still not saying I believe you,” Harry retorted. Hermione had to agree with him, though she
was much closer than she had been before.
“Then it’s time we offered you some proof,” said Black. “You, boy! Give me Peter. Now!”
Ron clutched Scabbers closer to his chest. Hermione fought the urge to march over there herself
and grab the damn thing. They kept talking about proof - it was HIGH time they presented it…
perhaps, one could argue, beyond time.
“Come off it,” he said weakly. Hermione had almost forgotten how injured he was with all of the
chaos. “Are you trying to say you broke out of Azkaban just to get your hands of Scabbers? I
mean-” he paused and looked up at Hermione and Harry for support. “Ok, say Pettigrew could turn
into a rat - there are millions of rats - how’s he supposed to know which one he’s after if he was
locked up in Azkaban?”
“You know, Sirius, that’s a fair question,” said Lupin, turning to Black and frowning slightly.
Hermione agreed to its legitimacy. “How did you find out where he was?”
Black put one of his claw-like hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper. He
smoothed it out flat and held it out to show the others.
It was the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous
summer, and there, on Ron’s shoulder, was Scabbers.
“How did you get this?!” Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck.
“Fudge,” said black. “When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there
was Peter, on the front page… on this boy’s shoulder. I knew him at once. How many times had I
seen him transform? And the captain said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts… to where
Harry was…”
“My God,” said Lupin softly, bringing the picture up to examine more carefully and then looking
at Scabbers in Ron’s hands. “His front paw…”
“What about it?” said Ron defiantly.
“He’s got a toe missing,” said Black. Hermione’s mind immediately snapped back to that
conversation they overheard at the Three Broomsticks.
“Of course,” Lupin breathed. “So simple… so brilliant. He cut it off himself?”
“Just before he transformed,” said Black. “When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to
hear that I’d betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with
the wand behind his back. Killed everyone within twenty feet of himself and sped down into the
sewer with the other rats.”
“Didn’t you ever hear, Ron?” said Lupin. “The biggest part of Peter they found was his finger.”
“Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He’s been in my family for
ages, right-”
“Twelve years, in fact,” said Lupin. “Didn’t you ever wonder why he was living so long?”
“We-we’ve been taking good care of him!” said Ron.
“Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?” said Lupin. “I’d guess he’s been losing
weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again.”
“He’s been scared of that mad cat!” said Ron, nodding towards Crookshanks, who was still purring
on the bed. Hermione would have given Ron a smug smile if the situation had been different.
Lupin and Black were absolutely right - Scabbers had been ill even before she bought
Crookshanks.
“This cat isn’t mad,” said Black hoarsely. He reached out a bony hand and stroked Chrookshanks’
fluffy head. “He’s the most intelligent of his kind I’ve ever met. He recognised Peter for what he
was straight away. And when he met me, he knew I was no dog. It was a while before he trusted
me. Finally, I managed to communicate to him what I was after, and he’s been helping me.”
“What do you mean?” breathed Hermione.
“He tried to bring Peter to me but couldn’t… so he stole the passwords into Gryffindor Tower for
me. As I understand it, he took them from a boy’s bedside table… But Peter got wind of what was
going on and ran for it. This cat - Crookshanks, did you call him? - told me Peter had left blood on
the sheets. I suppose he bit himself. Well, faking his own death had worked once.”
“And why did he fake his death?” Harry yelled furiously. “Because he knew you were about to kill
him like you killed my parents!”
“No,” said Lupin. “Harry-”
“And now you’ve come to finish him off!”
“Yes, I have,” Black said with an evil look at Scabbers.
“Then I should’ve let Snape take you!” Harry shouted.
“Harry,” said Lupin hurriedly. “Don’t you see? All this time we’ve thought Sirius betrayed your
parents and Peter tracked him down - but it was the other way around, don’t you see? Peter
betrayed your mother and father - Sirius tracked Peter down-”
“THAT’S NOT TRUE!” Harry yelled. “HE WAS THEIR SECRET KEEPER! HE SAID SO
BEFORE YOU TURNED UP, HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!”
He was pointing at Black, who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly over-bright.
The pain in Harry’s voice hurt Hermione more than anything physical that had happened that day.
“Harry ... I as good as killed them,” he croaked. “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at
the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret Keeper instead of me ... I’m to blame, I know
it ... the night they died, I’d arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I
arrived at his hiding place, he’d gone. Yet, there was no sign of a struggle. It didn’t feel right. I was
scared. I set out for your parents’ house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and
their bodies – I realised what Peter must have done. What I’d done.”
His voice broke. He turned away.
“Enough of this,” said Lupin. Hermione did a double take at the steel in his voice. Gone was the
warm professor. “There’s one certain way to prove what really happened. Ron, give me that rat.”
“What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?” Ron asked Lupin tensely.
“Force him to show himself,” said Lupin. “If he really is a rat, it won’t hurt him.”
Ron hesitated, then at long last held out, Scabbers and Lupin took him. Scabbers began to squeak
without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head.
“Ready, Sirius?” said Lupin.
Black had already retrieved Snape’s wand from the bed. He approached Lupin and the struggling
rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face.
“Together?” he said quietly.
“I think so,” said Lupin, holding Scabbers tightly in one hand and his wand in the other. “On the
count of three. One – two – THREE!”
A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen in midair, his small black form twisting madly – Ron yelled – the rat fell and hit the floor. There was
another blinding flash of light and then –
It was like watching a sped-up film of a growing tree. A head was shooting upwards from the
ground; limbs were sprouting; next moment, a man was standing where Scabbers had been,
cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the bed, the hair on his
back standing up.
He was a very short man, hardly taller than Hermione or Harry. His thin, colourless hair was
unkempt, and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man
who had lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers’s fur,
and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose, his very small, watery eyes. He looked
around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow.
Hermione glanced over at Ron, who looked incredibly horrified. She flicked her eyes over to
Harry, who seemed equally horrified, but it was mixed with a fit of hot white anger. Lupin’s voice
snapped Hermione back to the present.
“Well, hello, Peter,” said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends
around him. “Long time, no see.”
“S-Sirius... R-Remus…” Even Pettigrew’s voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted towards the
door. “My friends... my old friends…”
Black’s wand arm rose, but Lupin seized him around the wrist, gave him a warning look, then
turned again to Pettigrew, his voice light and casual.
“We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You
might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed –”
“Remus,” gasped Pettigrew. His face was clammy and pale. “You don’t believe him, do you... He
tried to kill me, Remus…”
“So we’ve heard,” said Lupin, more coldly. “I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you,
Peter, if you’d be so –”
“He’s come to try and kill me again!” Pettigrew shrieked suddenly, pointing at Black, using his
middle finger because his index was missing. “He killed Lily and James, and now he’s going to kill
me, too... you’ve got to help me, Remus…”
Black’s face looked more skull-like than ever as he stared at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes.
“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” said Lupin.
“Sorted things out?” squealed Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the
boarded windows and, again, the only door. “I knew he’d come after me! I knew he’d be back for
me! I’ve been waiting for this for twelve years!”
“You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?” said Lupin, his brow furrowed. “When
nobody has ever done it before?”
“He’s got Dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Pettigrew shouted shrilly. “How else did
he get out of there? I suppose He Who Must Not Be Named taught him a few tricks!”
Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room. “Voldemort, teach
me tricks?” he said.
Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a whip at him.
“What, scared to hear your old master’s name?” said Black. “I don’t blame you, Peter. His lot
aren’t very happy with you, are they?”
“Don’t know – what you mean, Sirius –” muttered Pettigrew, his breathing faster than ever. His
whole face was shining with sweat now.
“You haven’t been hiding from me for twelve years,” said Black. “You’ve been hiding from
Voldemort’s old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter... they all think you’re dead, or you’d
have to answer to them... I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like
they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters’ on your
information... and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort’s supporters ended up
in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the
error of their ways... If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter –”
“Don’t know... what you’re talking about…” repeated Pettigrew, more shrilly than ever. He wiped
his face on his sleeve and looked up at Lupin. “You don’t believe this – this madness, Remus –”
“I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend
twelve years as a rat,” said Lupin evenly.
“Innocent, but scared!” squealed Pettigrew. “If Voldemort’s supporters were after me, it was
because I put one of their best men in Azkaban – the spy, Sirius Black!”
Black’s face contorted into a violently angry mad dog.”
“How dare you,” he growled, sounding suddenly like the bear-sized dog he had been. “I, a spy for
Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than
myself? But you, Peter – I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start.
You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be us... me and Remus...
and James…”
Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting for breath. “Me, a spy... must be out of your
mind... never... don’t know how you can say such a –”
“Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so
venomously that Pettigrew took a step backwards. “I thought it was the perfect plan... a bluff...
Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing
like you ... it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could
hand him the Potters.”
Pettigrew was muttering distractedly, but Hermione was focused on something else. She was trying
to make sense of it all like a detective in a mystery novel. There was one more piece of the puzzle
that didn’t quite fit.
“Professor Lupin?” said Hermione timidly. “Can - can I say something?”
“Certainly, Hermione,” said Lupin courteously.
“Well - Scabbers - I mean, this - this man - he’s been sleeping in Harry’s dormitory for three years.
If he’s working for You Know Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?”
“There!” said Pettigrew shrilly, pointing at Hermione with his maimed hand. Hermione cringed.
She hadn’t wanted to appear to be on Pettigrew’s side or give him anything to use for his case, but
someone needed to get to the bottom of all of this. “Thank you! You see, Remus!? I have never
hurt a hair of Harry’s head! Why should I?”
“I’ll tell you why,” said Black. “Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see
what was in it for you. Voldemort’s been in hiding for twelve years, they say he’s half-dead. You
weren’t about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose, for a wreck of a wizard
who’d lost all his power, were you? You’d want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the
playground before you went back to him, wouldn’t you? Why else did you find a wizard family to
take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren’t you, Peter? Just in case your old protector
regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him…”
Pettigrew opened his mouth and closed it several times. He seemed to have lost the ability to talk.
“Er – Mr Black – Sirius?” said Hermione timidly.
Black jumped at being addressed like this and stared at Hermione as though being spoken to
politely was something he’d long forgotten.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how – how did you get out of Azkaban if you didn’t use Dark
Magic?”
“Thank you!” gasped Pettigrew, nodding frantically at her. She willed the rat-like man to shut up.
“Exactly! Precisely what I –”
But Lupin thankfully silenced him with a look. Black was frowning slightly at Hermione, but not as
though he was annoyed with her. He seemed to be pondering his answer.
“I don’t know how I did it,” he said slowly. “I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I
knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn’t suck it out of me...
but it kept me sane and knowing who I am ... helped me keep my powers... so when it all became...
too much... I could transform in my cell... become a dog. Dementors can’t see, you know…” He
swallowed as if he was trying to swallow his emotion. “They feel their way towards people by
sensing their emotions... they could tell that my feelings were less – less human, less complex
when I was a dog... but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in
there, so it didn’t trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them
away from me without a wand…
“But then I saw Peter in that picture... I realised he was at Hogwarts with Harry ... perfectly
positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again…”
Pettigrew was shaking his head, mouthing noiselessly, but staring all the while at Black as though
hypnotised. Hermione could see the truth in Black’s eyes and the fear of the truth in Pettigrew’s.
“...ready to strike the moment he could be sure of allies... to deliver the last Potter to them. If he
gave them Harry, who’d dare say he’d betrayed Lord Voldemort? He’d be welcomed back with
honours…
“So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive... “
“The guards say he’s been talking in his sleep… always the same words… ‘He’s at Hogwarts…’”
Harry muttered as if he was reciting something he had read. Black nodded enthusiastically.
“It was as if someone had lit a fire in my head, and the Dementors couldn’t destroy it... it wasn’t a
happy feeling... it was an obsession... but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night
when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog... it’s so much harder for
them to sense animal emotions that they were confused... I was thin, very thin... thin enough to slip
through the bars ... I swam as a dog back to the mainland... I journeyed north and slipped into the
Hogwarts grounds as a dog... I’ve been living in the Forest ever since... except when I come to
watch the Quidditch, of course... you fly as well as your father did, Harry…”
Black looked at Harry, who returned the stare. Hermione could see something unsaid passing
between the two. Finally, Black spoke.
