Through Bitter Ashes

The next morning, Hermione pondered what to do. She didn't want to lose time and she wondered if Madam Pince was in the castle so she could do some research in the library. Of course, she could stay in her room and use her own library, but she preferred losing herself through the countless bookshelves and enjoying the library atmosphere. Also, she had already read most of the books professor McGonagall chose for her, but nonetheless, she was still grateful for the effort she had put in choosing them. 

The kitchen, on the other hand, offered quiet and convenience. The house-elves were always accommodating, and it saved her the trouble of navigating strained interactions so early in the day. With a quick glance at the time, she set off, her footsteps echoing faintly in the empty corridors. The castle felt strangely vast and hollow, its usual energy replaced with an eerie stillness that only added to her sense of solitude.

By the time she reached the kitchen, the warmth and bustling activity inside were a welcome reprieve from the cold stone halls. Hermione smiled as a cheerful house-elf hurried over, offering her a plate of fresh toast and a steaming cup of tea. As she settled onto a small stool near the corner, her mind already drifted to the long, uninterrupted hours she could spend in the library – a quiet escape in a world that felt so changed.

On her way to the library after her quick stop at the kitchen, Hermione's thoughts lingered on her earlier conversation with Malfoy. His demeanor during their exchange had been unexpected – almost disarming. Based on their brief interaction, he truly seemed changed, though a small part of her couldn't help but wonder if it might all be an act.

Still, the apology he offered had sounded sincere, and the mere fact that he'd apologized at all was enough to plant a seed of cautious optimism in her mind. People could change, she reminded herself, especially after a war that had shattered so many lives. Perhaps Malfoy's experiences had finally pushed him toward a different path.

She made a mental note to write to Harry and Ron. They deserved to know about Malfoy's request for forgiveness, as well as her impression of his apparent shift in attitude. Whether they would believe it or not was another matter entirely, but she knew they'd appreciate the update.

As the library's grand doors came into view, Hermione pushed the thoughts of Malfoy aside, determined to focus on the peace and productivity that awaited her among the rows of books. She stepped inside, the faint scent of parchment and ink welcoming her like an old friend. For now, her curiosity about Malfoy could wait. The library, at least, remained unchanged – a sanctuary amidst the ever-shifting world outside.

The first things on her to-do list, as she finally settled into the quiet comfort of her favorite room in the castle, were the two letters she had been meaning to write to Harry and Ron. Without much hesitation, she picked up her quill and began scribbling neat, deliberate words onto the parchment, her thoughts flowing effortlessly onto the page.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well. How is Auror training going? Knowing you, I'm sure you're already excelling at it. I can only imagine how intense it must be, but if anyone is cut out for it, it's definitely you. I'd love to hear all about what you've been learning and what challenges you've faced.

Things here at Hogwarts are… quiet, in some ways, and overwhelming in others. It feels strange to be back, knowing how much has changed. There are moments when the memories of everything that happened here are so vivid that it's hard to concentrate, but I'm trying my best to settle in.

On a completely unexpected note, you'll never guess who my new roommate is… Draco Malfoy. Yes, that Malfoy. We've only had one real conversation so far, but he actually apologized. He said he wants to make amends for his behavior the previous years. I'm not entirely sure what to make of it yet. I'd love to know your thoughts.

Please write back when you can and let me know how you're doing. I miss seeing you both every day.

Take care of yourself,

Hermione

The second letter, addressed to Ron, took a bit more time to write for some reason. Hermione found herself pausing more frequently, carefully choosing her words as if they carried more weight than usual. In the end, she managed to put together the following:

Dear Ron,

I miss you already. How's the training going? I hope you're not overworking yourself, or letting your teammates get on your nerves too much. I'm so proud of you, you know. You've worked so hard for this, and you deserve every bit of success that comes your way.

Hogwarts feels… different. It's hard to explain. The castle is still the same, but everything about it feels heavier now, like it's carrying all of our memories with it. Being here without you and Harry feels a bit lonely sometimes, but I'm trying to keep myself busy. The library, as always, has been my refuge.

