The Next Morning.

Sunday, Sept. 15

Hermione Granger woke from a restful, dreamless sleep, thanks to Madam Pomfrey’s potions, to find that she really needed to pee.

The eleven-year-old sat up on the narrow but comfortable infirmary bed she was on, and immediately looked to her left where she knew Harry laid, to find the boy curled up into a little ball and fast asleep under a blanket.

He looked peaceful, unbothered by nightmares and nasty memories, and the girl smiled at the image.

At the foot of Harry’s bed perched Hedwig. Both of the owl’s eyes were closed, and Hermione thought that she too was also asleep, until the bird popped one eye open to peer at Hermione and let out a low hoot in greeting, before closing it again.

Apparently not, Hermione thought.

Her eyes went back to Harry. He looked... clean. And healthy. A marked improvement from how he’d looked when they’d first been brought to the crowded infirmary by Prof. Sprout.

Not that Hermione herself had looked much better, she thought, as she marveled once again at her unblemished right forearm which had had a bone sticking out through it just minutes before she’d been put to bed the night before.

Magic really was amazing.

The girl didn’t know much about muggle medicine, but she knew enough to know that if that was all she had access to, then she would have had to wear a cast for weeks, at the very least.

Thank goodness for magic. Taking notes in class would have been a nightmare otherwise.

With a stab of pain, Hermione’s bladder reminded her of why she’d woken up in the first place, and the girl rose.

Taking one last glance at Harry, Hermione slid the privacy curtains around she and Harry’s beds open, and stepped out.

Almost instantly, Hermione spotted two older Gryffindor girls who had been talking not far away with their own curtains open go silent as they looked at her.

Feeling a little awkward, Hermione waved at them. One of the girls waved back. And before Hermione had even fully turned to head to the loo, their whispering had resumed, seemingly more intense than before.

Several minutes later, Hermione returned to the infirmary to find more students awake, and Madam Pomfrey making rounds.

It wasn’t the most surprising thing, considering it was well into morning now and, on a normal day, students would have been getting out of bed by now.

As Hermione headed back for her bed, someone said to her: “Hullo, Girl H. Where’s Boy H?” and she turned, completely unsurprised to see the Weasley twins, Fred and George, smiling at her, seeing as they were the only people who referred to her and Harry as Girl H and Boy H.

“Fred, George, I didn’t know you were here,” Hermione said, walking over to their beds. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Not really,” one twin said, and as Hermione was learning to do, since she still couldn’t tell them apart and had given up on trying, she mentally dubbed him Twin one. “Actually we’ve suffered worse during quidditch practice, but, of course, Madam Pomfrey—”

“In her infinite wisdom,” Twin two interjected.

“In her infinite wisdom,” Twin one agreed, “—made us stay.”

Hermione suspected that the matron may have been trying to take the opportunity to keep an eye on the two well known troublemakers, or perhaps keep them out of the way, but, all the same— “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

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“Of course we’re okay,” Twin two said with exaggerated pomp. “We’re Gryffindors, fair lady, our courage is unattainable.”

“I believe you mean unassailable, brother,” Twin one pointed out.

“Precisely, other brother,” Twin two agreed.

Hermione began to roll her eyes at their antics when she finally saw it. It was a lot of things really. A lot of little things that she’d missed, up until she caught that one in that moment and the rest all became obvious in hindsight; little things like the slight tremors in the twins’ voices, the odd shifts their eyes made, the inarticulable quirks in their gestures.

The twins were scared. They were just acting like they weren’t.

Contrary to what her peers, especially before she came to Hogwarts, thought of her, Hermione Granger was actually not a know-it-all.

...

Okay, she totally was, but it wasn’t because she thought everyone else was stupid, no, she just really enjoyed sharing (accurate) knowledge with people.

It wasn’t her fault that most children her age, and even many older ones, just couldn’t keep up with her when she really got going, oftentimes leaving her the smartest person (or at least child) in the room.

In truth, Hermione was a rather insecure girl. The kind of girl who was more likely to keep shut in a situation like this simply because she had no idea what to say, despite how much she wanted to help.

And Hermione did want to help, if for no other reason than because this was her fault, hers and Harry’s. If it hadn’t been for them changing things then Voldemort would not have attacked Gryffindor Tower last night. Their housemates wouldn’t be hurt, and the twins would not be scared.

But was keeping shut such a bad idea? After all, the twins clearly didn’t want her to know that they were afraid. And Hermione had learnt over the course of her, admittedly short, life that saying the wrong thing at a time like this could easily make the person you’re trying to help angry. And it had always seemed to her that, whenever she opened her mouth in situations like these, only the wrong thing ever came out.

Not like Harry. Harry always seemed to know what to say to people.

Thinking of Harry brought to mind a conversation she’d shared with the boy some time ago.

Hermione didn’t remember what had started the conversation, but she could clearly recall Harry saying: “...getting people to talk about themselves is easy, just tell them something about yourself first. Not that you’d need to do that with Draco though, considering he only has like two brain cells.”

Oh, right, Hermione remembered what had led to it now. Harry had been joking about how it would be fun to get Draco to tell them his most embarrassing secrets, so he and her could then announce it to everyone in school.

At least Hermione hoped Harry had been joking.

“Granger,” Twin two called, pulling the girl from her thoughts. “You okay there?”

“Yeah, you look like a nargle ran off with your thoughts,” Twin one said, and both boys giggled like he’d just made some sort of joke.

“I’m...” Hermione was just about to tell them that she was fine when she reconsidered. “I don’t think I’m okay,” she said honestly. “Last night was horrible.”

The twins’ expressions turned grim almost immediately.

“True that,” Twin one agreed.

“Guess we finally know why mom and dad don’t like talking about the war so much,” the other twin said.

“Yeah. Imagine being worried everyday that some creepy Death Eater will come blasting into your home at any moment,” Twin one commented, and both boys shuddered.

Hermione was temporarily confused by the creepy Death Eater comment, until she remembered that no one knew that the wizard from last night had been Voldemort. Everyone seemed to assume that he had just been, as the twins said, some creepy Death Eater.

Hermione considered telling the boys, but quickly changed her mind. It wouldn’t do any good, and besides, she and Harry hadn’t yet discussed if they wanted to tell people.

“How’s Harry, by the way? Is he okay?” Twin two asked and Hermione nodded.

“He’s asleep,” she said.

They lapsed into silence then, and Hermione realized that, while she didn’t feel like she’d done much to help them, there wasn’t really anything else she could do for the twins right now, so with that, she said her goodbyes and returned to her bed.

On getting there, Hermione got a surprise in the form of The Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall.

The aging witch looked tired, but her eyes were as sharp as ever and her attire immaculate.

“Professor, you’re—” Hermione broke off as she finally noticed Harry sitting up in bed. Awake. “Harry!” She cried and rushed to him.

McGonagall politely stood by silently while Hermione rushed to Harry and they caught up. Which didn’t take long at all because there wasn’t actually anything to catch up on.

Finally, McGonagall cleared her throat gently. “I take it you’re feeling well, Miss Granger?” she asked.

“Yes, professor. Thank you,” Hermione answered, then Harry said, “Dumbledore wants to talk to us.”

“Indeed, Miss Granger,” Prof. McGonagall said. “In his office. If you will come with me.”

Hermione looked at Harry, they’d both known this was coming, and they’d both also known that they couldn’t avoid it.

Not forever.

Hermione just hoped that everything would work out.

Though, at this point, the girl wasn’t exactly sure what ‘working out’ even entailed.