“Believe me,” croaked Black. “Believe me. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died
before I betrayed them.”
Hermione had never before heard something so genuine. In that instant, she decided she believed
Black’s story. She glanced at Harry, who appeared to have made the same conclusion and was
nodding at Black.
Pettigrew noticed the shift in the room as well.
“No!” Pettegrew fell to his knees as though Harry’s nod had been his death sentence. He shuffled
forward on his knees, grovelling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying.
“Sirius - it’s me! It’s Peter! Your friend - you wouldn’t -”
Black kicked out, and Pettigrew recoiled.
“There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,” growled Black.
“Remus!” Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. “You
don’t believe this ... Wouldn’t Sirius have told you they’d changed the plan?”
“Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter,” said Lupin. “I assume that’s why you didn’t tell me,
Sirius?” he said casually over Pettigrew’s head. Their friendship was rekindling right before her
eyes.
“Forgive me, Remus,” said Black.
Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,” said Lupin, who was now rolling up his sleeves. “And will you, in
turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?”
“Of course,” said Black, and the ghost of a grin flitted across his gaunt face. He, too, began rolling
up his sleeves. “Shall we kill him together?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Lupin grimly.
“You wouldn’t... you won’t…” gasped Pettigrew. And he scrambled around to Ron.
“Ron... haven’t I been a good friend? A good pet? You won’t let them kill me, Ron, will you?
You’re on my side, aren’t you?”
But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion.
“I let you sleep in my bed,” he said.
“Kind boy... kind master…” Pettigrew crawled towards Ron. Hermione was disgusted by his
display. “You won’t let them do it… I was your rat! I was a good pet!”
“If you made a better rat than human, it’s not much to boast about, Peter,” said Black harshly.
Going still paler with pain, Ron wrenched his broken leg out of Pettigrew’s reach.
To her revulsion, Pettigrew turned on his knees, staggered forwards and seized the hem of
Hermione’s robes.
“Sweet girl... clever girl... You – you won’t let them - help me -”
Hermione pulled her robes out of Pettigrew’s clutching hands and backed away against the wall,
feeling horrified.
Pettigrew knelt, trembling uncontrollably, and turned his head slowly towards Harry.
“Harry... Harry... you look just like your father... just like him…”
“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?” roared Black. “HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM?
HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?”
“Harry,” whispered Pettigrew, shuffling towards him, hands outstretched, “Harry, James wouldn’t
have wanted me killed ... James would have understood, Harry... he would have shown me
mercy…”
Both Black and Lupin strode forwards, seized Pettigrew’s shoulders and threw him backwards onto
the floor. He sat there, twitching with terror, staring up at them.
“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” said Black, who was shaking too. “Do you deny it?”
Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch: he looked like an oversized, balding baby,
cowering on the floor. It was disgusting. Hermione could barely bring herself to watch him
degrade himself as such.
“Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord... you have no idea... he has weapons you
can’t imagine... I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never
meant it to happen... He Who Must Not Be Named forced me –”
“DON’T LIE!” bellowed Black, making Hermione cringe. “YOU’D BEEN PASSING
INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS
SPY!”
“He – he was taking over everywhere!” gasped Pettigrew. “Wh-what was there to be gained by
refusing him?”
“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” said Black,
with a terrible fury in his face. ‘Only innocent lives, Peter!”
“You don’t understand!” whined Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!”
“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roared Black. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR
FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”
Black and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised.
“You should have realised,” said Lupin quietly. “If Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would. Goodbye,
Peter.”
Hermione covered her face with her hands and turned to the wall. As much as Pettigrew deserved
it, she couldn’t watch it happen.
“NO!” Harry yelled. Hermione whirled back around and watched Harry run forwards, placing
himself in front of Pettigrew, facing the wands. “You can’t kill him,” he said breathlessly. “You
can’t.”
Black and Lupin both looked staggered.
“Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,” Black snarled. “This cringing bit of
filth would have seen you die, too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin
meant more to him than your whole family.”
“I know,” Harry panted. “We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him over to the Dementors.
He can go to Azkaban... just don’t kill him.”
“Harry!” gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around Harry’s knees. Hermione saw Harry
flinch. “You – thank you – it’s more than I deserve – thank you –”
“Get off me,” Harry spat, throwing Pettigrew’s hands off him in disgust. “I’m not doing this for
you. I’m doing it because I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted his best friends to become
killers – just for you.”
No one moved or made a sound except Pettigrew, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he
clutched his chest. Black and Lupin were looking at each other. Then, with one movement, they
lowered their wands.
“You’re the only person who has the right to decide, Harry,” said Black. “But think... think what he
did…”
“He can go to Azkaban,” Harry repeated. “If anyone deserves that place, he does.”
Pettigrew was still wheezing behind him.
“Very well,” said Lupin. “Stand aside, Harry.”
Harry hesitated.
“I’m going to tie him up,” said Lupin. “That’s all, I swear.”
Harry stepped out of the way. Thin cords shot from Lupin’s wand this time, and next moment,
Pettigrew was wriggling on the floor, bound and gagged.
“But if you transform, Peter,” growled Black, his own wand pointing at Pettigrew, too, “We will
kill you. You agree, Harry?”
Harry looked down at the pitiful figure on the floor, and nodded so that Pettigrew could see him.
“Right,” said Lupin, suddenly business-like. “Ron, I can’t mend bones nearly as well as Madam
Pomfrey, so I think it’s best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing.”
He hurried over to Ron, bent down, tapped Ron’s leg with his wand and muttered, “Ferula.”
Bandages spun up Ron’s leg, strapping it tightly to a splint. Lupin helped him to his feet; Ron put
his weight gingerly on the leg and didn’t wince.
“That’s better,” he said. “Thanks.”
“What about Professor Snape?” said Hermione in a small voice, looking down at Snape’s prone
figure.
“There’s nothing seriously wrong with him,” said Lupin, bending over Snape and checking his
pulse. “You were just a little – over-enthusiastic. Still out cold. Er – perhaps it will be best if we
don’t revive him until we’re safely back in the castle. We can take him like this…”
He muttered, “Mobilicorpus.” As though invisible strings were tied to Snape’s wrists, neck and
knees, he was pulled into a standing position, head still lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque
puppet. He hung a few inches above the ground, his limp feet dangling. Lupin picked up the
Invisibility Cloak and tucked it safely into his pocket.
“And two of us should be chained to this,” said Black, nudging Pettigrew with his toe. “Just to
make sure.”
“I’ll do it,” said Lupin.
“And me,” said Ron savagely, limping forwards.
Black conjured heavy manacles from thin air; soon, Pettigrew was upright again, left arm chained
to Lupin’s right, right arm to Ron’s left. Ron’s face was set. He seemed to have taken Scabbers’s
true identity as a personal insult. Crookshanks leapt lightly off the bed and led the way out of the
room, his bottle brush tail held jauntily high.
The Dementors’ Kiss
It was a strange parade indeed. Hermione couldn’t help but marvel at the insanity of the last hour
as they walked back through the Shrieking Shack, into the secret tunnel, under the Whomping
Willow, and back across the grounds to Hogwarts in a dysfunctional little line. Crookshanks led
the way, followed by Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron (looking like contestants in a six-legged race).
Next came Professor Snape, drifting creepily along, his toes hitting each stair as they descended,
held up by his wand that was being pointed at him by Sirius. She and Harry brought up the rear.
Getting back into the tunnel proved to be quite a complex puzzle. Crookshanks was still in the
lead, followed by Ron, Pettigrew, and Lupin, who all had to turn sideways to fit. Ron’s face was
grey with pain but took the front position, so Pettigrew was surrounded. Lupin still held him at
wand point. Next was Snape’s body, which kept bumping his lolling head on the low ceiling.
Hermione mused Sirius wasn’t too concerned when Snape’s lifeless body knocked into anything.
She was bringing up the rear after Sirius and Harry.
There was so much to think about, though one thing was for certain - Peter Pettigrew killed Harry’s
parents. She couldn’t fathom what Harry must be thinking or feeling right now. Life truly was
unfair. How horrible of a coincidence it was that the man who killed Harry’s parents ended up
being the pet of Harry’s future best friend’s family? And Ron! Knowing that he harboured Harry’s
parents’ murderer for twelve years. Those poor boys.
Hermione watched Sirius turn back around to look at Harry.
“You know what this means?” Sirius said to Harry as they made their slow progress along the
tunnel. “Turning Pettigrew in?”
“You’re free,” said Harry. Hermione smiled to herself, but it was short lived. She was so glad that
the truth was going to come out, but she was equally worried about all of the ramifications that
would come from all of their meddlings.
“Yes,” said Sirius. “But I’m also - I don’t know if anyone ever told you - I’m your godfather.”
“Yeah, I knew that,” said Harry.
“Well, your parents appointed me as your guardian,” said Sirius stiffly. “If anything happened to
them…”
Hermione felt as though she was infringing upon a very personal moment between the two, but
there was nowhere for her to go. She averted her eyes and pretended not to listen.
“I’ll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle,” continued Sirius. “But,
well… think about it. Once my name’s cleared - if you wanted a - a different home…”
“What, live with you?!” Harry exclaimed. Hermione could hear the hope in his voice but knew he
was desperately trying to remain cool and calm. “Leave the Dursleys?”
‘Of course, I thought you wouldn’t want to,” said Sirius quickly. He hadn’t been able to recognise
the hope. “I understand. I just thought I’d-”
“Are you mad?!” said Harry, his voice easily as croaky as Sirius’. “Of course I want to leave the
Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?”
Sirius turned around again to look at Harry. His face was one of pure elation. It was as if Sirius was
ten years younger in a matter of seconds. Snape’s head was scraping the ceiling, but Sirius didn’t
seem to care. “You want to?” he said. “You mean it?”
“Yeah, I mean it!” said Harry.
Sirius grinned and turned back around. Both he and Harry had a hitch in their steps. Hermione
smiled as well - things may be finally looking up.
They did not speak again until they had reached the end of the tunnel. Crookshanks darted up first;
he had evidently pressed his paw to the knot on the trunk because Lupin, Pettigrew and Ron
clambered upwards without any sound of savaging branches.
Sirius directed Snape’s body up through the hole and then stood back for Harry and Hermione to
pass. At last, all of them were out.
The grounds were very dark now. The only light came from the distant windows of the castle.
Without a word, they set off. Pettigrew was still wheezing and occasionally whimpering.
“One wrong move, Peter,” said Lupin threateningly. His wand was still pointed sideways at
Pettigrew’s chest.
Silently they tramped through the grounds, the castle lights growing slowly larger. Snape was still
drifting weirdly ahead of Sirius, his chin bumping on his chest. And then –
A cloud shifted. There were suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Their party was bathed in
moonlight.
Snape collided with Lupin, Pettigrew and Ron, who had stopped abruptly. Sirius froze. He flung
out an arm to make Harry and Hermione stop.
Harry could see Lupin’s silhouette. He had gone rigid. Then his limbs began to shake.
“Oh my –” Hermione gasped. “He didn’t take his Potion tonight! He’s not safe!”
“Run,” Sirius whispered. “Run! Now!”
But Hermione and Harry both hesitated. They couldn’t run - not when Ron was chained to
Pettigrew and Lupin. Harry leapt forward, but Sirius caught him and threw him back into
Hermione.
“Leave it to me - RUN!”
There was a terrible snarling noise. Lupin’s head was lengthening. So was his body. His shoulders
were hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed
paws. Hermione stood transfixed - it was one thing to read about the transition from human to
werewolf; it was a completely different thing to see it in person.
Crookshanks’ fur was on end again. He was backing away. Hermione had a fleeting thought to
grab Crookshanks and back away together, but there was no time. As the werewolf reared,
snapping its long jaws, Sirius transformed into his bear0like dog shape and bounded towards the
wolf.
Hermione saw with a tiny sliver of hope that the werewolf was trying to break itself of the chains
that connected it with Ron and Pettigrew. As the werewolf wrenched itself free of the manacle
binding it, the dog seized it about the neck and pulled it backwards, away from Ron and Pettigrew.
They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other.
She tore her eyes away from the two animals to make sure Ron was alright, and that’s when she
saw it: Pettigrew diving for Lupin’s wand that had fallen as he started transforming. If Pettigrew
got the wand… She couldn’t begin to fathom how much worse things could get if that rat got that
wand. She had to do something.
