Hermione's resolve lasted all of a week. Harry and Ron didn't seem put off by their rule breaking at all. Instead they saw it as a great adventure and seemed to be hoping for another one. They didn't seem to mind her not speaking to them either, in fact they looked really happy about it. Hermione didn't know if that was worse or that she now felt even more alone.
A week after meeting the dog, a large, thin parcel arrived with the morning post. It was carried by six large screech owls and everyone looked up to see who it was addressed to. To everyone's amazement the owls dropped it right in front of Harry, thoroughly messing up the breakfast table in the process. A seventh owl then dropped a letter on top of the parcel.
Hermione watched as Harry ripped the letter open and his face lit up. He passed the letter to Ron, whose jaw dropped. He whispered something to Harry and they both stood up and left the hall. Hermione stuffed the rest of her toast in her mouth and followed them.
Outside she saw Harry and Ron facing off Malfoy and his thugs, but Professor Flitwick was already there.
“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” she heard him say.
“Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Malfoy quickly. So it was true, Harry was indeed Seeker.
“Yes, yes, that's right,” said Professor Flitwick. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”
“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir.”
Hermione remembered her day in Diagon Alley. It was one of the newest, and probably best, broomsticks there were.
“And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it,” Harry added. Malfoy looked outraged.
They made their way upstairs, trying not to laugh. Hermione followed them closely, furious with the two of them.
“Well, it's true,” Harry was just saying. “If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be in the team...”
“So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking the rules?” Hermione said angrily, eyeing the package.
“I thought you weren't speaking to us?” was all Harry said.
“Yes, don't stop now,” Ron added, looking like he had just received the worst disappointment of his life, “it's doing us so much good.”
Hermione renewed her vow not to speak to them and walked past them to the History classroom. They arrived not long after her; apparently they had only dropped the package in the dormitory.
Life at Hogwarts had reached an all-time low. Hermione's house mates seemed to interpret the short fight on the stairs to mean that she actually didn't want Gryffindor to have a good Quidditch team and shunned her completely. Even Percy stopped actually approaching her. Nobody wanted to sit next to her in classes, except Neville in Potions.
Hermione's birthday came and went, but nobody cared or knew, except for her parents, who sent her a thick novel. She put it aside without even properly looking at it. The Hogwarts library contained more books than she could ever read, but it wasn't books she really wanted.
Classes got more interesting as they learned more advanced magic, but she couldn't properly enjoy them any more. Whenever she looked up from what she was doing she was guaranteed to see at least one other student glaring at her. They didn't even mind that she noticed.
On Hallowe'en morning she awoke to the smell of baking pumpkin drifting through the castle. She felt like staying in bed, it only reminded her that this evening there was the Hallowe'en feast, another opportunity for her to sit alone in a hall full of merry people.
At least Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that they would finally do the Levitation spell, which she wanted to learn since the Head Boy had flown her trunk into the train on her journey to Hogwarts.
Her good mood was immediately spoiled when Professor Flitwick put them into pairs to practice and partnered her with Ron, of all people. He glared hard at her as he walked over to her desk, and she glared right back. Neither of them said a word.
“Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practising!” lectured Professor Flitwick from the top of his book stack. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”
“You go first,” Hermione told Ron.
Ron cleared his throat and pointed his wand at his feather. He made a wide sweeping movement with his arm and brought it down to point at the feather again and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”
But it sounded wrong, not at all like what Richard had said. The “gar” was too short, the “sa” too sharp. The wand movement was not even close to the simple swish and flick that originated in the wrist.
Consequently, the feather was no more impressed by Ron's spell than Hermione. Ron tried twice more before Hermione interrupted him.
“You're saying it wrong,” she told him. “It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long.”
Ron wasn't grateful for her help at all. Instead he snarled, “you do it then, if you're so clever.”
She gave him a scathing look and rolled up her sleeves, then took her wand.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” she said while giving the wand the swish and flick that kept her elbow completely still. Sure enough, the feather rose up in the air and hovered over their heads.
“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!”
Everyone looked first at the feather, then at Hermione. The looks weren't friendly, though.
Hermione stopped concentrating and the feather floated back on their table.
Ron tried. And tried again. And again. Hermione kept correcting him, because even though he told her to shut up every time she said something, he still followed her advice. By the end of the lesson his ears were very red, but at least he managed to get his feather in the air for a few moments, though he was far too angry to hold his concentration any longer.
When Professor Flitwick dismissed them Ron rejoined Harry as fast as he could. He immediately launched into a tirade about how terrible she, Hermione, was. She was walking only a few steps behind them and caught every word. But it was the end that hurt her most.
“It's no wonder no one can stand her,” he ranted. “She's a nightmare, honestly.”