You'll laugh when I tell you this, but guess who I'm sharing quarters with? Draco Malfoy. I know, I couldn't believe it either. He's been surprisingly civil so far, and he even apologized for how he treated us. Can you imagine? I'm not entirely sure what to think, but I'm keeping an open mind.

I can't wait to hear from you. Let me know how things are going on your end and don't forget to take care of yourself.

All my love,

Hermione

Happy to put aside the two tasks for the day, she set down her quill with a satisfied sigh, neatly folded the letters, and sealed them. The weight of unfinished business lifted slightly, leaving her free to focus on the rest of her tasks.

In another part of the castle, Draco Malfoy stood in front of an ornate mirror, a preoccupied look etched on his face. To an outsider, he might have appeared to be simply staring at his own reflection, but this was no ordinary mirror. This was the Mirror of Erised, an enchanted object known to reveal a person's deepest, most hidden desires.

Draco's silver-gray eyes narrowed as he studied the image within the glass. There he was, seated in the shared common room he had come to begrudgingly tolerate, a book open in his hands. Beside him sat Hermione Granger, similarly immersed in her own reading. The firelight cast a warm glow over the scene, and though neither of them spoke or looked at each other, there was a quiet ease in their proximity.

Draco exhaled sharply, his lips curling into a half-sneer. That's it? That's my deepest desire?

It was laughable. For so long, he had thought his ambitions revolved around power, prestige, or restoring the Malfoy name. Yet here he was, staring at an image of himself in the most mundane of settings – with Granger, of all people.

He shook his head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. It wasn't as if he had some secret longing to befriend her or seek her approval. Granger was undeniably brilliant, yes, but she was also irritatingly self-righteous and relentless in her opinions. They were just roommates now – a matter of convenience forced upon them by circumstance.

And yet… the mirror's reflection lingered, it's quiet simplicity unsettling him. Maybe it wasn't about her specifically. Maybe what he desired was something else entirely: a sense of peace, a reprieve from the chaos of his family's past and the judgment of others.

The thought made him falter for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it. He let out a derisive snort, turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

As the door closed behind him, the reflection faded from the mirror, leaving only silence in its wake. Draco forced himself not to look back, though the image remained lodged in his mind. It wasn't about Granger, it couldn't be. It was about something he couldn't quite name, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face it.

Hermione lost track of time in the library, as she so often did, and was flabbergasted to find that it was already nine in the evening. She decided she'd done enough for the day and carefully gathered her pile of books. After checking them out with Madam Pince, she made her way through the dimly lit corridors toward her quarters, the weight of the heavy books a familiar comfort.

As she walked slowly, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the quiet castle, her thoughts drifted to Harry and Ron. She wondered how they were, what they were doing, and whether they missed her as much as she missed them. She hoped they did, especially Ron.

She and Ron had been together for almost a year now, and though their relationship brought her a kind of joy she hadn't expected, she couldn't deny that his decision not to return to Hogwarts had surprised her. Part of her understood; the castle held painful memories for him, especially after losing Fred. But then, Ginny had returned, and Ron could have too, so perhaps that wasn't the only reason.

Deep down, Hermione knew the truth. For Ron, school and education had never been a priority. She didn't hold it against him, she loved him for who he was, not for his academic ambition, or lack thereof, but it still stung a little to think he'd chosen Quidditch over finishing what they had started together.

Still, she reminded herself, Ron loved her. She had no doubt about that. His letters, his words, his actions, everything told her how deeply he cared for her, even if their paths had temporarily diverged. Hermione sighed as she approached the familiar door to her quarters, shifting the weight of the books in her arms. She only hoped that their love would be enough to bridge the growing distance between them.

She was abruptly pulled from her thoughts by an unfamiliar noise. Hermione paused mid-step, straining her ears to identify the sound. Footsteps. They were steady and deliberate, growing closer. A spike of unease shot through her as she quickened her pace, clutching her books tighter.

But in her haste, her foot caught on an uneven stone. She tripped and fell forward, the weight of her books slipping from her grasp. Pain flared in her knees and hands as they scraped against the cold, rough floor. Wincing, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, more from frustration than pain.

When she opened them, she expected to see her books scattered across the floor. Instead, the entire pile was floating mid-air, suspended neatly above the ground. Hermione blinked in confusion, her gaze shifting to the shadowy figure standing behind them.