Words failed her, and all she could muster was a scream.
Her scream alerted Harry, and they watched it all happen in slow motion: Pettigrew’s dive threw
Ron off balance, and he tipped over. Hard. Crookshanks pounced at Pettigrew, claws outstretched.
There was a bang, a burst of light. Ron was now motionless on the ground.
There was another bang and burst of life. Crookshanks flew into the air and back to the earth in a
heap.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled, pointing his wand at Pettigrew. Lupin’s wand flew high into the air,
and Hermione lost sight of it. “Stay where you are!” Harry shouted, running forwards.
Hermione, on the other hand, ran back to Ron. He was completely unconscious. His head was
flopped off to the side with his mop of red hair covering his eyes. Hermione brushed it back and
tried to secure his head. She wasn’t sure what spell Pettegrew had shot at him, but she didn’t want
to do any more harm if his neck was injured.
“Sirius! He’s gone! Pettigrew transformed!” Hermione heard Harry scream, followed by the
sounds of paws pounding away across the grounds.
A few seconds later, Harry was crouched next to her over Ron.
“What did he do to him?” Hermione whispered. He was starting to come around slightly but didn’t
seem to recognise them (or know he was awake, really).
“I don’t know,” Harry responded grimly. He looked towards Snape’s body, still hanging,
unconscious, in mid-air. “We’d better get them up to the castle and tell someone,” said Harry.
“Come-”
But then, out of the darkness, they heard a yelping, a whining; a dog in pain…
“Sirius,” Harry muttered, staring off into the darkness before taking off.
Hermione had a moment to decide whether to run after Harry or stay with Ron. On the one hand,
Ron was breathing and, most certainly, alive. On the other, Harry was running at a bloody
werewolf. She felt like Ron, cursing, as she jumped up and followed Harry into the darkness.
The yelping seemed to be coming from near the lake. They pelted towards it. Hermione was
running so hard that she didn’t notice the cold at first.
The yelping stopped abruptly. As they reached the lake’s shore, they saw why – Sirius had turned
back into a man. He was crouched on all fours, his hands over his head.
“Nooo,” he moaned. “Noooo... please…”
Next to her, Harry gasped. Hermione looked around, and her heart sunk to her feet. Dementors, at
least a hundred of them, gliding in a black mass around the lake towards them. They were
surrounded.
“Hermione, think of something happy!” Harry yelled. He raised his wand and started screaming,
“Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!”
Hermione realised quickly he must be attempting to cast the Patronus charm. Her mind was so
foggy.
“Expecto Patronum! Hermione, help me! Expecto Patronum!”
She was so cold. Her fingers fumbled on her wand.
“Expecto-” Hermione whispered. Her throat seemed frozen as well. “Expecto - expecto-”
What if Ron died? What would she do without him? What if Ron survived, but she was expelled
for attacking a teacher and could never see him or Harry again? What if Harry died? What if the
Dementors attacked him again and he and Sirius died together on the beach? What if Lupin came
back and attacked them? What if she became a werewolf? What if her Boggart was right and she
failed all of her exams?
Hermione was gasping for breath but couldn’t take a deep enough breath. She felt herself fall to the
ground, shivering in the cold. Harry was screaming “Expecto Patronum!” over and over, but he
sounded further and further away with every scream.
But then he was right next to her, on the ground as well. He kept trying to gasp the spell, but only a
tiny wisp of silver escaped his wand.
Hermione just wanted to go to sleep, even though somewhere, deep within her, she knew going to
sleep would be permanent. She was so cold. Sleep was warm.
By the feeble light of Harry’s formless Patronus, she saw a Dementor wave its dead, slimy hand to
push away the mist. It raised both hands and lowered its hood.
If Hermione could feel anything but depression and cold, she’d feel pure terror. Where there
should have been eyes, there was only one thing; grey, scabbed skin stretched blankly over empty
sockets. There was something resembling a mouth - a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with
the sound of a death rattle.
Hermione barely lifted her head off the ground enough to watch as the Dementor wrapped its hands
around Harry’s neck, forcing his face upwards towards its gaping mouth hole. A swirl of
something was coming up from Harry’s face towards the Dementor’s mouth like a vacuum.
A white frosty fog descended upon them, making it hard to breathe. Hermione couldn’t keep her
head up any longer. It fell backwards onto the beach. Before she closed her eyes, she thought she
saw a silvery light growing brighter and brighter from across the lake, but she soon felt the last of
her strength leave her.
Nothing was left but cold despair and darkness.
Hermione's Secret
Warmth. That was the first and only thought Hermione thought of as she stirred awake. She was
acutely aware of the heaviness of a blanket covering her body, tucked in under her legs and back. It
was dark, but not as dark as the lake.
The lake!
The memories of what had just happened came flooding back and hit Hermione like a giant wave.
She could feel herself start to panic as all the thoughts swam around at once: Ron’s leg snapping;
Sirius Black’s face from behind the door; Lupin hugging Black; Ron’s grey face of pain; the story
of the Marauders; Snape’s insanity; attacking Snape; Peter Pettigrew; Lupin transforming; Ron
being hit with the spell; the Dementors.
She couldn’t quite comprehend how to get out of the blankets wrapped around her - it was too
complicated to figure out with the panic coursing through her veins. Instead of comfort and
warmth, the blanket now felt like chains, similar to the ones that connected Ron to a werewolf and
a murderer.
Her eyes were wide with panic. She looked all around her to see if there was any possible escape.
The Dementors could be back any moment. They were trying to kill Harry! They were going to go
back and kill Ron!
She whipped her head round to the other side, looking for something, anything. She looked down
towards her feet. Directly in her line of sight, on her trembling, gasping chest, was a piece of
Honeydukes’ chocolate.
Hermione had no idea why or how the sight of the candy paused her panic attack, but it did. Her
rational brain took over for a split second, but that was all she needed. Hermione snaked her arm up
from under the blankets and snatched the piece of chocolate, and ripped it open. As soon as she
popped the bittersweet candy bar into her mouth, the fog of panic and depression seemed to lift
ever so lightly. She took another bite, and then another, and another. Soon, the entire bar was
gone.
She took a deep, cleansing, relaxing breath.
In her more calm state, Hermione took another assessment of her surroundings. She was, quite
obviously, in the hospital wing. To her left was Harry. He looked beat up but alive. He, like
Hermione, had a piece of chocolate on his chest. To her right was Ron. His leg was up in a sling
and, though he still looked pale and bloody, his chest was rising and falling at an even pace.
There was a white curtain around them, as was usual for the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey
valued confidentiality. Beyond the white curtain, Hermione could hear voices. They seemed very
far away and very hard to hear over the beating of her heart. She took a few more calming breaths,
and the voices got closer and clearer.
“Shocking business... shocking... miracle none of them died... never heard the like... by thunder, it
was lucky you were there, Snape…”
“Thank you, Minister.”
“Order of Merlin, Second Class, I’d say. First Class, if I can wangle it!”
“Thank you very much indeed, Minister.”
“Nasty cut you’ve got there... Black’s work, I suppose?”
“As a matter of fact, it was Potter, Weasley, and Granger, Minister…”
“No!”
Hermione’s eyes opened wide in fear.
“Black had bewitched them. I saw it immediately. A Confundus Charm, to judge by their
behaviour. They seemed to think there was a possibility he was innocent. They weren’t responsible
for their actions. On the other hand, their interference might have permitted Black to escape... they
obviously thought they were going to catch Black single-handed. They’ve gotten away with a great
deal before now... I’m afraid it’s given them a rather high opinion of themselves... and of course,
Potter has always been allowed an extraordinary amount of licence by the Headmaster –”
“Ah, well, Snape... Harry Potter, you know... we’ve all got a bit of a blind spot where he’s
concerned.”
“And yet – is it good for him to be given so much special treatment? Personally, I try to treat him
like any other student. And any other student would be suspended – at the very least – for leading
his friends into such danger. Consider, Minister: against all school rules – after all the precautions
put in place for his protection – out of bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer
– and I have reason to believe he has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally, too –”
“Well, well... we shall see, Snape, we shall see... the boy has undoubtedly been foolish…”
“What amazes me most is the behaviour of the Dementors... you’ve really no idea what made them
retreat, Snape?”
“No, Minister. By the time I had come round, they were heading back to their positions at the
entrances…”
“Extraordinary. And yet Black, and Harry, and the girl –”
“All unconscious by the time I reached them. I bound and gagged Black, naturally, conjured
stretchers and brought them all straight back to the castle.”
Hermione’s memories of the events were different, to say the very least.
Madam Pomfrey had come over to tend to Ron in the meantime. Hermione turned her head slowly
so she wouldn’t see that Hermione was awake. Next to her, Harry was stirring. He opened his eyes
in confusion, squinting around. His eyes landed on her, and she pressed her finger to her lips to
keep him quiet and then pointed to the hospital-wing door where Cornelius Fudge and Snape were
speaking.
Madam Pomfrey must have looked over and seen them both awake. She hurried over in the full
moonlight, carrying the largest block of chocolate Hermione had ever seen. It looked like a small
boulder. Now that she thought about it, Hermione was starting to get cold again, and the chocolate
made her mouth water.
“Ah, you’re awake!” she said briskly. She placed the chocolate on the bedside table between
Hermione and Harry’s beds and started breaking it apart with a small hammer.
“How’s Ron?” said Hermione and Harry together.
“He’ll live,” said Madam Pomfrey grumpy. “As for you two… You’ll be staying here until I’m
satisfied you’re - Potter, what do you think you’re doing?”
Harry was sitting up, putting his glasses back on, and picking up his wand that was next to the
giant boulder of chocolate.
“I need to see the Headmaster,” he said.
Hermione started to gather the strength to sit up as well. She wanted to go with Harry.
“Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly. “It’s all right. They’ve got Black. He’s locked away
upstairs. The Dementors will be performing the Kiss any moment now-”
“WHAT!?” Harry’s outburst was precisely what Hermione felt as well. They both jumped out of
bed with urgency. However, Harry’s shout had been heard in the corridor outside; the next second,
Cornelius Fudge and Severus Snape entered the ward.
“Harry, Harry! What’s this?!” said Fudge. The moonlight made him agitated. “You should be in
bed - has he had any chocolate?” he asked Madam Pomfrey anxiously.
“Minister, listen!” said Harry. “Sirius Black’s innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his own death! We
saw him tonight! You can’t let the Dementors do that thing to Sirius, he’s-”
But Fudge was shaking his head with a slight smile on his face.
“Harry, Harry, you’re very confused, you’ve been through a dreadful ordeal, lie back down, now,
we’ve got everything under control…”
“YOU HAVEN’T!” Harry yelled. “YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG MAN!”
“Minister, listen, please,” Hermione said; she had hurried to Harry’s side and was gazing
imploringly into Fudge’s face. Harry was acting too irrational to be taken seriously. She tried a
calmer, more level approach. “I saw him, too. It was Ron’s rat. He’s an Animagus, Pettigrew, I
mean, and –”
“You see, Minister?” said Snape. Hermione stared at him with as much hatred as he stared at her
with. “Confunded, both of them... Black’s done a very good job on them …”
“WE’RE NOT CONFUNDED!” Harry roared.
“Minister! Professor!” said Madam Pomfrey angrily. “I must insist that you leave. Potter is my
patient, and he should not be distressed!”
“I’m not distressed. I’m trying to tell them what happened!” Harry said furiously. “If they’d just
listen –”
But Madam Pomfrey suddenly stuffed a large chunk of chocolate into Harry’s mouth. He choked,
and she seized the opportunity to force him back onto the bed.
“Now, please, Minister, these children need care. Please leave –”
The door opened again. It was Dumbledore. Harry got up again, and Hermione went to his side
again.
“Professor Dumbledore, Sirius Black –”
“For heaven’s sake!” said Madam Pomfrey hysterically. “Is this a hospital wing or not?
Headmaster, I must insist –”
“My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr Potter and Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore
calmly. “I have just been talking to Sirius Black –”
“I suppose he’s told you the same fairy tale he’s planted in Potter’s mind?” spat Snape.
“Something about a rat and Pettigrew being alive –”
“That, indeed, is Black’s story,” said Dumbledore, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon
spectacles.