Eight weeks at Hogwarts came crashing down on her. Eight weeks of misery, with no one to go to and only rare sobs in the evenings to relieve her. Eight weeks of loneliness, of being ignored, of being hissed at. Eight weeks of one constant nightmare she had given up hope of waking up from. Eight weeks of tears filled her eyes, eight weeks of sobs her throat. She did the only thing she could: she ran, not even caring that she bumped hard into Harry as she squeezed past him. She ran without any idea of where she was heading. She ran from her tormentors, yet she knew that she couldn't outrun them. She couldn't hide forever.
She caught sight of a door. The girls lavatories. One place at least where the boys couldn't follow her. She ran inside and locked herself in a cubicle. Only then did she really start to cry. She never noticed herself collapsing on the floor.
Her tears had long since run dry. Her breath didn't suffice for more than a few sobs. Her knees couldn't hold her weight. She lay on the floor, her throat hurting, her eyes swollen, her face itching from dried tears. Yet she couldn't go back. She could never, ever go back.
Parvati had come in at one point. She had said something to her. Hermione couldn't remember what it was. She had shouted that she wanted to be left alone. It wasn't as if anybody really cared about her. Nobody had come when she hadn't been at lunch. Nobody had come when she had missed all her afternoon classes. Only when the Hallowe'en feast drew nearer had Parvati ventured into the toilet. No, she didn't need any of them.
It had grown dark. They probably were having fun down in the Great Hall right now. Eating their feast. Hermione's stomach rumbled. Laughing and talking. More tears flowed down her cheeks. Who knows what else. She had read that sometimes the ghosts did some performance at Hallowe'en. She heard faint cries that could have been cheering.
She wouldn't go down. They would laugh at her. If she was lucky, they would ignore her. But that wasn't the reason. She didn't want to go there, really. Stupid feast. Stupid people. Books were far better than people. Books didn't insult you. They didn't ignore you.
Hermione thought for a moment. If everybody was at the feast, she could go to the Common Room. She could go to bed and be asleep before anybody else came. She made up her mind. She left the cubicle.
The door opened. Another student was going to see her. She immediately retreated to the far end of the room, hidden by the cubicles from anybody standing in the doorway.
Something was wrong. Hermione knew it immediately. The door to the toilets had opened, but no inquisitive voice was to be heard. Then she smelled it. A foul smell. An unclean smell. As if the toilet she was in hadn't been cleaned in years. A heavy footstep could be heard. Another one. Hermione froze. Whatever it was, it was coming in. Did it know she was here? She peered around the corner. What she saw made her heart skip. It was a huge creature. Short, thick legs ended in flat, horny feet. A fat body was topped by a tiny head with long ears. Long arms hung at either side of the body. One held a huge club. Hermione recognized the creature from one of her books. It was a mountain troll. Twelve feet high. Vicious creatures, except for the few that could be trained. Strong, very strong.
Stupid. If only she could find a way to get past it, to the door. The creature grunted, as if unsure what to do next. Maybe it would just go away. If she kept very still, it might not notice her. She noticed that her hands were shaking very hard. She willed them to stop, but they didn't. She stood there, afraid that the slightest noise would give her away.
The troll turned. It would go away. It would leave. She was safe! She was -
The door slammed shut. The key turned. A muffled shout could be heard.
She was doomed.
She screamed. It was a scream of pure terror. A scream she had absolutely no control over. It echoed from the walls. It echoed in her mind, as if it wasn't her screaming. She screamed on when she had no breath left, the noise gone but not the action.
The troll whipped around. It saw her. Its eyes narrowed. Its nose wrinkled. Its teeth bared. It roared. Hermione shrunk against the far wall. She stared at the creature that was now advancing on her. It was knocking the sinks off the wall. She stared at its face. It came closer. She was going to die. It gripped the handle of its club tighter. She was going to die. The door banged open and two figures came in. It didn't matter. She was going to die. One figure shouted something. The troll was mere feet from her. She was going to die. She stared at it. There was nothing else to do.
The troll stopped. It turned around. It walked towards one of the figures. It lifted its club. Hermione looked at the figure.
Harry?
“Oy, Pea-brain!” a voice called from the other side of the chamber. Something hit the troll on the shoulder. It stopped yet again. Hermione's eyes darted to the other figure.
Ron?
That was impossible. Ron had laughed at her as he had held the chain of the dog. Ron hated her. Ron would love to see her die.
Someone tugged at her arm. Shouts washed around her. Something in the back of her mind told her that the shouts were directed at her. She didn't care. She would die. Harry and Ron couldn't defeat a troll. If they even wanted to. She kept staring at the troll. It roared again and went after Ron.
Suddenly Harry was hanging around the neck of the troll. His wand was sticking in the troll's nose. The troll howled. It shook itself. It grabbed with its arms after Harry. It tried to hit him with its club. Hermione's knees gave way. Any moment Harry would die, and then Ron, and then her. The troll raised its club again.