It was Professor Snape.

Her heart sank as she scrambled to her feet, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. He hadn't even drawn his wand, yet the books hovered effortlessly, as if mocking her lack of coordination.

Snape stood there, his expression as severe as ever, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. After a moment of silence, he said, "I thought that the brightest witch of her age knew how to cast a simple levitating spell, Miss Granger."

Hermione barely had time to register the bite in his words before he released his magical hold on the books. They crashed to the ground with a deafening thud, the sound echoing through the corridor. Hermione's jaw tightened as she crouched to retrieve them, her frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

"I'm sure she does," she muttered under her breath, unable to resist the retort.

Unfortunately, her words might have been louder than she intended. When she glanced up, she caught a faint flicker of amusement in Snape's dark eyes, a barely-there smirk that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

"Careful, Miss Granger," he said smoothly, his tone still sharp but now edged with something almost akin to mockery. "I wouldn't want you to strain yourself while exercising your unparalleled wit."

Hermione's cheeks burned hotter, but she refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she busied herself with gathering the scattered tomes, her hands moving quickly as she tried to focus on anything other than the man towering over her.

"Thank you for your… assistance, Professor," Hermione said curtly once she had the books secured in her arms again, her voice tight with frustration.

"Assistance?" he echoed, his tone dangerously soft as he arched an eyebrow. "I hardly think dropping your books qualifies as assistance, Miss Granger. Do try to be more careful in the future, lest you discover that the castle floor is far less forgiving than my patience."

Hermione could only nod, her face flushing as she clutched her books tightly to her chest. Words seemed to escape her, and the weight of his pointed gaze made her feel even smaller.

"And why is it that I find you on the floor after curfew?" Snape asked, his voice low and deliberate, disapproval dripping from every syllable.

Hermione flushed even deeper, scrambling to adjust her footing. "After curfew?" she repeated, her tone defensive, though confusion clouded her expression. "But, sir, the school hasn't even started yet!"

Snape raised an eyebrow, his expression cold and impassive. "The start of term is irrelevant. The rules of this castle apply regardless of the calendar. You are here, Miss Granger, and as such, you are expected to adhere to them. Surely, you, of all people, understand that."

"I do, sir," Hermione said quickly, trying to maintain her composure. "But I thought the Head Girl, Head Boy, and Prefects had a bit more flexibility with curfew."

Snape's expression didn't change. "They are permitted an additional thirty minutes. It is now well past that." His gaze was piercing, and Hermione felt her stomach twist as he continued. "So, Miss Granger, what shall it be? Deducted points, or detention?"

Hermione hesitated, her thoughts racing. Starting the year with Gryffindor in the negative would undoubtedly result in groans and complaints from her housemates. But a detention with Snape wasn't exactly appealing either.

After a moment, she straightened her posture and said firmly, "I'll take the detention, sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, and for a brief moment, she thought she detected a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. Then, with a voice as sharp as ever, he said, "Deducted points it is."

Hermione blinked, startled. "But I –"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," he continued, his tone crisp and final. "Perhaps next time you will think twice before pushing the limits of the rules."

Before Hermione could muster a response, he turned and strode down the corridor, his robes trailing behind him like a shadow. She stood frozen in place, the echo of his footsteps fading into the distance.

Hermione just stood there for a moment, stunned by what had happened. That man is utterly wicked! she thought angrily, clutching her books tighter as she started walking tiredly toward her quarters. The frustration bubbled inside her the entire way, and by the time she reached her door, she was practically fuming.

With a sharp exhale, she pushed the door open and slammed it shut behind her, the loud bang echoing through the room.

Draco, who had been lounging on the sofa with a book in hand, startled at the sound. He shot to his feet, wand raised defensively as his eyes darted toward her.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern as he lowered his wand slightly.

Hermione froze for a second, realizing she had startled him, and then sighed. "Sorry," she said, setting the heavy pile of books onto the nearest table with a thud. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," Draco replied quickly, though his slightly flushed cheeks betrayed him. "I just… wasn't expecting that." He lowered his wand completely and studied her for a moment. "What happened? You look like you're ready to hex someone."