“And does my evidence count for nothing?” snarled Snape. “Peter Pettigrew was not in the
Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him in the grounds.”
Hermione couldn’t help herself. “That was because you were knocked out, Professor!” said
Hermione earnestly, or at least she hoped it sounded earnest. Her patience was almost gone. “You
didn’t arrive in time to hear –”
“Miss Granger, HOLD YOUR TONGUE!”
There was a pause. The Minister was obviously shaken by Snape’s venomous reply. Hermione was
glad someone with power had seen at least a glimpse of the man’s inner anger.
“Now, Snape,” said Fudge, startled, “the young lady is disturbed in her mind, we must make
allowances –”
Hermione gasped and looked at Fudge. How dare he! She was over being nice. Hermione opened
her mouth to tell the minister exactly what was on her mind, but Dumbledore seemed to know what
was coming.
“I would like to speak to Harry and Hermione alone,” said Dumbledore abruptly. “Cornelius,
Severus, Poppy – please leave us.”
“Headmaster!” spluttered Madam Pomfrey. “They need treatment. They need rest –”
“This cannot wait,” said Dumbledore. “I must insist.”
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and strode away into her office at the end of the ward, slamming
the door behind her. Fudge consulted the large gold pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat.
“The Dementors should have arrived by now,” he said. “I’ll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I’ll
see you upstairs.”
He crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn’t moved.
“You surely don’t believe a word of Black’s story?” Snape whispered, his eyes fixed on
Dumbledore’s face.
“I wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone,” Dumbledore repeated.
Snape took a step towards Dumbledore.
“Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen,” he hissed. “You haven’t
forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven’t forgotten that he once tried to kill me?”
“My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly. Hermione was amazed
by his patience.
Snape turned on his heel and marched through the door Fudge was still holding. It closed behind
them, and Dumbledore turned to Harry and Hermione. They both burst into speech at the same
time.
“Professor, Black’s telling the truth – we saw Pettigrew –”
“– he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf –”
“– he’s a rat –”
“– Pettigrew’s front paw, I mean, finger, he cut it off –”
“– Pettigrew attacked Ron, it wasn’t Sirius –”
But Dumbledore held up his hand to stem the flood of explanations.
“It is your turn to listen, and I beg you will not interrupt me because there is very little time,” he
said quietly. “There is not a shred of proof to support Black’s story, except your word – and the
word of two thirteen-year-old wizards will not convince anybody. A street full of eyewitnesses
swore they saw Sirius murder Pettigrew. I myself gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius had
been the Potters’ Secret Keeper.”
“Professor Lupin can tell you –” Harry said like he couldn’t help himself.
“Professor Lupin is currently deep in the Forest, unable to tell anyone anything. By the time he is
human again, it will be too late. Sirius will be worse than dead. I might add that werewolves are so
mistrusted by most of our kind that his support will count for very little – and the fact that he and
Sirius are old friends –”
“But –”
“Listen to me, Harry. It is too late, you understand me? You must see that Professor Snape’s
version of events is far more convincing than yours.”
“He hates Sirius,” Hermione said desperately. “All because of some stupid trick Sirius played on
him –”
“Sirius has not acted like an innocent man. The attack on the Fat Lady – entering Gryffindor Tower
with a knife – without Pettigrew, alive or dead, we have no chance of overturning Sirius’
sentence.”
“But you believe us.”
“Yes, I do,” said Dumbledore quietly. “But I have no power to make other men see the truth or to
overrule the Minister of Magic.”
Hermione’s eyes welled up with tears. There was no hope. There was nothing they could do.
“What we need,” said Dumbledore slowly. Hermione looked up at him. He had shifted his focus
from Harry to her. His light-blue eyes stared into hers. “Is more time.”
“But-” Hermione began, but then it hit her. Time! She had time! “OH!” Her heart fluttered again
with a tiny dash of hope.
“Now, pay attention,” said Dumbledore, speaking very low and very clear. “Sirius is locked in
Professor Flitwick’s office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West
Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember
this, both of you. You must not be seen. Miss Granger, you know the law – you know what is at
stake ... you – must – not – be – seen.”
Hermione nodded. She knew what she’d have to do. She would have to use the Time-Turner one
last time.
Dumbledore turned on his heel and walked to the door. “I am going to lock you in. It is-” he
consulted his watch “-five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good
luck.”
“Good luck?” Harry repeated. “Three turns? What’s he talking about? What are we supposed to
do?”
Hermione wasn’t listening to Harry, however. She was pulling the Time-Turner out from
underneath her robes. Her mind was hyper focused on the task at hand.
“Harry, come here!” she said urgently. “Quick!”
Harry moved towards her, looking completely bewildered. She was holding the chain out so she
could wrap it around his neck as well. “Here,” she said. “Ready?”
“What are we doing?” Harry asked.
Hermione ignored him again. They couldn’t waste any more of the present time. She turned the
Time-Turner once.
Twice.
Three times.
The familiar lurch hit her stomach. Out of morbid curiosity, Hermione forced herself to keep her
eyes open to see how Harry would react. A blur of colours and shapes rushed past them, but she
tried to remain focused on Harry’s face. He looked dazed, disoriented, and a little green.
The swirling stopped, and Hermione felt her feet hit solid ground again. They were standing in the
deserted Entrance Hall, and a stream of golden sunlight was falling across the paved floor from the
open front doors. Harry looked as though he was going to have a panic attack.
“Hermione, what-?”
Hermione knew they had to get out of the open. Fast. “In here!” Hermione seized Harry’s arm and
dragged him across the hall to her closet. She opened it, pushed him inside, and slammed the door
behind them. It was odd to have someone else in her closet with her, but she pushed the thought
from her mind. They had much more pressing issues.
“What - how - Hermione, what happened?”
“We’ve gone back in time,” Hermione whispered, lifting the chain off Harry’s neck in the darkness
of her closet. “Three hours back.”
“But-”
“Shh!” Hermione hissed. “Listen! Someone’s coming! I think - I think it might be us!”
Hermione had her ear pressed against the cupboard door. The timeline definitely added up. She
tried to remember what they had done earlier in the day.
“Footsteps across the hall... yes, I think it’s us going down to Hagrid’s!”
“Are you telling me,” Harry whispered, “that we’re here in this cupboard, and we’re out there,
too?”
“Yes,” said Hermione, her ear still glued to the cupboard door. “I’m sure it’s us. it doesn’t sound
like more than three people... and we’re walking slowly because we’re under the Invisibility Cloak
–”
She broke off, still listening intently.
“We’ve gone down the front steps…” They were safe for now. She needed to think. She needed to
figure a whole timetable out as she did for all of her classes. The puzzle pieces had to fit together
somehow, but how? What did Dumbledore want them to do? She had the time. Now she needed the
plan. She sat down on the upturned bucket to think.
“Where did you get that hourglass thing?” Harry asked.
Hermione figured it’d be easier to just get this part over with so Harry could just stop asking
questions and allow her to think. Luckily, she had rehearsed what she’d say if she ever got caught.
She knew it’d probably be too confusing and cause too many questions if she told Harry that she
had the Time-Turner all summer; plus, she wasn’t necessarily sure if Professor McGonagall was
even supposed to have given her the Time-Turner prior to term. There was so much wrong already.
Why get Professor McGonagall in trouble too?
“It’s called a Time-Turner,” Hermione whispered, “and I got it from Professor McGonagall on our
first day back. I’ve been using it all year to get to all my lessons. Professor McGonagall made me
swear I wouldn’t tell anyone. She had to write all sorts of letters to the Ministry of Magic so I could
have one. She had to tell them that I was a model student and that I’d never, ever use it for
anything except my studies... I’ve been turning it back so I could do hours over again. That’s how
I’ve been doing several lessons at once, see? But, Harry, I don’t understand what Dumbledore
wants us to do. Why did he tell us to go back three hours? How’s that going to help Sirius?”
“There must be something that happened around now he wants us to change,” he said slowly.
Maybe he’d be more of a help than she had thought. “What happened? We were walking down to
Hagrid’s three hours ago.”
“This is three hours ago, and we are walking down to Hagrid’s,” said Hermione. “We just heard
ourselves leaving.”
Harry frowned. “Dumbledore just said – just said we could save more than one innocent life…”
Harry paused, and then a light came on in his green eyes. ‘“Hermione, we’re going to save
Buckbeak!”
“But – how will that help Sirius?”
“Dumbledore said – he just told us where the window is – the window of Flitwick’s office! Where
they’ve got Sirius locked up! We’ve got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius!
Sirius can escape on Buckbeak – they can escape together!”
Hermione blinked a few times and tried to replay what Harry just said in her head. They had to do
all of that?! It was impossible!
“If we manage that without being seen, it’ll be a miracle!” she said.
“Well, we’ve got to try, haven’t we?” said Harry. Hermione knew he was right, but she didn’t
know how they could possibly make it work.
Harry pressed his ear against the door. “Doesn’t sound like anyone’s there. Come on, let’s go.”
Harry pushed the cupboard door open without even thinking about a single consequence of his
action. He obviously did not understand the severity of the ramifications of getting caught. To his
credit (and obscene luck), the Entrance Hall was deserted. Hermione darted out of the closet after
him and down the stone steps. The shadows were already lengthening.
Hermione realised she’d have to be the voice of reason once again. Harry would be the voice of
spontaneity. Wherever they met in the middle would just have to work. She grabbed Harry’s
sleeve. “If anyone’s looking out the window-” she said, looking up at the castle behind them.
“We’ll run for it,” said Harry determinedly. “Straight into the Forest, all right? We’ll have to hide
behind a tree or something and keep a lookout-”
Hermione’s mind quickly pulled up a map of sorts of the ground to plot out where they could and
couldn’t go. “Ok, but we’ll go round by the greenhouses!” said Hermione breathlessly. “We need
to keep out of sight of Hagrid’s front door, or we’ll see us! We must be nearly at Hagrid’s by now.”
Harry set off at a spring, Hermione right behind him. They tore across the vegetable gardens to the
greenhouses, paused for a moment behind them to check their surroundings and line of sight, then
set off again, fast as they could, skirting around the Whomping Willow, tearing towards the shelter
of the Forest.
Hermione tried to ignore the stitch in her side and the pulsating pain from the slash in her shoulder
as they stopped in the safe shadows of the trees. She doubled over, catching her breath.
“Right,” she gasped. “We need to sneak over to Hagrid’s. Keep out of sight, Harry.”
They made their way silently through the trees, keeping to the very edge of the Forest. Then, as
they glimpsed the front of Hagrid’s house, they heard a knock upon his door. They moved quickly
behind a wide oak trunk and peered out. Hagrid had appeared in his doorway, shaking and white,
looking around to see who had knocked. Hermione heard past Harry’s voice.
“It’s us. We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in, and we can take it off.”
“Yeh shouldn’ve come!” past Hagrid whispered. He stood back, then shut the door quickly.
“This is the weirdest thing we’ve ever done,” Harry said fervently. Hermione could think of a few
weirder things, but she remained quiet. They had a short window of time to move into position.
“Let’s move along a bit,” Hermione whispered. “We need to get nearer to Buckbeak!”
They crept through the trees until they saw the nervous Hippogriff tethered to the fence around
Hagrid’s pumpkin patch.
“Now?” Harry whispered.
Hermione thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No,” she said. “If we steal him now,
those Committee people will think Hagrid set him free! We’ve got to wait until they’ve seen he’s
tied outside.”
“That’s going to give us about sixty seconds!” Harry exclaimed, confirming what Hermione
already knew. It was going to be almost impossible, but it was the only way. They could not put
Hagrid in danger like that.
There was a crash of breaking china from inside Hagrid’s cabin at that moment.
“That’s Hagrid breaking the milk jug,” Hermione whispered. “I’m going to find Scabbers in a
moment-”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, they heard Hermione’s shriek of surprise.
“Hermione,” said Harry suddenly, “what if we – we just run in there, and grab Pettigrew –”
“No!” said Hermione in a terrified whisper. “Don’t you understand? We’re breaking one of the
most important wizarding laws! Nobody’s supposed to change time, nobody! You heard
Dumbledore if we’re seen –”
“We’d only be seen by ourselves and Hagrid!”