“Wingardium Leviosa!”
The spell echoed in the back of her head. She was near death then, the replay of her life had already reached her last ever morning.
She began to hallucinate. She saw the club being ripped out of the troll's hand. It rose higher and higher, until it lost momentum, tipped over and crashed down again, directly on the head of the troll. The trolled swayed. For a moment it seemed it would stay upright, but then it tipped over and fell with a thundering crash to the floor. If only it was that easy. Hermione closed her eyes. Any moment the troll would kill her.
A moment passed. Another moment passed. Nothing happened. Hermione opened her eyes again. The troll was lying on the floor. Harry was standing up slowly. She blinked. The troll was lying on the floor. She blinked again. The troll was lying on the floor. She slowly moved one trembling hand to the other and pinched herself hard. The troll was lying on the floor.
She opened her mouth, but no noise came out. She tried again.
“Is it – dead?” she said.
“I don't think so,” came Harry's shaking voice. “I think it's just been knocked out.”
She looked at him. He was looking at his wand. Only it didn't look like a wand at all, rather, it looked like grey lumps on a stick.
“Urgh – troll bogies.”
Hermione couldn't believe her eyes as he bent down and wiped his wand on the troll's trousers.
The door flew open once more and Hermione jumped hard. She relaxed a tiny little bit when Professor McGonagall came in, followed by Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell. The Defence teacher gave a yelp at the sight of the troll and sat down, clutching his heart. The Potions master bent to examine the troll. But Hermione's attention was focused on the Transfiguration teacher. Her lips white from being pressed together, her eyes flashing, she stared at Harry and Ron, but didn't seem to notice Hermione. Harry stood with his hands hanging, anxiety big in his face. Ron stood like a statue, his wand raised and pointed where the troll had previously stood. Only Ron's head was turned towards the professors. His wand raised – he had cast the spell?
Hermione slowly got to her feet. Her knees where still weak, but at least they supported her.
“What on earth were you thinking of?” Professor McGonagall said to the boys. Anger emphasized every syllable. “You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?”
And then it hit Hermione. They were going to be punished. They must have known about the troll; they had been sent to the dormitories. Yet they had come, come to warn her. They had risked their own lives to save hers, and they were going to be punished for it. She knew she couldn't let that happen, no matter the consequences. She might get expelled for it, but if she could spare them the same fate it would be worth it.
“Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me.”
She had spoken the words without even forming them first, as was her habit.
“Miss Granger!” Professor McGonagall seemed surprised to see her.
“I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own -” What was she saying? She was lying to a teacher! She was lying to Professor McGonagall! “You know, because I've read all about them.” What nonsense was she babbling?
She heard more than saw Ron's wand falling to the floor. Hermione's tongue continued on its own accord, without ever consulting her brain.
“If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”
Professor McGonagall's eyes darted between her and the two boys, who did their best at trying not to look surprised.
“Well – in that case ...” the professor said, looking very confused. Then her eyes locked on Hermione.
“Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”
Hermione dropped her eyes and hung her head. There was no way to answer that. She wouldn't ever think of doing such a thing.
“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”
Hermione left. She walked back to Gryffindor in a trance, her mind trying to catch up with the day's events. She had run off because Ron had been so hateful. Then Harry and Ron had come back to save her. Why? her mind screamed. She didn't know. Professor McGonagall had taken five points from her. Far less than she expected. She had said that she was very disappointed in Hermione. That hurt. But she could make up for that. There was something else, a simple thought that she needed to catch, but it eluded her.
“Pig Snout,” she said absent-mindedly as she reached the Fat Lady. The portrait swung open and she climbed through the hole into the Gryffindor tower. Nobody noticed her, they were too busy with the feast. Hermione saw mountains of food on one table. People went there to get food, then returned to the group they were sitting with. Hermione's stomach grumbled again, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast. But she couldn't join the feast. Not yet. She had to do something first.
The portrait opened again and a black head came through the hole. It was followed by the rest of Harry and then Ron. They noticed her standing there and came up. They all stood still for a moment. Hermione wanted to look into their eyes, but found that she couldn't.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, staring at the floor. To her surprise, she heard the boys say the same thing at the same time.
Then they went to get plates. Hermione loaded food on hers and retreated to her corner. She was surprised to see the boys join her shortly. They sat in silence, eating and drinking and not looking at each other. Hermione broke the silence only once.
“What happened – afterwards?” she asked.
“McGonagall gave each of us five points,” Harry answered. Her mood lightened. In sum, nothing was lost.
“And she said that Dumbledore would hear of it,” Ron added. That was no surprise either. Hermione nodded.
As the adrenaline began to ebb away, Hermione started to feel very tired. She mumbled a “Good night” and went to bed.
As she lay there, the elusive thought from before suddenly fluttered into her mind clearly visible.
There were more important things than points.