Hermione groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Snape happened," she said through gritted teeth.

Draco raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What did he do this time?"

"Let's just say he found me after curfew – though it's not technically curfew since school hasn't even started yet – and managed to turn it into the most infuriating encounter I've had all week," she said, pacing the room to burn off some of her pent-up anger.

Draco smirked faintly, leaning back against the sofa. "That does sound like him," he said, amused.

She shot him a glare, but his smirk didn't falter. "It's not amusing," she snapped, though the edge in her voice softened slightly.

Draco raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. No need to bite my head off." He returned to his seat and picked up his book. "Though, if it makes you feel better, he's always been like that. Even to me."

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. "Somehow, that doesn't help."

"Well, maybe next time you'll know better than to get caught," Draco teased, earning another glare.

Hermione shook her head, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to argue. Instead, she grabbed one of her books from the pile and settled into her chair, determined to put the frustrating encounter behind her – for now.

They sat in somewhat awkward silence for about half an hour before Hermione bade Draco goodnight and retreated to her room. Draco, taking her cue, left for his own quarters, and within ten minutes, he was soundly asleep, his breathing even and peaceful.

For Hermione, it was another story entirely. Ever since the war, sleep had been elusive, slipping through her grasp no matter how exhausted she felt. Whenever her mind had a moment to relax, it inevitably wandered back to those dark days – the fear, the pain, the loss. Each night, it took immense effort to finally drift off, and even when she managed it, there were the dreams.

No, not dreams. Nightmares.

It wasn't every night, but it was frequent enough to leave her weary. On the better nights, she might get three or four hours of broken sleep. Most of the time, she resorted to reading or studying until her body forced itself to shut down. While that strategy helped her fall asleep, it couldn't protect her from the nightmares.

The nightmares always varied, but they all carried the same weight of fear and despair. Sometimes, she was back in the tent with Harry and Ron, only to find Death Eaters closing in around them. Other times, she was being tortured again, the cruel laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange ringing in her ears. Or worse, she witnessed her friends being hurt or killed, powerless to intervene.

Occasionally, the nightmares took her somewhere even darker. She'd face Voldemort himself, helpless as he hurled her into his followers' grasp, her pleas for mercy echoing unanswered. But the worst ones were those in which she was completely alone, running endlessly through a void of darkness, a cold, unshakable fear pressing down on her soul. Those nights left her shaken to her core, the fear lingering long after she awoke, haunting her through the daylight hours.

That night, Hermione tried to unwind with a hot bath, letting the warmth soothe her tense muscles. Afterward, she sat down at her desk and penned some words into the small diary she kept, pouring her thoughts onto parchment in an attempt to distract herself. Finally, she picked up one of the books she had retrieved from the library and read until her eyes burned with exhaustion.

When she finally glanced at the clock on her nightstand, it read 3:15 a.m. She sighed, closing the book and laying her head down. The one small mercy was that there were no classes to attend the next day.

But as she drifted off, the nightmares returned. This time, she was running again—through dark, endless corridors, her breath ragged and her heart pounding. She didn't know what she was fleeing or where she was going. All she knew was the fear, raw and suffocating, gripping her as she raced through the shadows.

She awoke early the next morning, her heart racing as the remnants of the nightmare clung to her. It was always like this after one of those dreams – startled awake, disoriented, and exhausted despite the sleep she'd managed to get.

Glancing at the clock, Hermione sighed. It was too early for breakfast in the Great Hall; the castle was still cloaked in quiet. She pushed back her covers, knowing there was no chance of falling asleep again.

Her eyes landed on the neatly folded letters she'd written the day before, sitting on the corner of her desk. She decided that a trip to the owlery might be just the thing to clear her head. With purpose, she got dressed, wrapping herself in a warm cloak to protect against the morning chill, and tucked the letters securely into her pocket.

As she made her way through the castle, the early morning light filtering through the tall windows cast soft, golden beams across the corridors. The air was still and serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had woken her.

The climb to the owlery was brisk, the cool stone underfoot helping to shake off the lingering fog of her nightmare. When she reached the top, the familiar rustle of feathers and soft hoots greeted her. Hermione found a calmness in the bustling activity of the owls as they stirred from their roosts.