“Harry, what do you think you’d do if you saw yourself bursting into Hagrid’s house?” said
Hermione. She had to make him understand.
“I’d – I’d think I’d gone mad,” said Harry, “or I’d think there was some Dark Magic going on –”
“Exactly! You wouldn’t understand. You might even attack yourself! Don’t you see? Professor
McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time...
loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!”
“Ok!” said Harry. “It was just an idea, I just thought –”
But Hermione nudged him and pointed towards the castle. Dumbledore, Fudge, the old Committee
member and Macnair the executioner were coming down the steps of the castle.
“We’re about to come out!” Hermione breathed.
And sure enough, moments later, Hagrid’s back door opened, and Hermione saw herself, Harry,
and Ron walking out of it with Hagrid. She absolutely hated watching her past self. It was one of
the most disorienting feelings in the world. She glanced over at Harry, who looked completely
gobsmacked.
“It’s OK, Beaky, it’s OK…” past Hagrid said to Buckbeak. Then he turned to Harry, Ron and
Hermione. “Go on. Get goin’.”
“Hagrid, we can’t –”
“We’ll tell them what really happened –”
“They can’t kill him-”
“Go! It’s bad enough without you lot in trouble an’ all!”
Past Hermione threw the Invisibility Cloak over the three of them.
“Go quick. Don’ listen…”
There was a knock on Hagrid’s front door. The execution party had arrived. Hagrid turned around
and headed back into his cabin, leaving the back door ajar. Hermione tried to figure out where their
past selves were since they were under the invisibility cloak. Luckily, she could see the grass
flatten in patches all around the cabin and heard three pairs of feet retreating. Their past selves
were gone, but their present selves were now in a spot where they could listen to the conversation
inside the cabin through the ajar back door.
“Where is the beast?” came the cold voice of Macnair, the executioner.
“Out-outside,” Hagrid croaked.
Hermione and Harry ducked back behind the cover of the trees as Macnair’s face appeared at
Hagrid’s back window, staring out at Buckbeak. Then they heard Fudge.
“We - er - have to read you the official notice of execution, Hagrid. I’ll make it quick. And then
you and Macnair need to sign it. Macnair, you’re supposed to listen too, that’s procedure-”
Macnair’s face vanished from the window. Hermione looked at Harry and nodded. It was now or
never.
“Wait here,” Harry whispered to Hermione. “I’ll do it.”
As Fudge’s voice started again, Harry darted out from behind his tree, vaulted the fence into the
pumpkin patch and approached Buckbeak. Hermione held her breath.
“It is the decision of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures that the Hippogriff
Buckbeak, hereafter called the condemned, shall be executed on the sixth of June at sundown –’
She watched as Harry stared up into Buckbeak’s fierce orange eye and bowed. Buckbeak sank to
his scaly knees and then stood up again. Harry began to fumble with the rope tying Buckbeak to
the fence.
“...sentenced to execution by beheading, to be carried out by the Committee’s appointed
executioner, Walden Macnair…”
“Hurry up, Harry!” Hermione murmured, watching him trying to untie the rope. He finally
fumbled it open.
“...as witnessed below. Hagrid, you sign here…”
Hermione watched as Harry started pulling the rope. Buckbeak wasn’t budging. “Come on, come
on!” she whispered. Harry threw all his weight onto the rope, but Buckbeak had seemed to have
dug in his front feet. They were running out of time!
“Well, let’s get this over with,” said the reedy voice of the Committee member from inside
Hagrid’s cabin. “Hagrid, perhaps it would be better if you stayed inside –”
“No, I – I wan’ ter be with him ... I don’ wan’ him ter be alone –”
Footsteps echoed from within the cabin.
“Buckbeak, move!” Harry hissed
Harry tugged harder on the rope around Buckbeak’s neck. The Hippogriff began to walk, rustling
its wings irritably. They were still ten feet away from the Forest, in plain view of Hagrid’s back
door. Hermione could barely hear anything over the pounding of her own heart. They were going
to get caught. It was all over.
“One moment, please, Macnair,” came Dumbledore’s voice. “You need to sign, too.” The footsteps
stopped. Harry heaved on the rope. Buckbeak snapped his beak and walked a little faster.
Hermione took a chance and stuck her head out from behind the tree. “Harry, hurry!” she mouthed.
They could still hear Dumbledore’s voice talking from within the cabin. He gave the rope another
wrench. Buckbeak broke into a grudging trot. They had reached the trees!
“Quick! Quick!” Hermione moaned, darting out from behind her tree, seizing the rope too and
adding her weight to make Buckbeak move faster. Finally, they were deep enough in the trees that
they wouldn’t easily be seen.
“Stop!” he whispered to Hermione. “They might hear us –”
Hagrid’s back door had opened with a bang. Hermione, Harry, and Buckbeak stood quite still; even
the Hippogriff seemed to be listening intently.
Silence...
Then –
“Where is it?” said the reedy voice of the Committee member. “Where is the beast?”
“It was tied here!” said the executioner furiously. “I saw it! Just here!”
“How extraordinary,” said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in his voice. He had to
have known, even then. That’s why he told them to use the Time-Turner!
“Beaky!” said Hagrid huskily.
There was a swishing noise and the thud of an axe. The executioner seemed to have swung it into
the fence in anger. And then came the howling, and this time they could hear Hagrid’s words
through his sobs. It all happened like she had remembered hearing it!
“Gone! Gone! Bless his little beak, he’s gone! Musta pulled himself free! Beaky, yeh clever boy!”
Buckbeak started to strain against the rope, trying to get back to Hagrid. Harry and Hermione
tightened their grip and dug their heels into the Forest floor to stop him.
“Someone untied him!” the executioner was snarling. “We should search the grounds, the Forest
–” Hermione gasped. They wouldn’t have to look far.
“Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief will have led him away
on foot?” said Dumbledore, still sounding amused. Hermione couldn’t help but also notice he
seemed to be talking much louder than necessary as if he knew she and Harry would be there to
listen. “Search the skies, if you will... Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy.”
“O’ – o’ course, Professor,” said Hagrid, who sounded weak with happiness. “Come in, come
in…”
Hermione and Harry listened closely. They heard footsteps, the soft cursing of the executioner, the
snap of the door, and then silence once more. Hermione let out the breath she had been holding.
“Now what?” whispered Harry, looking around.
“We’ll have to hide in here,” said Hermione, who looked very shaken. She was thinking as quickly
as she was talking. “We need to wait until they’ve gone back to the castle. Then we wait until it’s
safe to fly Buckbeak up to Sirius’ window. He won’t be there for another couple of hours... oh, this
is going to be difficult…”
She looked nervously over her shoulder into the depths of the Forest. The sun was setting now.
“We’re going to have to move,” said Harry. “We’ve got to be able to see the Whomping Willow, or
we won’t know what’s going on.”
“OK,” said Hermione, getting a firmer grip on Buckbeak’s rope. “But we’ve got to keep out of
sight, Harry, remember…”
They moved around the edge of the Forest, darkness falling thickly around them until they were
hidden behind a clump of trees through which they could make out the Willow.
“There’s Ron!” blurted Harry.
A dark figure was sprinting across the lawn, and its shout echoed through the still night air.
“Get away from him – get away – Scabbers, come here –” past Ron yelled.
And then they saw two more figures materialise out of nowhere. Hermione watched herself and
Harry chasing after Ron. Then she saw Ron dive.
“Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat-”
“There’s Sirius!” said present Harry. He pointed to the huge, black dog bounding out from the
roots of the Willow. They saw him knock Harry over, then seize Ron…
Looks even worse from here, doesn’t it?” said Harry, watching the dog pull past Ron into the
roots. “Ouch - look, I just got walloped by the tree - and so did you - this is weird!” Hermione
nodded in agreement. It’s a wonder they survived the Whomping Willow attack. Hermione
flinched as the tree kept swinging. It was creaking and lashing out with its lower branches
relentlessly; they could see themselves darting here and there, trying to get to the trunk.
And then the tree froze.
“That was Crookshanks pressing the knot,” said Hermione.
“And there we go…” Harry muttered. “We’re in.”
The moment they disappeared, the tree began to move again. Seconds later, they heard footsteps
quite close by. Dumbledore, Macnair, Fudge, and the old Committee member were making their
way up to the castle.
“Right after we’d gone down into the passage!” said Hermione, surprised at how much of a close
call it had been. “If only Dumbledore had come with us!”
“Macnair and Fudge would’ve come too,” said Harry bitterly. “I bet you anything Fudge would’ve
told Macnair to murder Sirius on the spot.”
Hermione had to agree with that logic. Fudge had a lot on the line - not being able to catch Black
had really hurt his approval rating within the Wizarding World.
They watched the four men climb the castle steps and disappear from view. For a few minutes, the
scene was deserted. Then –
“Here comes Lupin!” said Harry, as they saw another figure sprinting down the stone steps and
haring towards the Willow. Hermione looked up at the sky. Clouds were obscuring the moon
completely.
They watched Lupin seize a broken branch from the ground and prod the knot on the trunk. The
tree stopped fighting, and Lupin, too, disappeared into the gap in its roots.
“If he’d only grabbed the Cloak,” said Harry. “It’s just lying there…”
He turned to Hermione.
“If I just dashed out now and grabbed it, Snape’d never be able to get it and –”
Had he not been listening this whole time?!
“Harry, we mustn’t be seen!”
“How can you stand this?” he asked Hermione fiercely. “Just standing here and watching it
happen?” Hermione almost sarcastically giggled; she had stories that would blow his mind. “I’m
going to grab the Cloak,” Harry said quickly and jumped up.
“Harry, no!” Hermione seized the back of Harry’s robes not a moment too soon. Just then, they
heard a burst of song. It was Hagrid, making his way up to the castle, singing at the top of his
voice, and weaving slightly as he walked. A large bottle was swinging from his hands.
“See!?” Hermione whispered fiercely. “See what would have happened? We’ve got to keep out of
sight! No, Buckbeak!”
The Hippogriff was making frantic attempts to get Hagrid again. Both she and Harry grabbed the
rope and tried to hold Buckbeak back. They watched Hagrid meander tipsily up to the castle. He
was gone. Buckbeak stopped fighting to get away. His head drooped sadly.
Barely two minutes later, the castle doors flew open yet again, and Snape had come charging out of
them, running towards the Willow.
Hermione felt Harry’s whole body tighten with anger. She was angry too, but her fear of getting
caught outweighed the desire to stop Snape. They watched Snape skid to a halt next to the tree,
looking around. He grabbed the Cloak and held it up.
“Get your filthy hands off it,” Harry snarled under his breath.
“Shhh!” Hermione silenced him.
Snape seized the branch Lupin had used to freeze the tree, prodded the knot, and vanished from
view as he put on the Cloak.
Hermione waited a moment. “So that’s it,” she said quietly. “We’re all down there… and now
we’ve just got to wait until we come back up again…”
The adrenaline was again wearing off. She didn’t want to be caught off guard by Buckbeak pulling
at the rope again, so she took the end of it and tied it securely around the nearest tree. She then
came back and sat down on the dry ground, arms around her knees. They had quite a bit of waiting
to do until they had to go to the lake. Hermione frowned. She realised she had fainted before the
Dementors fully descended upon them.
“Harry, there’s something I don’t understand,” she said. “Why didn’t the Dementors get Sirius? I
remember them coming, and then I think I passed out. There were so many of them…”
Harry sat down next to her. “They were all over - we were surrounded. I was trying to cast a
Patronus charm, but I couldn’t think of anything other than my mom and dad dying. I could hear
her screaming in my ears.
“I fell over, and I thought that was it - that the Dementors were going to give all three of us the
kiss. I was so cold.
“Then there was this blinding light across the lake. The screaming sounded further and further
away, and the cold seemed to be less. Something was driving the Dementors back - it was that
bright light, bow now it was circling around me and Sirius and you.
“It was so hard, but I lifted my head a bit to see what it was. But I did. And, all of a sudden, all of
the Dementors were gone.”
“But what was it?” Hermione asked.
“There’s only one thing it could have been, to make the Dementors go away,” said Harry. “A real
Patronus. A powerful one.”
“But who conjured it?”
Harry didn’t answer.
“Didn’t you see what they looked like?” Hermione pressed. “Was it one of the teachers?”