She approached one of the tawny school owls, gently tying the letters to its leg. "To Harry Potter and Ron Weasley," she whispered, stroking the owl's feathers before stepping back. With a sharp, graceful motion, the owl took flight, soaring out into the morning sky.

Hermione watched it disappear into the horizon, the weight in her chest easing slightly. For a moment, she lingered, leaning against the edge of the stone window, letting the fresh air fill her lungs. She had a long day ahead, but for now, this moment of peace was enough.

During her walk back to the castle, Hermione could feel the fear that had clung to her all morning slowly dissipating, little by little. She had been trying lately to replace those dark feelings with happy thoughts, a method she hoped might offer some relief. But she found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything truly joyful.

Once, as an experiment, she had tried casting her Patronus—a spell she had always been able to perform with ease. But no matter how hard she tried, her Patronus refused to take form. The memory of that failure made her frown. She knew she was capable of happy memories, but they no longer seemed strong enough to summon the bright, silver figure she had always relied on.

Hermione sighed, knowing deep down that she should talk to someone about it. But every time the thought crossed her mind, she pushed it away. There were people who had lost so much more in the war—families torn apart, loved ones taken too soon. Compared to that, she convinced herself, she could handle a few bad dreams and fleeting fears. There was no need to burden anyone else with her problems.

Forcing herself to cast aside those thoughts, Hermione stepped into the Great Hall. It wasn't the first time she'd been inside since returning to Hogwarts, but the sight of the room always unsettled her. The dust and rubble from the final battle had long been cleaned away, and the Hall looked as it always had—grand and inviting. But in her mind's eye, she could still see the room as it had been that day, filled with the fallen.

Her footsteps slowed as her eyes landed on a particular window, the one beneath which she had last seen Professor Lupin and Tonks. The memory hit her like a wave: the two of them lying side by side, their hands just barely touching, their gazes frozen and empty. Tears stung her eyes, and she stopped mid-step, her vision blurring.

"Ah, Hermione, dear! So nice of you to join us!"

Hermione startled at the sound of Professor McGonagall's warm voice. Blinking away her tears, she turned to see her Head of House gesturing toward an empty seat beside her at the staff table.

"Please, come and take a seat," McGonagall said with a kind smile, clearly unaware of Hermione's momentary lapse.

Hermione took a deep breath and quickly composed herself, grateful that no one seemed to have noticed her hesitation. She moved toward the table and took the seat next to McGonagall, trying to ignore the lingering ache in her chest.

As she glanced around, she noticed that everyone else was already seated, except for Headmaster Dumbledore. McGonagall leaned over to explain in a low voice, "The Headmaster had some matters to attend to at the Ministry this morning, but he'll return by lunch."

Hermione nodded politely, though her mind was elsewhere. As conversations buzzed quietly around her, she kept her gaze fixed on her plate, her appetite faint at best. For now, she decided, all she could do was focus on the present and get through the day ahead.

As the small group at the table engaged in quiet conversation, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She didn't need to look up to know who it was – Professor Snape. She could feel his piercing gaze from across the table, as sharp and unrelenting as always.

Her fingers tightened around her fork, though she kept her eyes fixed on her plate, determined not to acknowledge him. The sting of losing twenty points for Gryffindor the previous evening was still fresh, and the memory of his cutting remarks only deepened her irritation. She had no intention of facing him now, not while her emotions were still raw.

Still, his unyielding stare felt different today, less derisive, more... assessing. Was he scrutinizing her as usual, or was there something else in his gaze? She didn't dare look up to find out.

Shaking off the thought, Hermione forced herself to focus on the quiet hum of conversation around her. Whatever Snape's intentions, she wasn't about to let his gaze, or her own imagination, unravel her. Not this morning.

And yet, the weight of his eyes remained, a silent presence that made her wonder, just for a moment, if perhaps he had seen more than she intended.

"Hermione, dear," professor McGonagall turned her head away from one of the Prefects she was having a conversation with until a moment before, "I couldn't help but notice this morning that we are already behind with twenty points. Do you happen to know anything about that?" she asked, concerned. 

Hermione quickly shot a glance up in Snape's direction and was surprised to find the remnants of a mischievous grin before his face returned to an uninterested scowl. 

The girl's reaction was not lost on the older witch and she intervened, shocked. "Severus! I should have known you had something to do with this!" Hermione was sure her Head of House would have smacked him had he been closer to her. That thought brought a genuine smile to her face. 

"It's not my fault Miss Granger here decided that since she was now the Head Girl she could just break curfew at her own discretion." he replied nonchalantly. 

"I'm sorry, professor!" Hermione turned to face professor McGonagall. "I just lost track of time and I also just thought that since the year had not yet started – " she explained before being interrupted by the older witch. 

"How late were you, dear?" she asked, concerned.

At this, Hermione looked back at the Potions Master as she replied. "Five minutes, madam."

"Five minutes, Severus! What were you thinking?" she raised her voice.

"Rules are rules, Minerva! I suggest you tell your Head Girl to stop breaking them!" he emphasized with a sneer. 

The rest of the meal, Hermione kept mostly quiet. The recent quarrel between the two professors got her mind off things, but she now felt even more guilty for having lost those points. She was determined to get them back somehow. 

Before the breakfast was over, Hermione was invited by McGonagall to chat over tea and she accepted the invitation. 

She spent a couple of hours walking around the castle grounds before going back to the castle to have lunch and tea with professor McGonagall. When she got there, she was surprised to see that she wasn't alone. The snarky bat of the dungeons was there as well.

"Come in, my dear" Minerva greeted Hermione. "Severus was just leaving" she continued as she gave the man a threatening look.

The man rose from his chair "Yes, I was. Minerva, Miss Granger..." he nodded curtly and he left the room.

The woman started again "Come, sit, my dear" and she motioned to the chair that the professor occupied just a minute ago.

Hermione complied "Thank you, Professor, and thank you for your invitation as well."

"I think it's me who should thank you. As you see, all my company is Severus and Albus. It's good to talk with somebody else." She said while she poured Hermione a cup of tea.

Hermione just smiled, she didn't know what to say.

"So, my dear, tell me, how are you going to retrieve those points? I just talked to Severus and he won't budge, I'm afraid." the professor went straight to the point. 

"I'm not sure, professor." She started, "I really didn't want to be in this position, that's why I chose the detention, but professor Snape tricked me and deducted points instead." she sighed. She knew her Head of House was very competitive when it came to the House Cup. 

"Yes, professor Snape tends to do that sometimes, but I'm sure you will have the opportunity to regain the points. As for the rule, I think Severus explained to you that it does apply at any time." McGonagall took a sip of tea. "Next time you just have to be more careful not to get caught" she finished with a devilish look on her face.

Hermione was stunned "Next time, Professor? I don't think that I should spend any more time after curfew."

"Nonsense, my dear," Professor McGonagall replied with a reassuring tone. "I'm not saying you should make a habit of it, but as long as you have a good reason – like the library, for instance – you needn't worry. As long as that time is spent studying, of course."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but her Head of House carried on, her expression softening into something almost nostalgic. "When I was your age, I was very much like you. I spent countless hours in the library, and yes, I often found myself wandering the corridors after curfew. I lost points as well, but over time, I learned how not to get caught."

McGonagall's lips curled into an amused smile as she finished her story, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

Hermione sat there, stunned. Her Head of House, the embodiment of rule-following, had just admitted to breaking the rules, and was, in a way, encouraging her to do the same. Well, not encouraging, exactly, but certainly not outright condemning it either.

"So, my dear," the professor continued, her tone light and playful, "all you need to do is be more careful."

Hermione let out a small laugh, shaking her head at the unexpected advice. "Of course, Professor!"

The two spent the next couple of hours chatting and laughing over tea, a rare moment of ease between them. By the time Hermione left for her quarters, the heaviness she'd carried earlier had lifted slightly.

As she made her way through the quiet halls, McGonagall's words lingered in her mind. A small smile crept onto her face as she considered the implications of what her professor had said. If even Professor McGonagall had occasionally bent the rules, maybe it wasn't such a big deal after all.