“No,” said Harry. “He wasn’t a teacher.”
“But it must have been a really powerful wizard to drive all those Dementors away. If the Patronus
was shining so brightly, didn’t it light him up? Couldn’t you see-?”
“Yeah, I saw him,” said Harry slowly. “But… maybe I imagined it… I wasn’t thinking straight. I
passed out right afterwards.”
Hermione was getting impatient. “Who do you think it was?” she asked again.
“I think-” Harry paused. “I think it was my dad.”
Hermione was definitely not expecting that as an answer. Her heart broke for him. He wanted to
see his parents so much that he was now manifesting hallucinations.
“Harry,” she said quietly and with as much empathy as she could muster. “Your dad’s - well dead.”
“I know that,” said Harry quickly.
There has to be a rational explanation. “You think you saw his ghost?” she asked.
“I don’t know… no… he looked solid.”
“But then-”
“Maybe I was seeing things,” said Harry. “But, from what I could see, it looked like him. I’ve got
photos of him.”
Hermione wanted to believe him, but it just wasn’t possible.
“I know it sounds mad,” Harry continued flatly.
Hermione silently agreed; it did sound mad. It also sounded like Harry was having a very horrible
day, and his mind was trying to make him feel better by making up a story about seeing his dead
dad. Instead of pointing out the obvious flaws with his memory, Hermione stayed silent. If Harry
needed the comfort from his hallucination right now, who was she to judge?
The pair of best friends sat there for over an hour. Hermione found it comforting that they could sit
there like that in complete silence and not feel awkward. Harry indeed was like the brother she
never had. Hermione reflected on the school year - their relationship had been so strained. A lot of
that was because of the Time-Turner and all of the complications that came with it. It was so lovely
to finally be able to tell her best friend the secret she had been holding onto all year, even if the
circumstances were less than desirable.
The leaves overhead rustled faintly in the breeze. The moon drifted in and out of sight behind the
shifting clouds. Hermione sat with her face in her hands towards the Whomping Willow, just
waiting and letting her body rest.
Then, suddenly, there was movement. Crookshanks.
“Here we come!” Hermione whispered.
She and Harry got to their feet. Buckbeak raised his head. They saw Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron
clambering awkwardly out of the hole in the roots, followed by the unconscious Snape, drifting
weirdly upwards. Next came Black, Harry, and Hermione. They all began to walk towards the
castle.
Hermione could see Harry tense up. She knew it had to be so difficult for him to do nothing, but it
was imperative. “Harry,” Hermione muttered. “We’ve got to stay put. We mustn’t be seen. There’s
nothing we can do…” She hoped the gentle reminder would help.
“So we’re just going to let Pettigrew escape all over again?” said Harry quietly. It was more of a
statement instead of a question.
“How do you expect to find a rat in the dark?” Hermione said in the most rational voice she could
muster. “There’s nothing we can do! We came back to help Sirius. We’re not supposed to be doing
anything else!”
“All right!”
Hermione felt horrible, but she knew she was right.
The moon slid out from behind its cloud. They saw the tiny figures across the grounds stop. Then
they saw the movement “There goes Lupin,” Hermione whispered. “He’s transforming-”
The transformation was just as transfixing as it was the first time. Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes
away.
Suddenly, Harry grabbed her arm. “Hermione!” he whispered. “We’ve got to move!”
Hermione sighed. He just wasn’t getting it. “We mustn’t! I keep telling you-”
“Not to interfere! But Lupin’s going to run into the Forest… Right at us!”
Hermione gasped. Harry was right.
“Quick!” she moaned, dashing to untie Buckbeak. She was panicking again. “Quick! Where are we
going to go? Where are we going to hide? The Dementors will be coming any moment –”
“Back to Hagrid’s!” Harry said. “It’s empty now – come on!”
They ran, fast as they could, Buckbeak cantering along behind them. They could hear the werewolf
howling behind them.
The cabin was in sight. They both skidded to a stop at the giant door. Harry wrenched it open, and
all three of them flew inside. Harry slammed the door shut and bolted the door. Fang, the
boarhound, barked loudly.
“Shhh, Fang, it’s us!” said Hermione, rushing over and scratching his huge, droopy ears to quiet
him. “That was really close,” she said to Harry.
“Yeah…” Harry said as he peered out the window.
Buckbeak seemed very happy to find himself back inside Hagrid’s house. He lay down in front of
the fire, folded his wings contentedly, and seemed ready for a good nap.
“I think I’d better go outside again, you know,” said Harry slowly. “I can’t see what’s going on we won’t know when it’s time-”
Hermione looked at him suspiciously.
“I’m not going to try and interfere,” said Harry quickly. “But if we don’t see what’s going on,
how’re we going to know when it's time to rescue Sirius?”
“Well, ok then… I’ll wait here with Buckbeak,” she said slowly. “But Harry, be careful! There’s a
werewolf out there, and the Dementors-” She could have gone on, but Harry knew the risks.
She watched him sneak out the door and start to close it behind him. He left it slightly ajar, and
Hermione could still see part of his arm. She turned her head back to pet Fang when she heard
yelping in the distance outside. That meant the Dementors were closing in on Sirius.
Her head instinctively turned toward the ajar door. She didn’t see Harry’s arm anymore.
He had gone.
With a sickening lurch similar to using the Time-Turner, Hermione jumped up and bolted out the
door. She had to catch him before something horrible happened.
Harry was running directly towards the lake. There were Dementors everywhere. Hermione put her
head down and tried to catch up. Harry only had a few seconds head start, but she wheeled to a
stop.
This was going to be their only chance to save Sirius… and if Harry didn’t completely botch it,
they’d need Buckbeak there to escape.
With a curse word Ron would have approved of, Hermione turned around and sprinted back to the
hut. She threw open the door and raced over to Buckbeak. Hermione bowed as quickly and as
deeply as she could and barely waited for Buckbeak to return the bow before grabbing the rope and
giving it a yank.
“Come on, come on!” she whispered in a panic.
Buckbeak wasn’t budging.
Hermione’s eyes circled the hut in a panic. There, sitting on the counter, was the most beautiful
thing Hermione could have ever seen at that exact moment: a massive piece of raw steak. Drunk
Hagrid must have accidentally forgotten to cook it. She wheeled on her heel and grabbed it.
“Buckbeak! Look!” she whispered, shaking the raw steak above her head. The Hippogriff tilted its
head sideways, intrigued. “Come here, Buckbeak! Do you want some steak?” The beast stood up
but didn’t advance. “It’s big and bloody and juicy! Look!” Hermione swang it back and forth.
Nothing.
She was getting desperate.
An idea hit her. It wasn’t necessarily the most ingenious idea she ever had, but with time running
out, she was willing to try anything. Hermione started blowing over the top of the steak to
hopefully push the smell of it over towards the Hippogriff… and, to her complete and utter
surprise, it worked! Buckbeak took a few steps towards Hermione and the big steak.
She quickly grabbed the rope around Buckbeak’s neck, and half dragged, half lured him out of the
hut and towards the Lake. She could see both Harry’s in the dim light of the moon. Past Harry was
desperately trying to cast a Patronus. Present Harry had thrown himself behind a bush at the very
edge of the water on the opposite beach.
If Harry’s memory had been real, James Potter would be standing next to his son by now.
Hermione would have felt sorry for Harry had she not been sprinting down to the beach, pulling an
illegal Hippogriff to save a convicted convict.
All of a sudden, present Harry lept from behind the bush, his wand held high.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” he yelled.
And out of the end of Hermione’s best friend’s wand burst a blinding, dazzling, silver animal.
Hermione stopped in her tracks. Buckbeak grabbed the steak from her hand, but Hermione barely
noticed. She watched the horse-like silvery creature galloping across the black surface of the lake.
She saw it lower its head and charge at the swarming Dementors, galloping around and around all
of the black shapes on the ground. The Dementors were falling back, scattering, retreating into the
darkness. They were gone.
The Patronus started to prance back towards Harry. Hermione gasped. It was a stag. The Patronus
was a stag. And Harry’s silhouette in front of the bright, silvery light of the stag did not look like a
thirteen-year-old boy; it looked like a man. From the beach, it probably looked like an older
version of Harry.
Hermione got over the shock and started to run again. Her anger at Harry for running off returned
with every step. She reached Harry just as the Patronus Stag disappeared.
“What did you do?!” she said fiercely. “You said you were only going to keep a lookout!”
“I just saved all our lives,” said Harry. “Get behind here - behind this bush. I’ll explain.”
Hermione huffed but did as he asked. Buckbeak was still happily chewing on the steak and didn’t
mind being pulled this way or that.
“Harry, you-”
“Hermione, you have to believe me! I wasn’t going to interfere at all! I just wanted to see my dad. I
could see us on the bank over there and kept waiting and waiting for my dad - or whoever cast that
Patronus - to come, but they never did. No one was coming, so I knew I had to do it. It was me. I
cast the Patronus!”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Yes, haven’t you been listening?! I saw me, but I thought it was my dad! It’s ok!”
“Harry, I can’t believe it - you conjured up a Patronus that drove away all those Dementors! That’s
very, very advanced magic.” As mad as she was at him, Hermione couldn’t help but be incredibly
impressed.
“I knew I could do it this time because I’d already done it,” said Harry. “Does that make sense?”
“I don’t know - Harry, look at Snape!”
Together they peered around the bush at the other bank. Snape had regained consciousness. He
was conjuring stretchers and lifting the limp forms of Harry, Hermione and Black onto them. A
fourth stretcher, no doubt bearing Ron, was already floating at his side. Then, wand held out in
front of him, he moved them away towards the castle.
“Right, it’s nearly time,” said Hermione tensely, looking at her watch. They’d have to discuss this
later. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes until Dumbledore locks the door to the hospital wing.
We’ve got to rescue Sirius and get back into the ward before anybody realises we’re missing…”
They waited, watching the moving clouds reflected in the lake while the bush next to them
whispered in the breeze. Buckbeak, bored, was ferreting for worms again.
“D’you reckon he’s up there yet?” said Harry, checking his watch. Hermione did the same. It’d be
any minute now. She looked up at the castle and began counting the windows to the right of the
West Tower, but movement at the entrance of the castle caught her eye.
“Look!” Hermione whispered. “Who’s that? Someone’s coming back out of the castle!”
They both looked where Hermione was pointing. A man was hurrying across the grounds towards
one of the entrances. Something shiny glinted in his belt.
“Macnair!” said Harry. “The executioner! He’s gone to get the Dementors! This is it, Hermione –”
Hermione realised, with dread, that they were going to have to fly Buckbeak up to the tower. She
had always known that was ultimately going to be the plan, but she hadn’t allowed herself to think
about it all night. She hated flying on broomsticks; flying on a Hippogriff would probably be
exponentially worse.
Nevertheless, Hermione steeled her nerves, put her hands on Buckbeak’s back, and used Harry’s
leg as leverage to jump onto the beast’s back. Harry used one of the lower branches of the bush and
climbed up in front of her. She felt much better having an experienced flyer (both on a broomstick
and Buckbeak) to be navigating.
Harry pulled Buckbeak’s rope over his neck and tied it to the other side of his collar like reins.
“Ready?” he whispered over his shoulder to Hermione. “You’d better hold on to me-”
Hermione didn’t have to be told twice. She wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist like a vice. She
felt Harry shift his legs to nudge Buckbeak’s side with his heels.
Buckbeak soared straight up into the dark air. Hermione made the very unfortunate mistake of
looking behind them and seeing just how high they had flown.
“On no - I don’t like this - oh, I really don’t like this,” she muttered over and over, squeezing her
eyes in terror. She could feel them turning this way and that but was too afraid to open her eyes
again. Her hands were tingling because of how tightly she was gripping Harry, but she couldn’t
think about it now.
Harry was softly counting the windows aloud. “One - two - three - four - Whoa!” Harry said,
pulling back on the reins and leaning back into Hermione.
She chanced a look. They were right outside one of the windows, rising slowly up and down as
Buckbeak beat his wings to remain airborne.
“He’s there,” Harry said, spotting Sirius as they rose up beside the window. Harry reached out and
was able to tap on the glass sharply.
Black looked up. His jaw dropped. He lept from the chair and hurried over to the window, shaking
it with all of his might. It was locked.