With that thought, an idea began to form. Hermione made a mental note to write to Harry and ask if she could borrow his Marauder's Map and Invisibility Cloak. After all, it wasn't like she was doing anything wrong, she reasoned. Studying after curfew isn't exactly mischief.

Surely nothing bad could come from it. Right?

The next couple of days passed in a blur, and now Hermione found herself standing in the Great Hall alongside the Prefects, waiting for the returning students to fill the castle with life once more. She glanced around the room, taking in the polished tables, the enchanted ceiling reflecting a clear evening sky, and the Sorting Hat perched on its usual stool at the front.

Professor McGonagall soon called a few Prefects forward to greet the arriving first-years, their nervous chatter echoing softly in the hall as they followed their guides. Hermione couldn't help but smile at their wide-eyed wonder as she remembered feeling the same way on her first night at Hogwarts.

Before long, the Great Hall was bustling with activity as students poured in, the sound of excited greetings and laughter filling the air. Hermione helped Professor McGonagall with the Sorting Hat ceremony, ensuring everything went smoothly as the first-years were sorted into their new houses. It was a comforting routine, one that reminded her of simpler times.

Once the ceremony concluded and the applause settled, Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor table, her gaze scanning the room until she spotted a familiar face. Ginny waved her over enthusiastically, and Hermione smiled as she slid into the seat beside her.

"Finally," Ginny said with a grin, nudging her lightly. "I thought you'd forgotten about us down here."

Hermione laughed softly, grateful for the familiar warmth of her friend's presence. "Not a chance," she replied, glancing around at the lively scene. For the first time in a while, the castle felt alive again, and Hermione allowed herself to relax, if only for a moment, as she settled into the start of another year at Hogwarts.

After Dumbledore's speech, the students settled into their meals, the Great Hall buzzing with energy. Once the plates were cleared, the prefects gathered their respective groups of first-years and led them to their dormitories. Hermione, after ensuring the Gryffindor first-years were settled into their new home, headed back to Gryffindor Tower to catch up with Ginny.

As soon as she spotted her red-haired friend lounging on one of the armchairs by the fire, Hermione rushed over, her face lighting up with excitement. "Oh, Ginny… I've missed you so much!" she began, practically breathless. "Tell me, how are you? How are you and Harry doing? And your parents?"

Ginny laughed, holding up her hands. "Hermione, slow down! One thing at a time!" She grinned before continuing, "I'm doing really well, thank you. I missed you too, and honestly, I somehow missed this school as well. As for Mum and Dad…" Her smile faltered slightly. "They're slowly recovering after… after Fred." She glanced at the fire, her tone soft.

Hermione reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "I'm so sorry, Ginny," she said quietly.

Ginny nodded, giving her a small, appreciative smile before her expression shifted. "But Harry and I? We're better than ever!" she said, a spark of joy returning to her eyes. "He's still in Auror training. He's in Ireland right now, and I miss him so much! He and Ron came home for the weekend, though. They miss you, you know? Especially Ron." At that, Ginny's smile turned mischievous. "How are you two? Is he treating you well? Because if not, I'll happily give him a piece of my mind."

Hermione laughed at her friend's devilish grin. "Ginny! Of course he's treating me well. It's Ron, after all. We're fine, but…" She sighed, her smile fading slightly. "I haven't seen him in a month."

"Don't worry, dear!" Ginny said with a confident grin. "If I know my brother, he can't stay away from you for too long. He'll find a way to see you. Probably sooner than you think!"

Hermione's lips curved into a small smile. "I hope so. It's just hard, you know? Being back here without him. Without either of them."

Ginny reached over and patted Hermione's arm reassuringly. "I get it. It feels strange, doesn't it? But I promise, they'll be here. Ron's hopelessly smitten with you, and Harry… well, he can't resist a trip to Hogsmeade to see us both."

Hermione chuckled softly, the thought easing some of the tension in her chest. "You always know just what to say, Ginny."

"That's what I'm here for!" Ginny replied, her grin widening. "And don't forget, when they come, I get first dibs on embarrassing Ron. It's my sisterly duty."

The two of them laughed, the warmth of their friendship briefly chasing away Hermione's lingering worries.

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, Ginny's face darkened. "Hermione? Why are we starting with a minus of twenty points?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed. She hesitated, then admitted, "I may have been caught after curfew."