“Stand back!” Hermione called to him. She took a deep breath and slid her arms from around
Harry’s waist. She kept her non-wand arm tightly fastened to Harry’s robes but grabbed her wand
with her right hand.
“Alohamora!” Hermione said, tracing the backwards “s” shape of the unlocking charm with her
wand. The window sprang open.
“How - how-?” said Black weakly, staring at the Hippogriff.
“Get on - there’s not much time,” said Harry, gripping Buckbeak firmly on either side of his neck
to hold him steady. “You’ve got to get out of here - the Dementors are coming. Macnair’s gone to
get them.
Black placed a hand on either side of the window frame and heaved his head and shoulders out of
it. It was very fortunate he was so thin. In seconds, he had managed to fling one leg over
Buckbeak’s back and pull himself onto the Hippogriff behind Hermione.
“OK, Buckbeak, up!” said Harry, shaking the rope. “Up to the tower – come on!”
The Hippogriff gave one sweep of its mighty wings, and they were soaring upwards again, high as
the top of the West Tower. Hermione felt a bit safer surrounded by Harry and Sirius, but she still
couldn’t wait until they were back on solid ground. Buckbeak landed with a clatter on the
battlements, and Harry and Hermione slid off him at once.
“Sirius, you’d better go, quick,” Harry panted. “They’ll reach Flitwick’s office any moment, they’ll
find out you’ve gone.”
Buckbeak pawed the ground, tossing his sharp head.
“What happened to the other boy? Ron?” said Sirius urgently.
“He’s going to be OK – he’s still out of it, but Madam Pomfrey says she’ll be able to make him
better. Quick – go!”
But Black was still staring down at Harry.
“How can I ever thank –”
“GO!” Harry and Hermione shouted together.
Black wheeled Buckbeak around, facing the open sky.
“We’ll see each other again,” he said. “You are – truly your father’s son, Harry.”
He squeezed Buckbeak’s sides with his heels. Harry and Hermione jumped back as the enormous
wings rose once more... the Hippogriff took off into the air... he and his rider became smaller and
smaller as they gazed after them... then a cloud drifted across the moon... they were gone.
Turning and Timing
Hermione wanted to celebrate as Sirius and Buckbeak flew off to freedom but knew it wasn’t over
yet - far from it. They had to get back. Fast.
“Harry!”
Hermione was tugging at Harry’s sleeve, staring at her watch. “We’ve got exactly ten minutes to
get back down to the hospital wing without anyone seeing us - before Dumbledore locks the door!”
“Ok,” said Harry, tearing his gaze away from the sky. “Let’s go.”
They slipped through the doorway behind them and down a tightly spiralling stone staircase. As
they reached the bottom of it, they heard voices. They flattened themselves against the wall and
listened. It sounded like Fudge and Snape. They were walking quickly along the corridor at the
foot of the staircase.
“...only hope Dumbledore’s not going to make difficulties,” Snape was saying. ‘The Kiss will be
performed immediately?”
“As soon as Macnair returns with the Dementors. This whole Black affair has been highly
embarrassing. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to informing the Daily Prophet that
we’ve got him at last. I daresay they’ll want to interview you, Snap ... and once young Harry’s back
in his right mind, I expect he’ll want to tell the Prophet exactly how you saved him.’
Hermione clenched her teeth in rage and felt Harry do the same next to her. She caught a glimpse
of Snape’s smirk as he and Fudge passed Hermione and Harry’s hiding place. Their footsteps died
away. Hermione and Harry waited a few moments to make sure they’d really gone, then started to
run in the opposite direction. Down one staircase, then another, along a new corridor – then they
heard a cackling ahead.
“Peeves!” Harry muttered, grabbing Hermione’s wrist. “In here!”
They tore into a deserted classroom to their left just in time. Peeves seemed to be bouncing along
the corridor in tearing spirits, laughing his head off.
“Oh, he’s horrible,” whispered Hermione, her ear to the door. “I bet he’s all excited because the
Dementors are going to finish Sirius…” She checked her watch and her heart nearly exploded in
anxiety and panic. “Three minutes, Harry!”
They waited until Peeves’s gloating voice had faded into the distance, then slid back out of the
room and broke into a run again.
“Hermione – what’ll happen – if we don’t get back inside – before Dumbledore locks the door?”
Harry panted.
“I don’t want to think about it!” Hermione moaned, rechecking her watch. “One minute!”
They had reached the end of the corridor with the hospital wing entrance. “OK – I can hear
Dumbledore,” said Hermione tensely. “Come on, Harry!”
They crept along the corridor. The door opened. Dumbledore’s back appeared.
“I am going to lock you in,” they heard him saying. “It is five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger,
three turns should do it. Good luck.”
Dumbledore backed out of the room, closed the door and took out his wand to magically lock it.
Panicking, Hermione and Harry ran forwards. Dumbledore looked up, and a wide smile appeared
under the long silver moustache. “Well?” he said quietly.
“We did it!” said Harry breathlessly. “Sirius has gone, on Buckbeak…”
Dumbledore beamed at them.
“Well done. I think –” he listened intently for any sound within the hospital wing. “Yes, I think
you’ve gone, too. Get inside – I’ll lock you in –”
Hermione and Harry slipped back inside the dormitory. It was empty except for Ron, who was still
lying motionless in the end bed. As the lock clicked behind them, Hermione and Harry crept back
to their own beds, Hermione tucking the Time-Turner back under her robes. The next moment,
Madam Pomfrey had come striding back out of her office.
“Did I hear the Headmaster leaving? Am I allowed to look after my patients now?”
She was in a very bad mood. Hermione and Harry thought it best to accept their chocolate quietly.
Madam Pomfrey stood over them, making sure they ate it. But Hermione could hardly swallow.
She and Harry were waiting, listening, their nerves jangling. And then, as they both took a fourth
piece of chocolate from Madam Pomfrey, they heard a distant roar of fury echoing from
somewhere above them.
“What was that?” said Madam Pomfrey in alarm.
Now they could hear angry voices, growing louder and louder. Madam Pomfrey was staring at the
door.
“Really – they’ll wake everybody up! What do they think they’re doing?”
The voices were getting closer… and angrier.
“He must have Disapparated, Severus. We should have left somebody in the room with him. When
this gets out –”
“HE DIDN’T DISAPPARATE!” Snape roared, now very close at hand. “YOU CAN’T
APPARATE OR DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS – HAS – SOMETHING – TO –
DO – WITH – POTTER!”
“Severus – be reasonable – Harry has been locked up –”
BAM.
The door of the hospital wing burst open.
Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm.
Indeed, he looked as though he was immensely enjoying himself. Fudge appeared angry. But
Snape was beside himself. He flew towards them in a rage.
“OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellowed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“Professor Snape!” shrieked Madam Pomfrey. “Control yourself!”
“See here, Snape, be reasonable,” said Fudge. “This door’s been locked. We just saw –”
“THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE. I KNOW IT!” Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione.
His face was twisted, spit was flying from his mouth.
“Calm down, man!” Fudge barked. “You’re talking nonsense!”
“YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieked Snape. “HE DID IT. I KNOW HE DID IT!”
“That will do, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Think about what you are saying. This door has
been locked since I left the ward ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their
beds?”
“Of course not!” said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. “I’ve been with them ever since you left!”
“Well, there you have it, Severus,” said Dumbledore calmly. “Unless you are suggesting that Harry
and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I’m afraid I don’t see any point in troubling
them further.”
Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behaviour,
to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes
swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward.
“Fellow seems quite unbalanced,” said Fudge, staring after him. “I’d watch out for him, if I were
you, Dumbledore.”
“Oh, he’s not unbalanced,” said Dumbledore quietly. “He’s just suffered a severe disappointment.”
Hermione kept her disagreement to herself.
“He’s not the only one!” puffed Fudge. “The Daily Prophet’s going to have a field day! We had
Black cornered, and he slipped through our fingers yet again! All it needs now is for the story of
that Hippogriff’s escape to get out, and I’ll be a laughing stock! Well, I’d better go and notify the
Ministry…”
“And the Dementors?” said Dumbledore. “They’ll be removed from the school, I trust?”
“Oh, yes, they’ll have to go,” said Fudge, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. “Never
dreamed they’d attempt to administer the Kiss on an innocent boy - completely out of control. No,
I’ll have them packed off back to Azkaban tonight. Perhaps we should think about dragons at the
school entrance…”
“Hagrid would like that,” said Dumbledore, with a swift smile at Hermione and Harry. As he and
Fudge left the dormitory, Madam Pomfrey hurried to the door and locked it again. Muttering
angrily to herself, she headed back to her office.
There was a low moan from the other end of the ward. Ron had woken up. They could see him
sitting up, rubbing his head, looking around.
“What – what happened?” he groaned. “Harry? Why are we in here? Where’s Sirius? Where’s
Lupin? What’s going on?”
Hermione and Harry looked at each other.
“You explain,” said Harry with a grin, helping himself to some more chocolate.
Hermione chuckled and pulled a chair over to Ron’s bedside. There was no way she was standing
for this. She was way too tired to stand for any length of time. “So, Ron… how much do you know
about time travel?”
----When Hermione, Ron, and Harry left the hospital wing at noon the next day, it was to find an
almost deserted castle. The sweltering heat and the end of the exams meant that everyone was
taking full advantage of another Hogsmeade visit. Neither Hermione nor Ron felt like going,
however, so they and Harry wandered into the grounds, still talking about the extraordinary events
of the previous night and wondering where Sirius and Buckbeak were now. Sitting near the lake,
watching the giant squid waving its tentacles lazily above the water, Hermione let her mind wander
to the insanity of the night.
She mindlessly fingered the Time-Turner as she remembered the despair she had felt less than
twenty-four hours ago along those very banks at the hands of hundreds of Dementors; then she
remembered the joy of watching Buckbeak and Sirius fly off into the moonlight, and then she
remembered the relief she felt when they made it back in time, and Ron woke up.
Ron was blown away by the Time-Turner, and both he and Harry were amazed to hear about
Hermione’s past year.
“When did you sleep?”
“How did you keep it all straight?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Hermione didn’t have answers to any of those questions. She had no idea how she managed to
sleep nor how she kept everything straight. Both she and Harry had to convince Ron it was a
horrible idea to use the Time-Turner to go back so he could see everything he had missed.
Hermione hoped never again to turn that damn crown. Her turning of time was over. She had a
meeting with Professor McGonagall later that week.
A shadow fell across them. They looked up to see a very bleary-eyed Hagrid, mopping his sweaty
face with one of his tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs and beaming down at them.
“Know I shouldn’ feel happy, after wha’ happened las’ night,” he said. “I mean, Black escapin’
again, an’ everythin’ – but guess what?”
“What?” they said, pretending to look curious.
“Beaky! He escaped! He’s free! Bin celebratin’ all night!”
“That’s wonderful!” said Hermione, giving Ron a reproving look because he looked as though he
was close to laughing.
“Yeah... can’t’ve tied him up properly,” said Hagrid, gazing happily out over the grounds. “I was
worried this mornin’, mind... thought he mighta met Professor Lupin in the grounds, but Lupin
says he never ate anythin’ las’ night…”
“What?” said Harry quickly.
“Blimey, haven’ yeh heard?” said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even
though there was nobody in sight. “Er – Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin’ - thought
everyone’d know by now. Professor Lupin’s a werewolf, see. An’ he was loose in the grounds las’
night. He’s packin’ now, o’ course.”
“He’s packing?” said Harry, alarmed. “Why?”
“Leavin’, isn’ he?” said Hagrid, looking surprised that Harry had to ask. “Resigned firs’ thing this
mornin’. Says he can’ risk it happenin’ again.”
Harry scrambled to his feet.
“I’m going to see him,” he said to Ron and Hermione.
“But if he’s resigned –”
“– doesn’t sound like there’s anything we can do –”
“I don’t care. I still want to see him. I’ll meet you back here.”
Harry ran off towards the castle, leaving Hermione, Ron, and Hagrid in his wake.
“Well, I bes’ be goin’ too,” Hagrid said. “Gotta turn in me scores so yeh all can ge’ yer grades. See
yeh ‘round.”
Hermione tried not to let her anxiety start up at the mention of their exams. She had promised
herself that she’d be happy to have just passed.