Ginny burst out laughing. "Let me guess. The library?"

Hermione nodded sheepishly. "Yes. I didn't realize the rules applied during holidays too. Sorry."

"It's fine," Ginny said, still chuckling. "We'll get the points back. But that's so you, Hermione."

Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall, her eyes widening. "Speaking of curfew… look at the time! I'd better go, or we'll lose more points!" She stood quickly, gathering her things.

Ginny grinned as she leaned back in her chair. "You're impossible, Hermione. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Ginny!" Hermione called over her shoulder as she hurried out of the common room, determined not to repeat her mistake.

On her way back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione spotted a small Hufflepuff girl standing near a staircase, looking lost and on the verge of tears.

"Hello there," Hermione said gently, crouching slightly to meet the girl's gaze. "Are you lost?"

The little girl nodded, her bottom lip quivering as she struggled to hold back tears.

"Don't worry," Hermione said reassuringly. "I'll help you find your way. I'm Hermione, by the way. What's your name?"

"Harriet," the girl replied softly, her voice barely audible.

"Nice to meet you, Harriet," Hermione said with a kind smile. "Let's get you back to your dormitory, shall we?"

As they walked through the castle, Hermione did her best to distract the girl, pointing out the moving staircases, enchanted portraits, and the various quirks of Hogwarts that often fascinated first-years. "That suit of armor over there? It always creaks when someone walks past it, it's a little grumpy," Hermione said in a playful tone, earning a small giggle from Harriet.

By the time they neared the Hufflepuff common room, Harriet seemed calmer, her earlier distress mostly forgotten. Just then, a blonde Hufflepuff prefect hurried toward them, her face flushed with relief.

"There you are, Brownlee! Thank Merlin," the prefect said, looking both grateful and guilty. "Thank you so much, Head Girl. I don't know how I managed to lose her from my sight."

Hermione straightened, her tone firm but not harsh. "Please be more careful next time," she said. "It's easy for first-years to feel overwhelmed, especially on their first day."

The Perfect nodded quickly, clearly taking the admonishment seriously. "Of course. It won't happen again."

Hermione turned back to Harriet, her expression softening as she smiled. "Take care, Harriet. You're going to love it here, I promise."

The little girl returned her smile, a shy but genuine expression lighting up her face. "Thank you, Hermione," she said quietly before following the prefect into the common room.

As Hermione resumed her walk back to Gryffindor Tower, a sense of satisfaction warmed her heart. Helping Harriet had been a small thing, but it reminded her of how important kindness and reassurance could be, especially in a place as daunting as Hogwarts.

As Hermione made her way back through the dimly lit corridor, the faint sound of footsteps behind her reached her ears. Her heart skipped for a moment, but a quick glance at her watch reassured her – it wasn't nine-thirty yet. She exhaled, relieved, and kept walking.

The footsteps grew louder, now matching her pace, and moments later, they were beside her. Hermione wasn't surprised to see Professor Snape looming next to her, his dark robes blending with the shadows and his expression as sharp as ever.

"Late again, Miss Granger?" he drawled, one eyebrow arching slightly.

"Head Girl duties this time, sir," she said, her tone defensive but even.

"Ah, I see," he replied, though his tone suggested skepticism. He regarded her with that piercing gaze of his, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "At least I don't find you on the floor this time."

Hermione's cheeks burned as she looked away, thoroughly embarrassed by the reminder of their previous encounter.

"It is not after curfew, sir," she said, narrowing her eyes in frustration as she tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Not yet," he agreed, glancing at his own pocket watch. "But it will be in about five minutes," he added, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Hermione quickly glanced at her own wristwatch, confirming his words. She straightened her posture, her tone deliberately light. "Well then, Professor, as much as I enjoy our encounters, I must leave you to it," she said breathlessly, her words spilling out in a rush.

Before Snape could respond, Hermione turned on her heel and practically sprinted down the corridor, her footsteps echoing in the quiet.

Behind her, Snape remained still, watching her retreat with a faintly bemused expression. "Head Girl duties indeed," he muttered to himself before continuing down the corridor, his robes sweeping the floor in his wake.