“I reckon he’s probably going to dip a bit more into the Firewhiskey,” Ron said. “We’d all better
double-check our Care of Magical Creatures grades when they come out.”
“I’m glad he’s happy,” said Hermione. “And that Buckbeak is safe.”
“Too bad he’s not safe here at Hogwarts,” Ron said. “He shouldn’t have been nearly executed.”
“You did a great job with that appeal,” Hermione said.
“Thanks, I worked really hard at it,” Ron said.
“It just goes to show you how smart you are if you just apply yourself, Ronald.”
“Maybe,” Ron said. “Sad about the Lupinator, though. He was a brilliant Defense Against the
Dark Arts teacher.”
“Lupinator?” Hermione laughed.
“I made it up while I was high on whatever Madam Pomfrey gave me for my leg, and it made me
laugh for almost five minutes straight,” Ron said with a grin. “I took your advice and started
brushing up on my Latin for Charms, and it just came to me.”
“That’s pretty clever.”
“You’ve probably already figured out ‘Lupine’ is ‘wolf’ in Latin.”
“Actually, I didn’t realise that until just now when you said it,” Hermione said.
“Mark it down! I knew something before Hermione!” Ron shouted to the giant squid. They both
laughed and settled into a comfortable silence.
“So, ‘Mione,” Ron said hesitantly after a few moments, kicking his newly mended leg in the dirt.
“Can I tell you something, and you promise not to laugh or get mad or whatever?”
“Of course!” Hermione said.
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise!”
Ron took a deep breath and kicked at the dirt again. “I’m sorry for the whole Crookshanks and
Scabbers thing. I shouldn’t have been such a git about it.”
Hermione felt the tears well in her eyes. “Oh, Ron! It’s ok! You had no idea!”
“I know, but I was still mean about it all. I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”
Hermione put her hand on his arm so he’d look at her and smiled the biggest smile she could.
“Absolutely.”
---Nobody at Hogwarts knew the truth of what had happened the night that Sirius, Buckbeak and
Pettigrew had vanished except Harry, Ron, Hermione and Professor Dumbledore. As the end of
term approached, Harry heard many different theories about what had really happened, but none of
them came close to the truth.
Malfoy was furious about Buckbeak. He was convinced that Hagrid had found a way of smuggling
the Hippogriff to safety and seemed outraged that he and his father had been outwitted by a
gamekeeper. Hermione and Sophie exchanged a secret grin as Draco droned on and on about his
father (They had promised to write to each other over break and continue Arithmancy Club through
letters). Percy Weasley, meanwhile, had much to say on the subject of Sirius’ escape.
“If I manage to get into the Ministry, I’ll have a lot of proposals to make about Magical Law
Enforcement!” he told the only person who would listen – his girlfriend, Penelope.
Everyone was positively miserable about Professor Lupin’s resignation. “Wonder what they’ll give
us next year?” said Seamus Finnigan gloomily.
“Maybe a vampire,” suggested Dean Thomas hopefully.
Even though the weather was glorious and the atmosphere was one of jubilation, Harry was in
horrible spirits. Hermione and Ron suspected Harry was not only depressed about going back to the
Dursleys but also worried about Sirius. Hermione tried to remind him that no news was good news,
but nothing could get Harry out of his funk, not even their exam results.
The results came out on the last day of term. Harry and Ron passed every subject, but Hermione
was too frightened to look at her marks. Seeing her panic, Ron grabbed the parchment out of her
hands and screened them on her behalf. “You did it, ‘Mione! Top marks in everything! Wait, ” he
said, examining the paper further. “It says three hundred and twenty percent. How is that
possible?!”
Hermione didn’t answer him. She was speechless. She could hardly believe it. All of the stress and
exhaustion had actually paid off. Of course, Hermione would have to check with Sophie to see if
she really got top marks in Arithmancy, but even if she came in second behind her, Hermione was
overcome with happiness.
Percy had got his top-grade N.E.W.Ts; Fred and George had scraped a handful of O.W.Ls each.
Gryffindor house, meanwhile, largely thanks to their spectacular performance in the Quidditch
Cup, Gryffindor house had won the House Championship for the third year running. This meant
that the end-of-term feast took place amid decorations of scarlet and gold, and that the Gryffindor
table was the noisiest of the lot, as everybody celebrated.
----Hermione knocked at Professor McGonagall’s office door the morning before they were due to go
home on the Hogwarts Express. After she took care of this one last thing, Hermione was going to
take the best nap of her life.
“Come in, Miss Granger,” she said from behind her desk. “I hear you had a most eventful evening.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Hermione as she sat down opposite her favorite professor.
“How are you?” Professor McGonagall said, leaning forward with concern.
“I’m ok,” Hermione sighed. “I’m very tired, but ok.”
“And Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley?”
“They’re ok too,” Hermione said. “Professor, they - they know about the Time-Turner, though I’m
sure you already know that.”
“I do,” Professor McGonagall said, eying her from over her spectacles. “I must commend you on
your discretion, Miss Granger. I am, quite frankly, shocked they didn’t learn about the TimeTurner earlier with how much those two meddle in other people’s business.”
“Oh, no,” Hermione said. “I was very careful.”
“As I knew you would be,” Professor McGonagall said warmly.
“But I don’t think I want to use it anymore,” Hermione said. She reached inside her robes and
pulled the Time-Turner from around her neck. Immediately, she could feel the absence of its
weight. She handed it off to Professor McGonagall. “Please tell the Ministry ‘thank you’ for giving
me the opportunity to use it this year. I learned quite a bit and feel as though I have adequately
caught up from being petrified last year. If I give up Muggle Studies in addition to Divination, I
won’t need the Time-Turner to get through next year’s classes.”
“I will pass along your sentiments,” Professor McGonagall said, putting the Time-Turner into a
box on her desk. Hermione realised that the box had been there the whole time, as if Professor
McGonagall had anticipated Hermione giving her the Time-Turner back. “I’m very proud of you,
Miss Granger. You have performed remarkably this year, in spite of many challenges.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
“I have one last assignment for you for your summer holiday,” Professor McGonagall said with a
smirk. Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Get some rest and enjoy your free time. There will be
plenty of time to study next term.”
----As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station the next morning, Hermione gave Harry and
Ron some surprising news.
“I went to see Professor McGonagall this morning, just before breakfast. I’ve decided to drop
Muggle Studies.”
“But you passed your exam with three hundred and twenty per cent!” said Ron.
“I know,” sighed Hermione, “but I can’t stand another year like this one. That Time-Turner, it was
driving me mad. I’ve handed it in. Without Muggle Studies and Divination, I’ll be able to have a
normal timetable again.”
“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” said Ron. “We’re supposed to be your friends.” He
just couldn’t let that go.
“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone,” she said, rolling her eyes. She glanced over to Harry, who was
watching Hogwarts disappear from view behind a mountain.
“Oh, cheer up, Harry!” said Hermione sadly. She didn’t know how she could help him.
“I’m ok,” said Harry quickly. “Just thinking about the holidays.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about them, too,’ said Ron. ‘Harry, you’ve got to come and stay with us.
I’ll fix it up with Mum and Dad, then I’ll call you. I know how to use a fellytone now –”
“A telephone, Ron,” said Hermione. “Honestly, you should take Muggle Studies next year…”
Ron ignored her.
“It’s the Quidditch World Cup this summer! How about it, Harry? Come and stay, and we’ll go
and see it! Dad can usually get tickets from work.”
This proposal had the effect of cheering Harry up a great deal, much to Hermione’s delight.
“Yeah... I bet the Dursleys’d be pleased to let me come, especially after what I did to Aunt
Marge…”
With Harry considerably more cheerful, the trio made the most of the train ride, playing a few
games of Exploding Snap and buying some treats from the Trolly. Later that afternoon, Hermione
noticed something outside the window over Harry’s shoulder.
“Harry,” she said. “What’s that thing outside your window?”
Something very small and grey was bobbing in and out of sight beyond the glass. It was a tiny owl,
carrying a letter which was much too big for it. The owl was so small, in fact, that it kept tumbling
over in the air, buffeted this way and that in the train’s slipstream. Harry quickly pulled down the
window, stretched out his arm and caught it adeptly. He brought it carefully inside. The owl
dropped its letter onto Harry’s seat and began zooming around their compartment, apparently very
pleased with itself for accomplishing its task. Hedwig clicked her beak with a sort of dignified
disapproval. Crookshanks sat up in his seat, following the owl with his great yellow eyes. Ron,
noticing this, snatched the owl safely out of harm’s way.
Harry picked up the letter and ripped it open. “It’s from Sirius!” he exclaimed
“What?” said Ron and Hermione excitedly. “Read it aloud!”
Dear Harry,
I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle. I don’t know whether
they’re used to owl post.
Buckbeak and I are in hiding. I won’t tell you where in case this falls into the wrong
hands. I have some doubt about the owl’s reliability, but he is the best I could find,
and he did seem eager for the job. I believe the Dementors are still searching for me,
but they haven’t a hope of finding me here. I am planning to allow some Muggles to
glimpse me soon, a long way from Hogwarts so that the security on the castle will be
lifted. There is something I never got round to telling you during our brief meeting. It
was I who sent you the Firebolt –
“Ha!” said Hermione triumphantly. “See! I told you it was from him!”
“Yes, but he hadn’t jinxed it, had he?” said Ron. “Ouch!”
The tiny owl, now hooting happily in his hand, had nibbled one of his fingers in what it seemed to
think was an affectionate way.
Crookshanks took the order to the Owl Office for me. I used your name but told them
to take the gold from Gringotts vault number seven hundred and eleven – my own.
Please consider it as thirteen birthdays’ worth of presents from your godfather. I
would also like to apologise for the fright I think I gave you, that night last year when
you left your uncle’s house. I had only hoped to get a glimpse of you before starting
my journey north, but I think the sight of me alarmed you.
I am enclosing something else for you, which I think will make your next year at
Hogwarts more enjoyable. If ever you need me, send word. Your owl will find me.
I’ll write again soon.
Sirius
Harry looked inside the envelope and pulled out another piece of parchment.
I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter’s godfather, hereby give him permission to visit
Hogsmeade at weekends.
“That’ll be good enough for Dumbledore!” said Harry happily. He looked back at Sirius’ letter.
“Hang on, there’s a PS.”
I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it’s my fault he no longer has
a rat.
Ron’s eyes widened. The minute owl was still hooting excitedly.
“Keep him?” he said uncertainly. He looked closely at the owl for a moment, then, to Harry and
Hermione’s great surprise, he held him out for Crookshanks to sniff.
“What d’you reckon?” Ron asked the cat. “Definitely an owl?”
Crookshanks purred.
“That’s good enough for me,” said Ron happily. “He’s mine.”
The Hogwarts Express rolled into Kings Cross Station and the three friends climbed down onto
Platform Nine and Three Quarters. They had decided to say their goodbyes in the compartment
since it was always chaotic once the reunions with parents and students started.
Hermione looked around and saw her parents standing near the Weasleys. She also noticed Harry’s
awful uncle standing off to the side as well. She gave them a dirty look as she ran to give her Mum
and Dad a Hagrid-sized hug.
“Oh, Hermione! We missed you!” Mary said, squeezing her tight.
“I missed you too!” Hermione said.
“This term seemed extra long,” Mary said. Hermione smirked - they didn’t know the half of it.
“I’ll call about the World Cup!” Hermione heard Ron yell to Harry as he walked to the car park
with his uncle.
Suddenly, Ron was right next to her, tapping her shoulder. Hermione let go of her parents and
turned towards Ron.
“The invitation is for you too,” he said with a goofy grin. “To the World Cup? I mean, I know
you’re not a huge Quidditch fan, but it will be brilliant!” He turned to Mary and Bert, not even
waiting for Hermione’s answer. “Can Hermione come with us to the Quidditch World Cup this
summer?”
“I have no idea what a Quidditch World Cup is,” said Bert, “But sure!”
“Wicked!” Ron did a little hop and grabbed Hermione into a tight hug. A moment later, he realised
what he had done and jumped backwards. “See ya then, ‘Mione!” he said over his shoulder as he
ran back to his family.
And, for the first time in her life, Hermione Jean Granger was a huge Quidditch fan. Now, if only
she could make time speed up...
The. End.
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